Czytaj książkę: «Swept Away!»

Swept Away!
Accidentally Expecting!

Lucy Gordon

Salzano’s Captive Bride

Daphne Clair

Hawaiian Sunset, Dream Proposal

Joanna Neil

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Accidentally Expecting!

Lucy Gordon

About the Author

LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Sir Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa and had many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, where romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.

Two of her books have won the Romance Writers of America RITA^® award.

CHAPTER ONE

HORNS blared, lights flashed in the darkness and Ferne ground her hands together as the cab battled its way through the slow-moving Milan traffic.

‘Oh no! I’m going to miss the train. Please!’

The driver called back over his shoulder, ‘I’m doing my best, signorina, but the traffic here is like nowhere else in the world.’ He said it with pride.

‘I know it’s not your fault,’ she cried. ‘But I’ve got a ticket on the night train to Naples. It leaves in a quarter of an hour.’

The driver chuckled. ‘Leave it to me. Twenty years I am driving in Milan, and my passengers do not miss their trains.’

The next ten minutes were breathless but triumphant, and at last the ornate façade of Milan Central Station came into view. As Ferne leapt out and paid the driver, a porter appeared.

‘Train to Naples,’ she gasped.

‘This way, signorina.’

They made it to the platform looking so frantic that heads were turned. But suddenly Ferne stumbled and went sprawling right in the path of the porter, who sprawled in turn.

She wanted to yell aloud at being thwarted at the last moment, but miraculously hands came out of nowhere, seized her, thrust her on board, the bags following after her. A door slammed.

‘Stai bene?’ came a man’s voice.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian,’ she said breathlessly, clutching him as he helped her to her feet.

‘I asked if you are all right,’ he said in English.

‘Yes, but—oh heavens, we’re moving. I should have given that poor man something.’

‘Leave it to me.’

Now Ferne had a moment to look at him, and realised that she was suffering delusions. He was so handsome that it was impossible. In his thirties, he stood, tall and impressive, with wide shoulders and hair of a raven-black colour that only Italians seemed to achieve. His eyes were deep blue, gleaming with life, and his whole appearance was something no man could be permitted outside the pages of a novel.

To cap it all, he’d come galloping to her rescue like the hero of a melodrama, which was simply too much. But, what the heck? She was on holiday.

He returned her gaze, briefly but appreciatively, taking in her slender figure and dark-red hair. Without conceit, but also without false modesty, she knew she was attractive; the expression in his eyes was one she’d often seen before, although it was a while since she’d responded to it.

‘I’ll refund you that tip, of course,’ she said.

A woman had appeared behind them in the corridor. She was in her sixties, white-haired, slender and elegant.

‘Are you hurt, my dear?’ she asked. ‘That was a nasty fall you had.’

‘No, I’m fine, just a bit shaken.’

‘Dante, bring her to our compartment.’

‘OK, Aunt Hope. You take her, I’ll bring the bags.’

The woman took Ferne gently by the arm and led her along the corridor to a compartment where a man, also in his sixties, was standing in the doorway watching their approach. He stood back to let them in and ushered Ferne to a seat.

‘From the way you speak, I think you are English,’ the woman said with a charming smile.

‘Yes, my name is Ferne Edmunds.’

‘I too am English. At least, I was long ago. Now I am Signora Hope Rinucci. This is my husband, Toni—and this young man is our nephew, Dante Rinucci.’

Dante was just entering with the bags, which he shoved under the seats, and then he sat down, rubbing his upper arm.

‘Are you hurt?’ Hope asked anxiously.

He grimaced. ‘Pushing my arm through that narrow space has probably left me with bruises for life.’ Then a grin broke over his face. ‘It’s all right, I’m only joking. Stop fussing. It’s our friend here who needs care. Those platforms are hard.’

‘That’s true,’ Ferne said ruefully, rubbing her knees through her trousers.

‘Would you like me to take a look?’ he asked hopefully, reaching out a hand.

‘No, she would not,’ Hope said, determinedly forestalling him. ‘Behave yourself. In fact, why don’t you go to the restaurant-car and order something for this young lady?’ She added sternly, ‘Both of you.’

Like obedient little boys, both men rose and departed without a word. Hope chuckled.

‘Now, signorina—it is signorina?’

‘Signorina Edmunds. But, please, call me Ferne. After what your family has done for me, let’s not be formal.’

‘Good. In that case—’

There was a knock on the door and a steward looked in.

‘Oh yes, you want to make up the berths,’ Hope said. ‘Let’s join the men.’

As they went along the corridor, Hope asked, ‘Where is your sleeping berth?’

‘I don’t have one,’ Ferne admitted. ‘I booked at the last minute and everything was taken.’

By now they had reached the dining-car, where Toni and Dante had taken a table. Dante stood up and graciously showed her to the seat beside him.

‘Here’s the ticket inspector,’ Hope said. ‘Let’s get the formalities out of the way before we eat. They may be able to find you a berth.’

But from that moment things went horribly wrong. As the others showed their paperwork, Ferne scrabbled hopelessly in her bag, finally facing the terrible truth.

‘It’s gone,’ she whispered. ‘Everything. My money, the tickets—they must have fallen out when I fell on the platform.’

Another search produced no result. Disaster!

‘My passport’s gone too!’ she gasped. ‘I’ve got to go back.’

But the train was now travelling at full speed.

‘It doesn’t stop until Naples,’ Hope explained.

‘They’ll stop to throw me off when they find out I’ve no ticket and no money,’ Ferne said frantically.

Hope’s voice was soothing. ‘Let’s see what we can do about that.’

Toni began to speak to the inspector in Italian. After a while he produced his credit card.

‘They’re issuing you another ticket,’ Hope explained.

‘Oh, that’s so kind of you. I’ll pay you back, I promise.’

‘Let’s not worry about that now. First we have to find you a berth.’

‘That’s easy,’ Dante said. ‘My sleeping-car is a double, and I’m only using one berth, so—’

‘So Toni can come in with you and Ferne can come in with me,’ Hope said, beaming. ‘What a splendid idea!’

‘Actually, Aunt, I was thinking—’

‘I know what you were thinking and you should be ashamed.’

‘Yes, Aunt, anything you say, Aunt.’

But he winked at Ferne, and she couldn’t help being charmed. The mere idea of this handsome, confident man doing what he was told was so idiotic, and his air of meekness so clearly an act, that she had to smile and join in the joke.

The inspector exchanged some more words with Toni before nodding and hurrying away.

‘He’s going to call the station now and tell them to look out for your things,’ Toni explained to Ferne. ‘Luckily you discovered the loss quickly, so they may pick them up before anyone else finds them. But, just in case, you must cancel your credit cards.’

‘How can I do that from here?’ Ferne asked, baffled.

‘The British consulate will help you,’ Dante declared, taking out his own mobile phone.

In a few moments he had obtained the emergency number of the Milan consulate, dialled it and handed the phone to Ferne.

The young man on duty was efficient. Quickly he looked up the numbers of the credit-card companies, assigned her a reference number and bid her goodnight. Calls to the finance companies achieved the cancellation of her cards and the promise of new ones. This was as much as she could hope for for now.

‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you,’ she told her new friends fervently. ‘When I think what could have happened to me.’

‘Don’t think about it,’ Hope advised. ‘All will be well. Ah, here is the waiter with a snack. Hmm, cakes and wine are all very well, but I should like a large pot of tea.’

