LITMIR.BIZ

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you will live to be a hundred,’ he assured her, but from then on his manner became noticeably less hostile to the prodigal granddaughter.

      Rosa’s teenage episode obviously rankles with him even now, thought Harriet, as the plates were removed. Leo, apparently taking his grandmother’s words to heart, helped both women to thin slices of spiced ham, and to the accompanying salad of cheese and ripe red tomato slices dressed with olive oil and basil. Harriet accepted his attentions politely, but listened with genuine interest as he talked of the latest Fortinari Chianti Classico.

      ‘Is that what we’re drinking?’ asked Harriet.

      Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘No, little savage. This is from the 1997 vintage—the best for fifty years. Nonna has opened it in honour of your return.’

      ‘Instead of the fatted calf?’ said Harriet, smiling, and willed Leo to change the subject. One of the many differences between herself and Rosa Mostyn, was her very un-Italian ignorance of wine.

      ‘A fondness for wine was never one of your failings, darling,’ said Vittoria, startling Harriet by her insight. ‘At least,’ she added, eyes twinkling, ‘not when you were seventeen.’

      Nor was it for Harriet now she was nine years older than that. Wine was an unaffordable luxury in the Foster household.

      ‘So, Rosa,’ said Leo, leaning back in his chair, ‘you are an important aid to the running of the Mostyn empire.’

      Harriet was getting tired, and finding it hard to concentrate. She spoke Italian fluently enough, but an entire evening of conversation in a foreign tongue, while simultaneously trying to maintain a faultless impersonation of Rosa, was beginning to tell. ‘Two hotels can hardly be called an empire,’ she pointed out.

      ‘True,’ he allowed. ‘But they are successful, and well known to foreign visitors for their luxury and comfort. Perhaps I shall come and stay at your Hermitage, and sample the Mostyn hospitality myself one day.’

      ‘By all means,’ said Harriet, secure in the knowledge that if he did the real Rosa Mostyn would have the pleasure of entertaining him. A thought which gave her a sudden, unaccountable pang she put down to indigestion.

      Signora Fortinari instructed Silvia to serve coffee in the salon. ‘Rosa has brought something beautiful to wear to my party,’ she informed Leo, as he helped her up from the table.

      ‘She could scarcely look more ravishing than she does tonight,’ he said, giving Harriet a smouldering look which clenched secret muscles in response under the clinging gossamer wool.

      ‘True,’ agreed his grandmother, ‘but tomorrow is a special occasion.’

      Harriet detached her gaze from Leo’s with effort. ‘And because of it, I’ve actually brought two dresses. Tomorrow Nonna can choose which one she prefers.’

      After the meal they went back to the salon to drink coffee under the painted cherubs on the exquisite, faded ceiling.

      ‘You always liked the putti,’ said Leo casually, following Harriet’s eyes. ‘You were fond of one in particular.’

      ‘The trumpeter blowing in his friend’s ear,’ agreed Harriet, blessing Rosa’s memory for detail.

      ‘You look tired, dearest,’ said Signora Fortinari lovingly. ‘Drink your coffee, then off you go to bed so that you will be fresh and sparkling for my celebration tomorrow.’

      ‘Signora?’ said Silvia from the door. ‘Could you come, please?’

      ‘Another crisis,’ said her mistress with a sigh as Leo helped her to her feet.

      ‘I will keep Rosa entertained until you return,’ he assured her.

      Harriet received the news with mixed feelings, hoping the problem in the kitchen would be resolved quickly, before Rosa’s formidable cousin tripped her up in some way.

      ‘Perhaps you would care to go out onto the loggia?’ he suggested. ‘Even the moon is obedient to Nonna’s wishes for a perfect birthday.’

      Welcoming the idea of concealing moonlight Harriet went out ahead of him and leaned her hands on the balustrade as she gazed at the panorama before her. The summits of the rolling hills were bathed in bright moonlight, but a thin veil of mist added an ethereal touch to the half-hidden village below.

      ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is,’ she said quietly. Which was true. Each time she’d returned to Northern Italy in her student days her reaction had been the same.

      ‘And I had forgotten how beautiful you are, Rosa,’ said Leo softly, his eyes on her profile. ‘You have changed so much it is hard to believe you once caused me—and not only me—so much trouble.’

      ‘I was very young, Leo. I’m not the same person I was then.’ Her mouth twisted wryly at the truth of it. ‘Surely it’s a good thing that I’ve changed?’

      ‘Very good,’ he said huskily, and moved closer. ‘So good that perhaps now is the time to kiss and be friends.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      ROSA HAD BEEN RATHER VAGUE about the exact nature of the trouble with Leo Fortinari, but since it seemed likely kissing had come into it somewhere Harriet stepped back, determined to avoid stirring up any extra trouble on Rosa’s behalf. Or her own.

      ‘You disagree?’ said Leo. His voice dropped half an octave, causing turbulence Harriet’s clinging dress failed to disguise from him. His eyes dropped to the hurried movement of her breasts, and she turned away quickly, her hot hands grateful for the cold stone of the balustrade.

      ‘No games, please, Leo,’ she said acidly. ‘I’m not seventeen anymore.’

      ‘No, you are not,’ he whispered, moving close behind her.

      Harriet tried hard to control her breathing as she felt the heat of his body penetrate through her dress. She tensed, feeling his breath on her neck as his hands appeared either side of hers on the balustrade, preventing her escape.

      ‘As Nonna said,’ he breathed against her hair, ‘it is time to forget—and forgive—the past. The present is so much more appealing, Rosa.’ She tensed as his arms slid round her from behind, his hands cupping her breasts, his mouth pressed to the hollow behind her ear.

      Harriet stood motionless, head bowed, her hands clenched on the balustrade as she controlled her mutinous senses, forcing them to ignore the fire his caressing hands and lips sent streaking through her body. Stay cool and distant, she told herself wildly, and by superhuman effort controlled every muscle and quivering nerve in her body, as she battled with the urge to twist round in Leo Fortinari’s arms and surrender her mouth to the lips now moving along her jaw.

      It seemed an eternity before Leo became convinced of the message she was sending him, but at last he moved away, breathing audibly, and leaned, arms folded, against one of the columns of the loggia. From the corner of her eye Harriet saw him staring down-at the view below, his profile hard and cold as marble in the moonlight.

      ‘When you were young you desired my caresses, Rosa,’ he said harshly.

      Harriet wanted them right now, a discovery which rendered her speechless.

      ‘You were a most persistent charmer in those days,’ he went on, as though they were discussing the weather. ‘You threatened to kill yourself if I spumed your rash little overtures.’

      ‘Emotional blackmail,’ said Harriet wearily. ‘Teenage hormones on the rampage. As you can see, I didn’t carry out my threat.’

      ‘For which,’ he said smoothly, turning a dark, discerning eye on her, ‘we are all grateful, Rosa.’

      ‘Are you?’

      Leo smiled, his teeth showing white in the half light. ‘If you tried your wiles on me now, I would be more receptive.’

      Harriet

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