A Rumoured Engagement. CATHERINE GEORGE

      Luke professed himself just as happy with the second course as the first, and chatted easily during the meal about his recent visit to Bordeaux at harvest time, followed by his trip to the Rassegna del Chianti Classico—the biggest celebration of local wines in Tuscany. Before that, he told her, there had been a visit to New Zealand in the spring, and he went on to describe the prodigious tasting sessions he’d enjoyed at the various wineries there. Saskia listened enviously—something he remarked on after a while.

      ‘You’re an amazingly good audience, Saskia.’ He smiled. ‘You and I have never spent very long in conversation together before. Without Marina and Dad and the twins, I mean.’

      ‘No.’ She returned the smile ruefully. ‘But I’m consumed with envy. I never realised what an interesting life you lead. A lot more interesting than mine.’

      ‘Then make a change.’

      ‘I may, at that. I’ll start looking when I get back.’

      They finished the meal with figs and cheese, then cleared away together. When the big, uncluttered kitchen was tidy, Saskia made coffee and they took it outside to drink on the terrace. The moon was high in the sky now, but the air was chilly, and Saskia went to her room for a sweater before joining Luke, who was leaning in one of the archways, his eyes on the scene before him. Up here on the hill they could have been suspended in moonlit space. The village below was hidden in a veil of mist which warned that summer was almost over.

      ‘Other-worldly, isn’t it?’ she said softly as she stood beside him, looking up into his absorbed face. ‘What are you thinking?’

      ‘That I smell change in the air.’

      Saskia nodded. ‘Serafina says the cold weather’s about to arrive.’

      ‘Does she, now? That settles it. Excuse me a minute, Sassy. I have to ring someone.’

      ‘Right.’ She sat down and poured herself a coffee, while Luke went off to get his cell-phone. He left his bedroom door open, and she could hear him talking to someone, the words indistinguishable but the urgency unmistakable. Then after a few minutes’ conversation he laughed uproariously, and she relaxed. Nothing, it seemed, was wrong. Whoever he was talking to.

      When Luke rejoined her, also wearing a sweater, he let himself down onto the wicker sofa beside her and accepted a cup of coffee with thanks. ‘That’s a relief. I was talking to Tom Harley, Joe’s nephew.’

      ‘In California?’ she said in surprise.

      ‘No. Right here in Tuscany. Tom’s one of these flying wine makers, who alternates his trade between California and Italy. He always comes over here at this time of year for the grape harvest, but sometimes he chances his arm by leaving it too long, to make ultimate use of the sun. A few seasons ago he misjudged it badly, and lost all his grapes to unforecast bad weather. This year all is safely gathered in already, much to his wife’s relief.’ Luke chuckled. ‘I gather he was not easy to live with for months after the disaster.’

      ‘I can well imagine it!’

      ‘This time he’s jubilant, certain it’s going to be a fabulous year. And,’ Luke added, grinning, ‘he’s throwing a party at his place on Saturday. We’re invited.’

      ‘Really? But he doesn’t know me.’

      ‘I told him my little sister was staying here with me, so he insists I take you along.’

      ‘Little sister!’ snorted Saskia.

      ‘Tom told me to emphasise that he and Lauren would be thrilled to meet you.’

      ‘That’s very nice of them,’ she said, mollified. ‘What sort of party?’

      ‘Local gentry, fellow wine makers, expats of various nationality, that kind of thing.’

      ‘Smart?’

      ‘Probably.’

      “Then I can’t go. The dress I wore last night is as smart as my wardrobe here gets.’

      ‘Then wear that’

      ‘No way.’

      There was silence for a moment. ‘I’d like you to come,’ said Luke without emphasis.

      ‘I’d like to go, too,’ she admitted. ‘But, trivial though it may sound, not in a dress I bought in a high street chain store. We’re in Italy, remember?’

      ‘Then let’s nip into Florence tomorrow—plenty of frocks there.’

      ‘You mean like Versace, Armani and so on?’ Saskia chuckled. ‘Sorry. The budget won’t run to that.’

      ‘I’ll treat you to a dress. Call it your Christmas present, if you like.’

      ‘I couldn’t let you do that—’

      ‘Why not? I am a relative—connection—whatever, If some other guy buys you a dress, Sassy, ten to one he means to be on hand when you take it off. But I’m your stepbrother, so there’s no ulterior motive involved other than wanting you to have a good time.’

      Saskia turned her eyes on him doubtfully. ‘I suppose I could always pay you back later, when I get home.’

      ‘Do I detect a hint of surrender?’ he said in triumph.

      She chuckled involuntarily. ‘More than a hint. I give in. What woman would turn down the offer of shopping in Florence?’

      He laughed, and touched her fingers lightly. ‘Your tiny hand is frozen, Miss Ford. Would you like to go inside? I could light a fire.’

      ‘No fear. This moonlight’s too beautiful to waste. Besides—’ she turned to look at him ‘—you promised to tell me about Zoë.’

       CHAPTER THREE

      LUKE shrugged. ‘There’s no great tale of tragedy to relate. Zoë and I parted over a very basic difference of opinion. You’ve heard I bought a house?’

      ‘Of course. Marina said it’s charming; Sam said it needed a lot of work.’

      ‘They’re both right. Zoë took one look at it and thought I was barking mad.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘It’s about two hundred years old, and the minute I set eyes on it I had to have it. At time of purchase the kitchen and bathrooms had been renovated, but otherwise it needed a lot of loving care. Not Zoë’s cup of tea.’ Luke paused, his eyes on the view. ‘She wanted a modern flat with a view of the Thames. Not my scene at all. Neither of us would budge an inch. So in the end we called it a day.’

      ‘Were you thinking of getting married?’ asked Saskia curiously.

      ‘If we had been I assume one of us would have given in,’ he said elliptically. ‘The important thing would have been the fact of being together, not the location. But I made the fatal mistake of saying what fun we’d have, doing the place up bit by bit.’

      Saskia tried to keep a straight face as she pictured Zoë helping Luke in overalls with a paintbrush. Zoë worked for a fashion magazine and wore elegant little suits with minuscule skirts, never a silver-blonde hair out of place.

      ‘I told you it was boring,’ he reminded her, and tapped her hand. ‘Right. Your turn. What happened with Lawford?’

      Saskia was quiet for a moment, reliving the day, just a week before, when her life had taken a new turn. She deliberately called up the scene, testing it as a tongue probes an aching tooth.

      ‘I just took two suitcases to start with, and Mother drove me to the station,’ she said calmly. ‘It felt so-so momentous, as though one half of my life was behind me and I was setting out on a new, glamorous phase, completely different