‘English tea.’ Toni gave instructions to the waiter, who nodded solemnly, evidently familiar with this peculiarity among his customers.

The tea was excellent, so were the cakes, which the others piled onto her plate.

‘When did you last eat?’ Hope asked.

‘Properly? Oh—some time. I left on the spur of the moment, caught the train from London to Paris, then Paris to Milan. I don’t like flying, and I wanted to be free to stop and explore whenever I wanted. I had a few days in Milan, shopping and seeing the sights. I meant to stay there overnight and go on tomorrow, but I suddenly changed my mind, packed up and ran.’

‘That’s the way to live!’ Dante exclaimed. ‘Here today, gone tomorrow; let life bring what it will.’ He took Ferne’s hand and spoke with theatrical fervour. ‘Signorina, you are a woman after my own heart. More than a woman—a goddess with a unique understanding of life. I salute you—why are you laughing?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ferne choked. ‘I can’t listen to that guff with a straight face.’

‘Guff? Guff? Is this a new English word?’

‘No,’ Hope informed him, amused. ‘It’s an old English word and it means that you need a better scriptwriter.’

‘But only for me,’ Ferne chuckled. ‘I expect it works wonderfully on the others.’

Dante’s face was the picture of outrage.

‘The others? Don’t you realise that you are the only one who has inspired me to lay my heart at her feet? The only—Oh, all right; I usually get a better reception than this.’

His collapse into realism made them all laugh.

‘It’s nice to meet a lady with such an adventurous approach to life,’ he added. ‘But I expect it’s only while you’re on holiday. You’ll go back to England, your sedate nine-to-five life, and your sedate nine-to-five fiancé.’

‘If I had a fiancé, what would I be doing here alone?’ she demanded.

This made him pause, but only for a moment.

‘He betrayed you,’ he said dramatically. ‘You are teaching him a lesson. When you return, he will be jealous, especially when he sees the compromising pictures of us together.’

‘Oh, will he indeed? And where will these pictures come from?’

‘It can be arranged. I know some good photographers.’

‘I’ll bet you don’t know anyone better than me,’ she riposted.

‘You’re a photographer?’ Hope asked. ‘A journalist?’

‘No, I do theatrical work.’ Some inexplicable instinct made her say to Dante, ‘And he wasn’t sedate. Anything but.’

He didn’t reply in words, but his expression was wry and curious. So was the way he nodded.

‘Let the poor girl eat in peace,’ Hope admonished him.

She watched Ferne like a mother hen, finally declaring that it was time for bed. The four of them made their way back along the corridor and said goodnight. Ferne and Hope went into one sleeping car, Toni and Dante went on to the next.

As Ferne hung up the trousers she’d been wearing, a few coins fell out onto the floor.

‘I’d forgotten I had some money in my pocket,’ she said, holding them out.

‘Three euros,’ Hope observed. ‘You wouldn’t have got far with that.’

They sat down on the bed, contentedly sipping the tea they had brought with them.

‘You said you were English,’ Ferne recalled. ‘And yet you speak as though you’ve been here for some time.’

‘Over thirty years,’ Hope told her.

‘Do you have any children?’

‘Six. All sons.’

She said it with an air of exasperated irony that made Ferne smile and say, ‘Do you ever wish you had daughters?’

Hope chuckled. ‘When you have six sons, you have no time to think of anything else. Besides, I have six daughters-in-law and seven grandchildren.

‘When our last son married, a few months ago, Toni and I decided to go on our travels. Recently we’ve been in Milan to see some of his relatives. Toni was very close to his other brother, Taddeo, until he died a few years ago. Dante is Taddeo’s elder son, and he’s coming back to Naples with us for a visit. He’s a bit of a madman, as you’ll discover while you’re staying with us.’

‘I can’t impose on you any further.’

‘My dear, you have no money or passport. If you don’t stay with us, just what are you going to do?’

‘It just seems dreadful for you to be burdened with me.’

‘But I shall love having you. We can talk about England. I love Italy, but I miss my own country, and you can tell me how things are there now.’

‘Ah, that’s different, if there’s something I can do for you.’

‘I look forward to you staying with us a long time. Now, I must get some sleep.’

She got into the lower bunk. Ferne climbed to the top one, and in a few minutes there was peace and darkness.

Ferne lay listening to the hum of the train speed through the night, trying to get her bearings. It seemed such a short time since she’d made the impulsive decision to leave England. Now she was here, destitute, reliant on strangers.

While she was pondering the strange path her life had taken recently, the rhythm of the train overtook her and she fell asleep.

She awoke to find herself desperately thirsty, and remembered that the snack bar was open all night. Quietly she climbed down and groped around in the darkness for her robe.

The three euros she’d found would just be enough for a drink. Holding her breath and trying not to waken Hope, she crept out into the corridor and made her way to the dining-car.

She was in luck. The snack bar was still open, although the tables were deserted and the attendant was nodding off.

‘I’ll have a bottle of mineral water, please,’ she said thankfully. ‘Oh dear, four euros. Do you have a small one?’

‘I’m afraid the last small bottle has gone,’ the attendant said apologetically.

‘Oh no!’ It came out as a cry of frustration.

‘Can I help?’ asked a voice behind her.

She turned and saw Dante.

‘I’m on the cadge for money,’ she groaned. ‘Again! I’m desperate for something to drink.’

‘Then let me buy you some champagne.’

‘No, thank you, just some mineral water.’

‘Champagne is better,’ he said in the persuasive voice of a man about to embark on a flirtation.

‘No, water is better when you’re thirsty,’ she said firmly.

‘Then I can’t persuade you?’

‘No,’ she said, getting cross. ‘You can’t persuade me. What you can do is step out of my way so that I can leave. Goodnight.’

‘I apologise,’ he said at once. ‘Don’t be angry with me, I’m just fooling.’ To the bartender he added, ‘Serve the lady whatever she wants, and I’ll have a whisky.’

He slipped an arm about her, touching her lightly but firmly enough to prevent her escape, and guided her to a seat by the window. The barman approached and she seized the bottle of water, threw back her head and drank deeply.

‘That’s better,’ she said at last, gasping slightly. ‘I should be the one apologising. I’m in a rotten temper, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.’

‘You don’t like being dependent on people?’ he guessed.

‘Begging,’ she said in disgust.

‘Not begging,’ he corrected her gently. ‘Letting your friends help you.’

‘I’ll pay every penny back,’ she vowed.

‘Hush! Now you’re getting boring.’

Fearing that he might be right, she swigged some more water. It felt good.

‘You seem to be having a very disorganised holiday,’ he observed. ‘Have you been planning it for long?’

‘I didn’t plan it at all, just hurled a few things into a bag and flounced off.’

‘That sounds promising. You said you’re a photographer…’ He waited hopefully.

‘I specialise in the theatre, and film stills. He’s an actor, starring in a West End play. Or, at least, he was in a West End play until—’

‘You can’t stop there!’ he protested. ‘Just when it’s getting interesting.’

‘I was taking the pics. We had a thing going—and, well, I didn’t expect eternal fidelity—but I did expect his full attention while we were together.’

‘A reasonable desire,’ her companion said solemnly.

‘So I thought, but an actress in the play started flashing her eyes at him. I think she saw him chiefly as a career step-up—Oh, I don’t know, though. To be fair, he’s very handsome.’

‘Well known?’ Dante asked.

