Ultimate Temptation. Sara Craven

She shook her head. ‘Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me.’

      ‘Well, you stick to apple pies.’ Lucy tried to sound cheerful. ‘I’ve seen a photograph of the Villa Dante and it looks fantastic, besides being absurdly cheap. It belongs to a friend of the manager of the Italian restaurant that Sandie and Fee go to after their language class.’

      ‘Not a proper holiday company?’ Jan’s frown deepened, and Lucy hugged her.

      ‘Stop being a mother hen. It’ll be marvellous. I might even get some painting done.’

      ‘Well, if you’re sure.’ Jan sighed. ‘Oh, damn Philip. I can’t believe he’s done this to you.’ She paused, giving Lucy a wary glance. ‘Who is this new lady?’ she asked carefully. ‘Do you know?’

      Lucy ate a slice of apple to cover her grimace. ‘Remember he changed his job a few months ago—went to a merchant bank in the City? Apparently she’s the chairman’s daughter.’ She added stonily, ‘He always was very ambitious.’

      ‘That’s not the word I’d choose,’ Jan said grimly. ‘Well, you forget about the two-timing swine and have a great holiday.’

      That had been Lucy’s intention, but she’d been conscious of her misgivings even on the flight to Pisa, when the others had taken full advantage of the free drinks offered by the stewardesses, as well as engaging in a noisy and uninhibited flirtation with a group of young men across the aisle.

      Lucy, staying off alcohol because it had occurred to her that someone had to drive the rented car awaiting them at Pisa, had seen some of the scathing looks directed towards them by other passengers. She’d also been aware that some of the men opposite had girls with them who were beginning to look downright hostile.

      But her attempt to cool the situation had been treated with derision by her companions.

      ‘What a drag,’ she’d heard Sandie mutter to Fee. ‘No wonder her boyfriend dumped her.’

      Tommaso, their landlord, had been waiting at the airport with the car—a smart little Fiat—and the keys to the villa. He was younger than Lucy had expected, efficient and more than charming, but she hadn’t warmed to him.

      And one glance from his bold dark eyes had told her that neither her slender shape, her smoothly bobbed hair nor her wide, faintly slanting hazel eyes held the least appeal for him. Her companions, in their skimpy sundresses, high on booze and excitement, were far more to his taste, and he’d ogled them shamelessly while conducting the necessary negotiations.

      Lucy had not expected to hand over her share of the rental in cash, there and then, but the others had seen nothing wrong in it, so she’d supposed she was being overly fussy.

      ‘Isn’t there an inventory we should see?’ she asked doubtfully, but Tommaso waved that away with one of his wide smiles.

      ‘Any problem—you tell the maid, Maddalena,’ he decreed.

      ‘And if she can’t deal with it?’ Lucy’s voice was cool. She’d come to Italy to relax, but this was altogether too casual.

      Tommaso shrugged. ‘Then you come to me.’ He gave her a dog-eared card with a hand-written address on it. ‘I live here, in Montivemo.’

      Lucy, struggling to accustom herself to the left-hand drive, as well as the unfamiliar clutch, felt consumed by pessimism about the whole enterprise, especially when her merry companions insisted she make a detour so that they could glimpse the famous Leaning Tower before they left Pisa.

      ‘Bloody thing looks straight,’ was Nina’s slurred comment from the back seat.

      Lucy sighed under her breath as she edged carefully out of Pisa and headed south.

      It was a wonderful day, the sun warm in a faultlessly blue sky, the faint breeze redolent of pine and rosemary. She found herself driving past fields of sunflowers, through tiny villages bright with flowers and shuttered against the heat, and always on the edge of her vision were the untamed rolling hills. The others had fallen asleep, so Lucy had it all to herself, and was content.

      Following the sketch map Tommaso had given her, she bypassed Montiverno—a small town clinging to its rocky hilltop, and dominated by a ruined fortress—and turned into a wide valley lined by terraces of vines and silvery olive groves.

      And, as she rounded a sharp bend, there, somewhat to her surprise, was the Villa Dante, its name carved into one of the tall stone pillars which flanked the gateway.

      An imposing entrance for a holiday let, Lucy thought as she steered the Fiat carefully through the high wrought-iron gates and up the long, winding drive where cypresses stood like dark sentinels.

      And when the house came finally into view, standing proudly back from a broad gravel sweep, Lucy felt the breath catch in her throat.

      It was love at first sight.

      She braked gently and sat, drinking in ancient walls the colour of pale apricot, the faded terracotta roof, the wide stone steps leading up to the heavily timbered front door.

      The photographs in London hadn’t done it any kind of justice, she thought almost reverently. It was like some exquisite antique painting set in the matchless frame of the golden Tuscan landscape.

      ‘Well, it’ll do,’ Fee remarked as she emerged from the Fiat. ‘I hope to God the plumbing works.’

      Maddalena was waiting to greet them. She was small, her black hair was liberally streaked with grey, and she was patently nervous. She barely spoke or smiled as she led them on a swift tour of inspection.

      The villa had been built on three sides of a large courtyard, surrounded by a colonnaded veranda, with the usual shady loggia on the first floor. In the centre of the courtyard was a large stone fountain into which water poured eternally from a tilted urn upheld by a smiling nymph, while steps led down to a broad terrace with a swimming pool, and finally to a tumble of garden with tall hedges, gravelled paths and banks of roses and flowering shrubs running riot beyond.

      Inside, the rooms were spacious, and while not overfurnished they gave the impression that each item had been selected with great care.

      Lucy’s eyes widened as she assimilated the dining room, with its frescoed walls, massive polished dining table set off by ornately carved wooden candelabra and tall-backed formal chairs, and then went into the formal salotto, with its exquisite ceiling, elaborately patterned in coloured plaster, the wide stone fireplace, big enough to roast one of the wild boar for which the region was famous, and the cavernous but supremely comfortable leather sofas.

      All this grandeur for the kind of rent we’re paying? Lucy questioned silently, but the others seemed to take it in their stride.

      ‘A bedroom each, and a couple over,’ Nina exulted. ‘Let’s hope we get lucky.’

      Lucy was hoping for nothing of the sort. That kind of encounter had never been her style, and she felt too raw and vulnerable to contemplate even the most casual of relationships.

      The first couple of days passed tranquilly enough. They sunned themselves, bathed in the pool and enjoyed Maddalena’s excellent cooking. Sandie and Fee spent a fair amount of time on the telephone, having low-voiced giggly conversations.

      Lucy could only pray they weren’t calling home to Britain, or the bill at the end of their stay would be horrendous, and her funds were strictly limited.

      But she would worry about that when the time came. In the meantime, she could revel in the drowsy ambience of her surroundings, and the unusual luxury of having a maid to wait on them.

      Except, this morning, Maddalena hadn’t turned up.

      ‘Perhaps it’s her day off,’ Nina commented crossly as she wrestled with the coffee-machine. ‘Did she say anything to you, Lucy?’

      ‘She hardly says anything at all,’ Lucy admitted wryly. ‘She still seems scared to death of us.’ She looked at Sandie. ‘Why don’t