‘Sandor Jayley.’

Dante’s eyes widened.

‘I saw one of his films on television the other day,’ he said. ‘He’s supposed to be headed for even greater things.’ He assumed a declamatory voice. ‘The man whose embrace all women dream of—whose merest look—’

‘Oh, shut up!’ she said through laughter. ‘I can’t keep a straight face at that twaddle, which used to really annoy him.’

‘He took it seriously?’

‘Yes. Mind you, he has plenty going for him.’

‘Looks, allure…?’

‘Dazzling smile, more charm than was good for him—or for me. Just the usual stuff. Nothing, really.’

‘Yes, it doesn’t amount to much,’ he agreed. ‘You have to wonder why people make such a fuss about it.’

They nodded in solemn accord.

He yawned suddenly, turning so that he was half-sideways and could raise one foot onto the seat beside him; he rested an arm on it and leaned his head back. Ferne studied him a moment, noticing the relaxed grace of his tall, lean body. His shirt was open at the throat, enough to reveal part of his smooth chest; his black hair was slightly on the long side.

She had to admit that he had ‘the usual stuff’, with plenty to spare. His face was not only handsome but intriguing, with well-defined, angular features, dark, wicked eyes and a look of fierce, humorous intelligence.

Quirky, she thought, considering him with a professional gaze. Always about to do or say something unexpected. That was what she’d try to bring out if she were taking his photograph.

Suddenly he looked at her, and the gleaming look was intense.

‘So, tell me about it,’ he said.

‘Where do I start?’ She sighed. ‘The beginning, when I was starry-eyed and stupid, or later, when he was shocked by my “unprincipled vulgarity”?’

Dante was immediately alert.

‘Unprincipled and vulgar, hmm? That sounds interesting. Don’t stop.’

‘I met Tommy when I was hired to take the photographs for the play—’

‘Tommy?’

‘Sandor. His real name is Tommy Wiggs.’

‘I can see why he changed it. But I want to know how you were unprincipled and vulgar.’

‘You’ll have to wait for that bit.’

‘Spoilsport!’

‘Where was I? Ah, yes, taking pictures for the play. Thinking back, I guess he set out to make me fall for him because he reckoned it would give an extra something to the photographs. So he took me to dinner and dazzled me.’

‘And you were taken in by actorly charm?’ Dante asked, frowning a little, as though he found it hard to believe.

‘No, he was cleverer than that. He made a great play of switching off the actor and just being himself, as he put it, saying he wanted to use his real name because Sandor was for the masses. The man inside was Tommy.’ Seeing his face, she said, ‘Yes, it makes me feel a bit queasy too, but that night it was charming.

‘The thing is, Tommy was made to be a film actor, not a stage actor. He’s more impressive in close-up, and the closer you get the better he seems.’

‘And he made sure you got very close?’

‘Not that night,’ she murmured, ‘but eventually.’

She fell silent, remembering moments that had been sweet at the time but in retrospect felt ridiculous. How easily she’d fallen, and how glad she was to be out of it now. Yet there had been other times that she still remembered with pleasure, however mistakenly.

Dante watched her face, reading it without difficulty, and his eyes darkened. He raised a hand to summon the attendant, and when Ferne looked up she found Dante filling a glass of champagne for her.

‘I felt you needed it after all,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Maybe I do.’

‘So what was the film actor doing in a play?’ Dante asked.

‘He felt that people didn’t take him seriously.’

‘Heaven help us! One of them. They make a career out of being eye candy but it’s not enough. They want to be respected.’

‘You’ve got him to a T,’ Ferne chuckled. ‘Are you sure you don’t know him?’

‘No, but I’ve met plenty like him. Some of the houses I sell belong to that kind of person—”full of themselves”, I believe is the English expression.’

‘That’s it. Someone persuaded him that if he did a bit of Shakespeare everyone would be impressed, so he agreed to star in Antony and Cleopatra.’

‘Playing Antony, the great lover?’

‘Yes. But I think part of the attraction was the fact that Antony was an ancient Roman, so he had to wear little, short tunics that showed off his bare legs. He’s got very good legs. He even made the costume department take the tunics up a couple of inches to show off his thighs.’

Dante choked with laughter.

‘It was very much an edited version of the play because he couldn’t remember all the long speeches,’ Ferne recalled. ‘Mind you, he made them shorten Cleopatra’s speeches even more.’

‘In case she took too much of the spotlight?’ Dante hazarded a guess.

‘Right. He wasn’t going to have that. Not that it really mattered, because everyone was looking at his thighs.’

‘I don’t think you’re exactly heartbroken,’ Dante commanded, watching her intently.

‘Certainly not,’ she said quickly. ‘It was ridiculous, really. Just showbusiness. Or life.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘It’s all a performance of one kind or another. We each live by pretending something’s true when we really know it isn’t, or not true when we know it is.’

A strange look came into his eyes, as though her words carried a particular resonance. He seemed about to say something, but then backed off. She had the impression that a corner of the curtain to his mind had been raised, then dropped hastily.

So there was more to him than the charming clown, she thought. He presented that aspect to the world, but behind it was another man who hid himself away and kept everyone else out. Intrigued, she wondered how easy it would be to reach behind his defences.

The next moment he gave her the answer.

Seeing her watching him, he closed his eyes, shutting her out completely.

CHAPTER TWO

SUDDENLY he opened his eyes again, revealing that the tension had gone. The dark moment might never have been. His next words were spoken lightly.

‘You’re getting very philosophical.’

‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘Were you talking about yourself when you said we each live by refusing to admit the truth?’

‘Well, I suppose I really knew that another woman had her eye on him, and I ought to have realised that he’d give in to flattery, no matter what he’d said to me hours before. But it was still a bit of a shock when I went to meet him at the theatre after the performance and found them together.’

‘What were they doing—or needn’t I ask?’

‘You needn’t ask. They were right there on the stage, stretched out on Cleopatra’s tomb, totally oblivious to anyone and anything. She was saying, “Oh, you really are Antony—a great hero!”‘

‘And I suppose they were—’ Dante paused delicately ‘—in a state of undress?’

‘Well, he still had his little tunic on. Mind you, that was almost the same thing.’

‘So what did you do?’ he asked, fascinated. ‘You didn’t creep away in tears. Not you. You went and thumped him.’

‘Neither.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘I hardly dare tell you what I did.’

‘Have we got to the bit where you’re unprincipled and vulgar?’ he asked hopefully.

‘We have.’

‘Don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me.’

‘Well, I take my camera everywhere…’

Dante’s crack of laughter seemed to hit the ceiling and echo around the carriage, waking the barman from his doze.

‘You didn’t?’

‘I did. They were wonderful pictures. I took as many as I could from as many different angles as possible.’

‘And he didn’t see you?’

‘He had his back to me,’ Ferne explained. ‘Facing downwards.’

‘Oh yes, naturally. But what about her?’

‘She was facing up and she saw me, of course. She loved it. Then I stormed off in a temper, went straight to the offices of a newspaper that specialised in that sort of thing and sold the lot.’

Awed, he stared at her. ‘Just like that?’

‘Just like that.’

His respect grew in leaps and bounds; a woman who reacted to her lover’s betrayal not with tears and reproaches but with well-aimed revenge was a woman after his own heart.

What couldn’t she do if she set her mind to it?

Would any man of sense want to get on her wrong side?

But her right side—that was a different matter!

‘What happened?’ he demanded, still fascinated.

‘There were ructions, but not for long. The seats had been selling reasonably well, but after that it was standing-room only. She gave an interview about how irresistible he was, and he got offered a big, new film-part. So then he walked out on the show, which annoyed Josh, the director, until the understudy took over and got rave reviews. He was Josh’s boyfriend, so everyone was happy.’

‘Everyone except you. What did you get out of it?’

‘The paper paid me a fortune. By that time I’d calmed down a bit and was wondering if I’d gone too far, but then the cheque arrived, and, well…’

‘You’ve got to be realistic,’ he suggested.

‘Exactly. Mick—that’s my agent—said some people wait a lifetime for a stroke of luck like mine. I’ve always wanted to see Italy, so I planned this trip. I had to wait a couple of months because suddenly I was much in demand. I’m not sure why.’

‘Word had spread about your unusual skills,’ he mused.

‘Yes, that must be it. Anyway, I made a gap in my schedule, because I was determined to come here, chucked everything into a suitcase, jumped on the next train to Paris and from there I got the train to Milan.

‘I spent a few days looking over the town, then suddenly decided to take off for Naples. It was late in the evening by then and a sensible person would have waited until morning. So I didn’t.’

Dante nodded in sympathy. ‘The joy of doing things on the spur of the moment! There’s nothing like it.’

‘I’ve always been an organised person, perhaps too organised. It felt wonderful to go a bit mad.’ She gave a brief, self-mocking laugh. ‘But I’m not very good at it, and I really messed up, didn’t I?’

‘Never mind. With practice, you’ll improve.’

‘Oh no! That was my one fling.’

‘Nonsense, you’re only a beginner. Let me introduce you to the joys of living as though every moment was your last.’

‘Is that how you live?’

He didn’t reply at first. He’d begun to lean forward across the table, looking directly into her face. Now he threw himself back again.

‘Yes, it’s how I live,’ he said. ‘It gives a spice and flavour to life that comes in no other way.’

She felt a momentary disturbance. It was inexplicable, except that there had been something in his voice that didn’t fit their light-hearted conversation. Only a moment ago he’d shut her out, and something told her he might just do so again. They had drifted close to dangerous territory, which seemed to happen surprisingly easily with this man.

Again, she wondered just what lay in that forbidden place. Trying to coax him into revelation, she mused, ‘Never to know what will happen next—I suppose I’m living proof that that can make life interesting. When I woke up this morning, I never pictured this.’

His smile was back. The moment had passed.

‘How could you have imagined that you’d meet one of this country’s heroes?’ he demanded irrepressibly. ‘A man so great that his head is on the coins.’

Enjoying her bemused look, he produced a two-euro coin. The head, with its sharply defined nose, did indeed bear a faint resemblance to him.

‘Of course!’ she said. ‘Dante Alighieri, your famous poet. Is that how you got your name?’

‘Yes. My mother hoped that naming me after a great man might make me a great man too.’

‘We all have our disappointments to bear,’ Ferne said solemnly.

His eyes gleamed appreciation at her dig.

‘Do you know much about Dante?’ he asked.

‘Not really. He lived in the late-thirteenth to early-fourteenth century, and he wrote a masterpiece called The Divine Comedy, describing a journey through hell, purgatory and paradise.’

‘You’ve read it? I’m impressed.’

‘Only in an English translation, and I had to struggle to reach the end.’ She chuckled. ‘Hell and purgatory were so much more interesting than paradise.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I always thought paradise sounded insufferable. All that virtue.’ He shuddered, then brightened. ‘Luckily, it’s the last place I’m likely to end up. Have some more champagne.’

‘Just a little.’

A train thundered past them, going in the opposite direction. Watching the lights flicker on him as it went, Ferne thought that it wasn’t hard to picture him as a master of the dark arts; he was engaging and more than a little risky, because he masked his true self with charm.

She’d guessed he was in his early thirties, but in this light she changed the estimate to late thirties. There was experience in his face, both good and bad.

‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.

‘I was wondering what part of the other world you might have come from.’

‘No doubt about it, the seventh terrace of purgatory,’ he said, one eyebrow cocked to see if she understood.

She did. The seventh terrace was reserved for those who had over-indulged in the more pleasurable sins.

‘That’s just what I thought,’ she murmured. ‘But I didn’t want to suggest it in case you were offended.’

His wry smile informed her that this was the last accusation that would ever offend him.

For a few minutes they sipped champagne in silence. Then he remarked, ‘You’ll be staying with us, of course?’

‘As Hope says, I don’t have any choice, for a few days at least.’

‘Longer, much longer,’ he said at once. ‘Italian bureaucracy takes its time, but we’ll try to make your stay a pleasant one.’

His meaning was unmistakeable. Well, why not? she thought. She was in the mood for a flirtation with a man who would take it as lightly as herself. He was attractive, interesting and they both knew the score.

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she said. ‘Actually, Hope wants me to talk to her about England, and it’s the least I can do for her.’

‘Yes, she must feel a bit submerged by Italians,’ Dante said. ‘Mind you, she’s always been one of us, and the whole family loves her. My parents died when I was fifteen, and she’s been like a second mother to me ever since.’

‘Do you live here?’

‘No, I’m based in Milan, but I came south with them because I think there are business opportunities in the Naples area. So after looking around I might decide to stay.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I deal in property, specialising in unusual places, old houses that are difficult to sell.’

He yawned and they sat together in companionable silence. She felt drained and contented at the same time, separated from the whole universe on this train, thundering through the night.

Looking up, she saw that he was staring out into the darkness. She could see his reflection faintly in the window. His eyes were open and held a faraway expression, as though he could see something in the gloom that was hidden from her and which filled him with a melancholy intensity.

He looked back at her and smiled, rising reluctantly to his feet and holding out his hand. ‘Let’s go.’

At the door to her carriage, he paused and said gently, ‘Don’t worry about anything. I promise you, it’s all going to work out. Goodnight.’

Ferne slipped into the carriage, moving quietly so as not to waken Hope, who was asleep. In a moment she’d skimmed up the ladder and settled down in bed, staring into the night, wondering about the man she’d just left. He was likeable in a mad sort of way, and she didn’t mind spending some time in his company, as long as it was strictly casual.

But she didn’t brood. The rocking of the train was hypnotic, and she was soon asleep.

Next morning there was just time for a quick snack before they arrived. Hope looked eagerly out of the window, wondering which of her sons would meet them.

‘Justin’s in England and Luke’s in Rome,’ she said. ‘Carlo’s in Sicily and won’t be back for a couple of days. It’ll be one of the other three.’

In the end three sons were waiting at the station, waving and cheering as the train pulled in. They embraced their parents exuberantly, clapped Dante on the shoulder and eyed Ferne with interest.

‘These are Francesco, Ruggiero and Primo,’ Toni explained. ‘Don’t try to sort them out just now. We’ll do the introductions later.’

‘Ferne has had a misfortune and will be staying with us until it’s sorted out,’ Hope said. ‘Now, I’m longing to get home.’

There were two cars. Hope, Toni and Ferne rode in the first, driven by Francesco, while the other two brothers took Dante and the luggage in the second.

All the way home Hope looked eagerly out of the window, until at last she seized Ferne’s arm and said, ‘Look. That’s the Villa Rinucci.’

Ferne followed her gaze up to the top of a hill, on which was perched a large villa facing out over Naples and the sea. She was entranced by the place; it was bathed in golden sun, and looked as though it contained both beauty and safety.

As they grew nearer she saw that the house was larger than she’d realised at first. Trees surrounded it, but the villa was on slightly higher ground, so that it seemed to be growing out of the trees. A plump woman, followed by two buxom young girls, came out to watch the cars arriving, all waving eagerly.

‘That’s Elena, my housekeeper,’ Hope told Ferne. ‘The two girls are her nieces who are working here for a couple of weeks, because there will be so many of us—and plenty of children, I’m glad to say. I called Elena while we were still on the train, to tell her you were coming and would need a room.’

The next moment they stopped, the door was pulled open and Ferne was being shown up the steps onto the wide terrace that surrounded the house, and then inside.

‘Why don’t you go up to your room at once?’ Hope asked. ‘Come down when you’re ready and meet these villains I call my sons.’

‘These villains’ were smiling with pleasure at seeing their parents again and Ferne slipped away, understanding that they would want to be free of her for a while.

Her room was luxurious, with its own bathroom and a wide, comfortable-looking bed. Going to the window, she found she was at the front of the house, with a stunning view over the Bay of Naples. It was at its best just now, the water glittering in the morning sun, stretching away to the horizon, seeming to offer an infinity of pleasure and unknown delight.

Quickly she showered and changed into a dress of pale blue, cut on simple lines but fashionable. At least she would be able to hold her head up in elegant Italy.

She heard laughter from below, and looked out of the window to where the Rinucci family were seated around a rustic wooden table under the trees, talking and laughing in a gentle manner that made a sudden warmth come over her heart.

Her own family life had been happy but sparse. She was an only child, born to parents who were themselves only-children. One set of grandparents had died early, the other had emigrated to Australia.

Now her father was dead and her mother had gone to live with her own parents in Australia. Ferne could have gone too, but had chosen to stay in London to pursue a promising career. So there was only herself to blame that she was lonely, that there had been nobody to lend a sympathetic ear when the crash had come with Sandor Jayley.

There had been friends, of course, nights out with the girls that she’d genuinely enjoyed. But they were career women like herself, less inclined to sympathise than congratulate her on the coup she’d pulled off. She’d always returned to an empty flat, the silence and the memories.

But something told her that the Villa Rinucci was never truly empty, and she was assailed by delight as she gazed down at the little gathering.

Hope looked up and waved, signalling for her to join them, and Ferne hurried eagerly down the stairs and out onto the terrace. As she approached the table the young men stood up with an old-fashioned courtesy that she found charming, and Dante stepped forward to take her hand and lead her forward. Hope rose and kissed her.

‘This is the lady who joined us on the train and who will be staying with us for a while,’ she said.

She began to introduce the young men—first Primo, stepson from her first marriage, then Ruggiero, one of her sons by Toni. Both men were tall and dark. Primo’s face was slightly heavier, while Ruggiero’s features had a mobility that reminded her slightly of his cousin, Dante.

Francesco had a brooding quality, as though his mind carried some burden. Like the other two, he greeted her warmly, but then said, ‘I’d better go now, Mamma. I want to get home before Celia.’

‘Doesn’t she ever get suspicious about how often that happens?’ Hope asked.

‘Always, and she tells me to stop, but—’ He gave a resigned shrug. ‘I do it anyway.’ To Ferne he added, ‘My wife is blind, and she gets very cross if she thinks I’m fussing over her, but I can’t help it.’

‘Go on home,’ Hope told him. ‘Just be sure you’re at the party tomorrow.’

He embraced her fondly and departed. Almost at once another car appeared and disgorged two young women. One was dark, and so gracefully beautiful that even her pregnancy-bump couldn’t detract from her elegance. The other was fair, pretty in a way that was sensible rather than exotic, and was accompanied by an eager toddler.

‘This is my wife, Olympia,’ Primo said, drawing the pregnant woman forward to meet Ferne.

‘And this is my wife, Polly,’ Ruggiero said, indicating the fair young woman.

At this distance she could see that Polly too was pregnant, possibly about five months. Her husband’s attitude to her seemed protective, and again Ferne was pervaded by the feeling of contentment that she’d had earlier. Just being here, among people so happy to be together, was enough to create it.

It was soon time for lunch. Hope led the way indoors to inspect the meal Elena was preparing, taste things and give her opinion. In this she was joined not only by her daughters-in-law but her sons, who savoured the dishes and offered advice freely—sometimes too freely, as their mother informed them.

‘So it’s true what they say about Italian men,’ Ferne observed, amused.

‘What do they say about us?’ Dante murmured in her ear. ‘I’m longing to know.’

‘Why, that you’re all fantastic cooks, of course. What did you think I meant?’

He gave a disillusioned sigh. ‘Nothing, nothing. Yes, we’re all interested in cooking. Not like Englishmen, who eat sausage and mash on every occasion.’ Suddenly he looked closely at her face. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Why are you looking troubled?’

‘I just suddenly thought—perhaps I should telephone the consulate. They might have some news by now.’

‘This afternoon I’ll drive you into Naples and we’ll visit the consulate here. They can get onto the Milan consulate. Now, let’s forget boring reality and concentrate on the important things—enjoying ourselves.’

‘Yes, let’s,’ she said happily.

Dante was as good as his word, borrowing Toni’s car after lunch and driving her down the hill through the streets of the old town until they reached their destination near the coast.

There the news was bleak. Neither her passport nor her credit cards had been recovered.

‘Considering how quickly they were reported, it looks as though someone made off with them,’ Dante observed. ‘But hopefully they won’t be any use to them.’

‘We can arrange a temporary passport,’ the young woman at the desk said. ‘But it will take a few days. There’s a kiosk over there for the photograph.’

‘No need, I’ll take it,’ Dante said. Eyeing Ferne’s bag, he added, ‘If you’ll lend me your camera.’

She handed it to him. ‘What made you so sure I had it?’

‘You told me you always had it. And the woman who was smart enough to record her lover’s infidelity wouldn’t miss a trick like this.’

She showed him how to work it, and they spent a few minutes out in the sun while she turned this way and that at his command.

‘Pull your blouse down this side,’ he said. ‘You’ve got pretty shoulders; let’s see them. Good. Now, shake your head so that your hair fluffs up.’

‘This is no good for passport pictures,’ she objected.

He grinned. ‘Who said anything about passport pictures? Maybe I have a wicked purpose of my own.’

Back inside, they switched the camera to ‘view’ and showed the results to the woman at the desk, who regarded them with saintly patience.

‘None of these are suitable. I think you should use the kiosk,’ she suggested.

‘We could have done that to start with,’ Ferne pointed out.

‘But then my wicked purpose wouldn’t have been fulfilled,’ Dante said unanswerably. ‘Come on; go into that kiosk and take some shots that make you look dreary and virtuous.’

‘Are you suggesting that I’m not dreary and virtuous?’

‘Which part of that question do you want me to answer?’

‘Let’s just get on with it,’ she said hastily.

When the formalities were complete, Dante took her to a café by the beach and they relaxed over coffee.

‘If you think the villa’s a madhouse now,’ he said, ‘wait until tomorrow when the rest of the family get here.’

‘There’s quite a lot of them, isn’t there? Six, I think Hope said.’

‘That’s right, although they don’t all live around here. Luke and Minnie will be coming from Rome. Justin and Evie from England, with Mark, Justin’s son, and their baby twins.’

A terrible thought struck Ferne. ‘Where will they be staying?’

‘At the villa, of course.’

‘And you’re there too, so whose room have I been given? Someone will end up sleeping on the sofa because of me, and I can’t have that. I’ve got to go.’

‘And stay where—in a hotel? With no money or paperwork?’

‘Well, if you could lend me some money I’ll pay it back…’

Dante shook his head firmly. ‘Sorry, no. To tell the hotel that you’re a trustworthy person, when actually I don’t know if you are, would be most improper. And we must always behave with propriety, mustn’t we?’

Despite her agitation, she couldn’t help laughing.

‘You,’ she said in a slow, deliberate voice, ‘wouldn’t recognise propriety if it came up and whacked you on the nose—which I am strongly tempted to do right now.’

‘Curses!’ he said theatrically. ‘She’s seen through me. All right, I’ll admit my true motive. I plan to keep you here, a prisoner, subject to my will. Cash would help you to escape, which doesn’t suit my evil purpose.’

‘I wonder if I can guess your evil purpose,’ she said dryly.

‘Well, I’m not exactly subtle, am I? But do I need to be? You’re in my power.’

‘In your dreams!’ she chuckled.

‘In those too,’ he said with a yearning look.

‘No, I didn’t mean—Oh, you know what I meant.’

‘Well, a man can dream, can’t he?’ he asked, eyeing her significantly.

‘He can dream all he likes, as long as he doesn’t confuse dreams with reality,’ she said, also significantly. ‘And you didn’t answer my question. Whose room have I been given?’

He didn’t reply, but his mouth twisted.

‘Oh no, please, don’t tell me…?’

‘If you feel that way, we could always share it,’ he suggested.

‘Will you just stop, please?’

‘All right, all right, don’t eat me. You can’t blame a man for trying.’

‘I can. I do.’

‘You wouldn’t if you could sit where I’m sitting, looking at you.’

She gave up. How could you talk sense to a man who had that wicked glint in his eyes?

But it could be fun finding out.

CHAPTER THREE

‘IF YOU’RE going to reject me, I’ll just have to console myself with those pictures of you that I took,’ Dante remarked.

‘I deleted them,’ she said at once.

‘Like hell you did! If you didn’t delete the evidence of your lover misbehaving, you aren’t going to wipe out the pics of you looking like every man’s dream of sexy.’

‘Will you stop talking to me like that?’

‘Why should I?’

What could she say? Because it gives me a fizz of excitement that I’m not ready for yet.

He was a clever man, she reckoned; he made it clear beyond doubt that he was sexually attracted to her, yet with such a light touch that she could relax in his company, free from pressure. She didn’t doubt that he would jump into her bed in an instant, if she gave him the barest hint. But without that hint he would sit here talking nonsense, biding his time.

She wondered how many other women had been beguiled into his arms, and what had happened to them when it was over. She suspected that Dante would always be the one to say goodbye, treating love easily, never lingering too long. But there was more to him than that; instinct, too deep to be analysed, told her so.

His tone changed, becoming what he would have called ‘prosaic’.

‘While I think of it—’ he reached into his wallet and handed her a wad of notes ‘—you can’t walk around without any money.’

‘But you just said you wouldn’t—’

‘We’re back in the real world. You must have something. Here.’

Staggered, she looked at the amount. ‘So much? No, Dante, please—I can’t take this.’ Accepting some of the notes, she tried to thrust the rest back at him.

‘You don’t know what you may need,’ he said firmly, pushing her hand away. ‘But what you will definitely need is your independence, and with that you’ll have it. Put it away safely.’ He sounded like a school master.

‘But what about keeping me in your power?’ she asked, tucking it into her bag. ‘Making me independent isn’t going to help your evil purpose.’

‘True,’ he mused. ‘On the other hand, nothing gained by force is really satisfying. It’s better when she knocks on his door and says she can’t live any longer without his wild embraces. Much more fun.’

‘And do you think I’m going to do that?’

He seemed to consider this. ‘No, I think you’ll go to the stake before you yield an inch. But, as I said before, a man can dream.’

They regarded each other in perfect, humorous understanding.

Afterwards they drove back to the villa slowly, where supper was just being prepared.

‘Some people only turn up just before a meal,’ Francesco jeered, giving Dante a friendly thump on the shoulder.

He’d gone home and returned with his wife, Celia, whom he now drew forward.

Ferne would hardly have guessed that Celia was blind. She was bright and vivacious with a way of turning her head, clearly aware of what was happening around her. They fell easily into conversation, sitting on the terrace and chatting about their work. Celia’s career was making the world accessible to the blind.

‘I’m working on a scheme to make theatres more friendly,’ she said. ‘It involves an ear-piece with a description of the action. Francesco and I were in London a couple of months ago, going to lots of shows so that I could get some ideas, and we went to a performance where everyone was going crazy over the star, Sandor Jayley. They said he looked incredibly sexy in a little Roman tunic.

‘But Francesco wouldn’t tell me that, and I had to find out afterwards when apparently there were some deliciously scandalous pictures of Sandor in the papers. Why, what’s the matter?’

Dante had drawn a sharp breath. The sight of his appalled face made Ferne burst out laughing.

‘Have I said something wrong?’ Celia begged.

‘No, not at all,’ Ferne choked. ‘It’s just that…’

Briefly she told the story and Celia covered her mouth in horror.

‘Oh no! What have I done? I never meant—Please, please—’

‘It’s all right,’ Ferne hurried to say. ‘I saw the funny side of it ages ago. Oh heavens!’ She went off into gales of laughter again, then calmed down and tried to reassure Celia that she wasn’t in a state of collapse. It took a while, but at last she managed it.

When she looked up Dante was observing her with a strange smile and a look in his eyes that might have been admiration.

From inside the house they heard Hope’s voice.

‘Ferne, dear, are you there? I need your help.’

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Ferne said, hurrying away.

Celia listened as Ferne’s footsteps faded, then turned to Dante.

‘She’s gorgeous,’ she said. ‘You’re a lucky man.’

‘What makes you think she’s mine?’

‘Francesco says you can’t take your eyes off her.’

‘And with reason. She’s worth looking at.’

‘I think her face is gentle and kind, like her voice, when she went to so much trouble to reassure me. She sounds lovely.’

‘She is lovely,’ Dante murmured.

‘Is she really all right about that man—the one they call “sexy legs”?’

‘Would you mind not saying that?’ Dante said in a strained voice.

‘You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?’

‘I decline to answer,’ he said after a moment. ‘Shall we go in to supper?’

That evening was one of the most pleasant Ferne had ever spent. As the sun faded, lights came on in the garden and at last everyone drifted away from the table to drink their wine under the trees.

‘I think your family has found the secret of happy marriage,’ Ferne murmured. ‘They all look like courting couples—even Hope and Toni, after all these years.’

Dante nodded. ‘Hope says that’s all down to Toni, the sweetest-natured man in the world. He’s always been very kind to me. I’m glad he has happiness now, even if it’s in the sunset rather than the sunrise.’

‘I wonder if that could be better.’

‘I doubt it. Who can ever tell what their own sunset is going to be?’

‘Perhaps wondering about it is one of the pleasures of life?’ she suggested.

He gave a little shrug. ‘Perhaps. Let’s go where we can watch the Naples sunset.’

Totally content, she let him lead her to a place where they could stand beneath the trees and watch the miracle that was happening over the bay. For a dazzling moment the light was deep red, seeming to set the sea on fire, and they watched it in awed silence.

‘No matter how often I see that,’ he murmured, ‘it never fails. As long as there’s so much glory in the world…’ He fell silent.

‘Have you spent much time here?’ Ferne asked.

‘Since my parents died I’ve kind of moved around the family, living with aunts, uncles, grandparents. This was where I came in the summer, and I loved it. It felt more home than anywhere else.’

‘But it sounds sad to be moving around the family, not really having a settled base.’

‘I like having a big family. There’s nothing to compare with the feeling that you have the whole tribe behind you.’

‘Isn’t there one member of the tribe you need more than the others?’

‘Hope and Toni have been like second parents. Apart from them, no. Like you, I’m an only child, but I thrive on having plenty of cousins.’

At last everyone drifted back to the house. There were children to be put to bed, and Hope wanted an early night. Ferne was glad of the chance to go to her room to be alone and think about everything that had happened to her.

To think about Dante Rinucci.

He was attractive, amusing, sexy and clearly in the mood for a diversion. Since she felt the same, there was really no problem, except for the little voice in her head that kept saying, Beware!

But beware what? she asked herself.

There’s something about him that doesn’t add up.

Nonsense. I’m just being fanciful.

She put on a night-gown, took out her laptop and connected it to her digital camera. In a moment she was looking at the pictures Dante had taken of her, trying to recognise herself.

Who was this woman with the come-hither look, giving the man that teasing smile because she was basking in his attention? It was an illusion. Dante had summoned that look from her in the joking spirit that seemed natural to him, and somehow he’d persuaded her to glance sideways, smiling, to intrigue him as he intrigued her. This man was a natural showman with the gift of luring everyone else into the show. There was no more to it than that, and she mustn’t forget.

There was a knock on the door and Dante’s voice called, ‘It’s me.’

She drew a slow breath of dismay. She’d half-expected him to appear at her door, but not so soon. Where was the skilled, sensitive man with the light touch that she’d pictured? Was he going to be vulgarly obvious after all? Her disappointment was severe.

As she was preparing the words of rejection, he knocked again. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Yes,’ she said hastily, reaching for her robe and whisking it on as his head appeared cautiously around the door.

‘Ah, you’ve got the pictures on-screen,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to see them. Am I any good as a photographer?’

‘Er, yes, some of the pictures are very nice,’ she said, trying to marshal her thoughts.

He was still fully dressed and didn’t seem to notice that she was attired for the night. He studied the computer screen eagerly.

‘Nice,’ he said. ‘You photograph well, and the light was good just then.’

He ran through to the end of the pictures, then back, then forward again, until he found one that seemed to please him especially. She had just shaken her hair so that it fell in soft curls about her face, framing her laughter.

‘I’d like to have a copy of that one,’ he said. ‘You look just great.’

Here it was: the first move. Be careful.

But it was hard to be careful when she was suddenly conscious of her nakedness beneath the flimsy night-gown. Her whole body seemed alive to him and oblivious to her efforts at control.

‘I’m afraid that may take a while,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a printer with me.’

‘No problem. Here’s my email address. Send it to me as a file attachment and I’ll take care of the printing. Now, I should get to bed if I were you. You’ve had a long day, and tomorrow is going to be even busier.’

He turned in the open door.

‘Sleep well. Sorry I disturbed you. Goodnight.’

The door closed behind him.

Just down the corridor, the sound of that door closing was heard by two who lay contentedly in each other’s arms.

‘Leaving so soon?’ Toni observed. ‘Dante’s losing his touch. Usually he can have any woman he wants—for a little while.’

‘I know,’ Hope sighed. ‘As soon as it looks like getting serious, he vanishes. But how can we blame him? Think what it must be like for him, living with the knowledge that—Oh, it’s terrible! Of course he can’t be like other people.’

‘He won’t let anyone mention the subject,’ Toni said sombrely. ‘If you try, he becomes cold and angry. He wants to pretend that nothing is wrong, but if you catch him off-guard it’s there in his eyes, the knowledge and the fear.’

‘Should we tell Ferne?’ Hope said. ‘Just in case?’

‘Warn her, you mean? Not now. Perhaps later. Dante would be furious to know that his secret was out.’

‘Won’t it have to come out in the end?’

‘I don’t know,’ Toni said sadly. ‘Perhaps it will never be spoken of at all—until it’s too late.’

Dawn was the best part of the day, when the bright, clear air gave the view across the bay to Vesuvius a new vividness. How peaceful the volcano looked now it was sleeping, and how hard won that peace must be. The previous night had taught Ferne that.

She’d thought herself so well prepared, so ready to fend off any advance from Dante. But when he’d bid her a gentlemanly goodnight she’d been ill prepared for any of the reactions that had coursed through her.

Starting with disbelief, they had exploded through to outrage, deprivation and finally insult. At the mere prospect of making love with him, her body had flowered. And he hadn’t been interested. It was sheer bad manners.

She could cheerfully have hurled something at the door he’d closed behind him. It had taken the rest of the night to calm the volcano inside her, and now the sight of the real one in the distance didn’t improve her temper.

Had he suspected her moment of weakness? The thought made her go hot and cold.

She felt an urgent need to get away from where he might be. He’d come out last night to watch the sunset. Suppose he came out again at dawn?

Turning to hurry inside, she saw him standing behind her. How long had he been there?

‘Good morning,’ she said hurriedly, trying to get past him.

But he detained her with a light hand on her arm. ‘Stay.’

‘You’re very free with your commands,’ she said tersely.

‘Have I offended you?’

‘Of course not. But I expect you want to be alone.’

‘Not alone from you.’

He turned her so that she faced the sea and then he stood behind her, his arms crossed over her breast, holding her gently against him. Mysteriously his touch seemed to soothe her annoyance, and Ferne put up her hands, not to push him away but to hold his forearms.

‘So near and yet so far,’ he murmured.

‘How far is Vesuvius really?’

‘Only about six miles in earthly distance, but it comes from another universe. Once, years ago, I heard it rumble, and it was like magic. I’m always hoping for another one.’

‘No luck?’

‘Not yet. It keeps you waiting.’

‘Maybe it can’t decide what it wants.’

‘Or maybe it knows what it wants and can’t decide what to do about it,’ he mused. ‘Even when you want something badly, the way isn’t always clear.’

Now she had her answer about the night before. He didn’t want to keep his distance from her, but for some reason seemed to feel that he should. So the next step was up to her. Nothing else mattered now; she was content.

They returned to find the villa already awakening. Everyone was agog at the arrival of the two remaining sons, Justin from England, Luke from Rome. As many of the family as possible were going to the airport to meet Justin, his wife and children. Dante and Ferne remained at the villa to greet Luke.

In the early afternoon Primo and Olympia arrived, soon followed by another car, out of which stepped a powerful-looking man and a petite, fair-haired young woman.

‘Luke and Minnie,’ Dante said.

It was clear from the interested looks Ferne was getting that her story had spread throughout the family. When Minnie came downstairs from settling into her room, she commandeered Ferne’s company, demanding to be told everything. But before there was time to say much there was a shout and everyone hurried outside to welcome the party from England.

Justin, Hope’s eldest son, was an austere-looking man who at first seemed out of place in this convivial gathering, but Ferne noticed that his eyes followed his mother with a possessive look that contrasted curiously with his bearing. He had the same look for his wife, Evie, a brisk young woman with an air of friendly efficiency.

They were accompanied by Mark, Justin’s son by his first marriage. He was twenty, handsome, with dark wavy hair and brilliant eyes that made both the young maids give him yearning looks.

‘He’s just discovering his powers as a ladykiller,’ Justin said with a groan, yet also a touch of fatherly pride. ‘It makes him very difficult to live with.’

‘Don’t be hard on him,’ Evie protested. ‘It’s not his fault he’s good-looking. He’s just finished his first love affair with a girl who teaches ballroom dancing. He started learning as a way of getting close to her, and now he’s really good.’

The young man’s presence changed the atmosphere, making it livelier. Later, when the meal was over, Toni rummaged through some old tapes, made in the days before rock ‘n’ roll, and played them on an ancient tape recorder.

‘Go on,’ he told Mark. ‘Let’s see how good you are.’

Without hesitating, Mark extended a hand to Ferne, whom he’d been admiring across the table all through supper.

‘Dance with me?’

Pleased, she accepted. She was a good dancer, and Mark was an expert. Soon they were spinning around in perfect time.

‘Let’s go really fast,’ he said suddenly, swinging her around and around.

Gasping, she just managed to keep up. When they finished there was applause from the others, who had retired to sit down and watch them with admiration.

‘What is that dance?’ Dante asked, coming forward hastily. ‘Could you teach it to me?’

‘It’s basically the quick-step,’ Mark told him. ‘You do it like this.’

Someone switched the music on again, and there were more cheers and applause as Mark gave a dazzling demonstration, with Ferne as his partner. Then Dante took possession of her and proceeded to show how well he’d learned.

Ferne had to admit that he was a natural, mastering the fastest steps with ease, and taking her flying across the floor as if they had been doing this all their lives.

With this partner the most intricate steps became easy to her, and her feet flashed in and out, sometimes between his own feet, so that she felt they must surely trip each other, yet never did. She had the glorious sensation that no mistake was possible while Dante held her. He was a powerful man, but that power lay not in muscles and brawn but in quicksilver.

That was how he lived his life, she was sure. If trouble loomed, he would dance around it, or over it, or past it, then vanish into the shadows, leaving everyone wondering if he’d ever really been there. It made him both enchanting and dangerous.

At last Toni changed the tape, and they slowed into a waltz.

‘I’m impressed,’ she gasped. ‘Have you really never done the quick-step before?’

‘No, but I love dancing; the faster, the better.’

‘Waltzing’s too dull for you, huh?’

‘Much. Who needs it? You have to hold her close.’

‘As you’re doing with me?’

‘Naturally. And you have to pay her compliments, like she’s the loveliest woman in the room.’

‘But you’re not doing that!’ she protested indignantly.

‘Why should I bore you with what you’ve heard a hundred times before? Besides,’ he added more slowly, ‘you know exactly what you look like.’

He was right. She’d taken time over her appearance, and was pleased with the result. The honey-red of her hair was perfectly set off by the floaty chiffon dress with its mixture of autumnal colours. It was knee-length, revealing that her legs were long and elegant, her ankles perfect, and she had a natural balance for the high-heeled sandals that many women couldn’t have risked wearing.

In the arms of this tall man, those heels were an advantage, helping her match his height and see his face more closely.

‘Maybe I know and maybe I don’t,’ she teased. ‘That’s for me to say.’

‘So you want me to tell you that you’re a dream of beauty, a goddess of the night?’

‘Oh, shut up!’ she chuckled.

‘I’m just trying to do the proper thing here.’

‘And you’re always so proper, aren’t you?’

‘Well, somebody did once say that I wouldn’t recognise propriety if it came up and whacked me. I can’t recall her name just now.’

‘Ah! One of those instantly forgettable females. She was probably just trying to provoke you to get your attention.’

He gave a self-mocking smile. ‘I wish I could believe she wanted my attention.’

‘Or she might be playing cat-and-mouse with you.’

‘I’d like to believe that too. You don’t know what fun cat-and-mouse can be.’

‘You think I don’t?’ she asked, eyebrows arched sardonically.

‘No, forget I said that. Of course you do.’ He added hopefully, ‘You could probably teach me a thing or two.’

‘No, I don’t think I could teach you anything about playing games.’

‘The game of love has many different aspects,’ he suggested.

‘But we’re not talking about love,’ she whispered. ‘This is a different game altogether.’

It was a game that made her pulses race and her whole body sing from the close contact with his. Reason argued that her physical excitement was due to the movement of the dance, but reason fell silent before the pleasure of his clasp about her waist and the awareness of his mouth near hers.

‘What do you call the game?’ he whispered.

‘I’m sure we each have our own name for it.’

‘Tell me yours.’

She glanced up, murmuring, ‘I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.’

‘I asked first.’

This time she didn’t reply, but her look was full of mischief.

‘You’re going to tease me, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You’re a wicked woman.’

‘I know. I work at it.’

‘No need. I reckon a certain kind of wickedness comes naturally to you.’

‘True. It’s one of the great pleasures of life.’ Exhilarated, she provoked him further. ‘Almost as much fun as cat-and-mouse.’

A gleam of appreciation came into his eyes. ‘Cat-and-mouse; I wish I knew which one I was.’

‘I’ll leave you to work that one out.’

He gave a shout of laughter that made everyone stare at them, and began whirling her fast again until they spun out onto the terrace, where she broke from him and darted away, running down the steps and under the trees. She was high on excitement, and the sound of him pursuing her was a delight. She ran faster, challenging him to follow her, and he accepted the challenge.

‘Woman, are you crazy?’ he demanded, winding his arms around her waist in a grip of velvet and steel. ‘Just how much do you think a man can take?’

She responded not with words but with laughter, that rang up to the moon until he silenced her mouth with his own. Somehow the laughter continued, because it was there in the kiss, passing from her to him and back again. It was there too in the skilful movements of his hands that knew how to coax without demanding, persuade without insisting.

He had the gift which so many men lacked, of kissing gently. Her return kiss was joyful, curious, teasing just a little.

‘I’m not crazy,’ she whispered. ‘And perhaps a man should exercise a little self-control.’

‘Not while you’re making it hard for him,’ he growled, moving down her neck.

She was unable to say more, because his lips had found the spot where she was most sensitive. Shivers went through her, defying her efforts to control them as his mouth caressed the hollow at the base of her throat, touching it softly again and again while she clung to him and her head whirled.

He was wicked. Even with all her nerves shouting warnings, he could still make her want him. Her hands had a will of their own. They clasped his head, drawing him closer against her so that his lips continued their skilled work. She should push him away, but, just another minute…

She felt the ground beneath her. She didn’t know when he’d drawn her down, but suddenly she was lying in his arms, and he was looking at her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t see through the darkness.

That was so like him, she thought feverishly—always keeping one part of himself a secret. And right now she wanted to know his secrets, wanted to know everything about him, to feel his hands on her body, all over, wanted everything there was to want.

His fingers were at the neck of her dress, trying to draw it lower. When it would go no further, he drew the shoulder down and laid his lips against it. Now she could feel his hair brushing her face and she ran her hand deliciously through it, sighing with satisfaction.

But then she heard something that froze her blood: laughter, soft and merry, coming from a little distance away. The family was appearing in the garden, getting nearer.