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Tuscany.

      It was around this time that Marina was asked to an Oxford dinner party where Samuel Armytage was a fellow guest. They were married a year later. Several years afterwards, to their combined shock and joy, Marina gave birth to twin boys, Jonathan and Matthew, who, unlike Luke, were the spitting image of their father.

      Saskia rolled her pasta dough thinly, then pressed a rectangle of it over the raviolatrice, a tray with square, jagged-edged moulds which made light work of creating ravioli. Luke, she thought as she filled the hollows with spinach and ricotta cheese, followed his mother for looks, while she, according to her mother, was very much like the father she’d never known. But by complete coincidence physically Luke could well have been her brother. They were both tall, with long, narrow faces, tawny brown hair and green eyes. But her own were an opalescent almost-green, whereas Luke’s were darker, the colour of moss. The resemblance, which amused Marina and Sam, had always been a source of irritation for Saskia. But if Luke harboured any views on the subject he kept them to himself.

      When the ravioli were stowed away in the refrigerator, ready to cook, Saskia returned to the sun with a book and lay there until late afternoon, when a sudden drop in temperature sent her indoors for a bath-this time with the bolt firmly home on the door. By the time six o’clock was pealing in some bell-tower in the distance Saskia was dressed in white Levi’s and a jade cotton shirt, her face burnished by her protracted session in the sun.

      When the Alfa-Romeo came to a halt alongside the house half an hour later, Saskia was sitting amongst the pots of geraniums under the pergola. She looked up with a smile as Luke joined her.

      ‘Hi. You look hot. Had a busy day?’

      ‘Very. But productive. Good evening, Saskia.’ He looked at her with envy, the lopsided smile lifting one corner of his mouth. ‘I’m weary, travel-stained, and in much need of a shower. No need, I see, to ask how you are. You glow.’

      ‘I’ve spent most of the day in the sun.’

      ‘How was your walk to the village?’

      ‘It didn’t happen. Serafina and son went off in the car with my shopping list and saved me a trip.’ She stretched a little. ‘So I’ve done nothing all day.’

      Luke sighed theatrically. ‘While I’ve spent my time chasing round a large part of Tuscany winkling out unusual top quality beverages I can sell at reasonable prices and still make a profit’

      She grinned up at him. ‘But you succeeded. You’ve got that satisfied look about you—the hunter home from the hill with the best catch.’

      ‘I acquired some pretty impressive merchandise today. One so-called table wine is a real world-beater. I’ve got several customers waiting for it—’ He stopped, laughing. ‘Sorry. My hobby-horse tends to run away with me. By the way,’ he added, making for the door, ‘if you don’t feel like cooking we can always eat out somewhere. There’s a trattoria the other side of—’

      ‘Certainly not,’ said Saskia indignantly. ‘I’ve been slaving away most of the day over our meal, I’d have you know.’

      ‘I thought you said you’d been out in the sun.’

      ‘Not all day,’ she said demurely.

      Luke leaned against one of the arches. ‘So what should I be opening in the way of wine?’

      ‘I’ve been reading your book on the subject,’ she said smugly. ‘I had a rummage down in the cellar, and some of your Dolcetto from Piedmont would be just the ticket. So I brought a bottle up. I’ll open it while you’re in the bath.’

      ‘What are we having?’

      ‘Wait and see!’

      Luke gave her an amused, considering look, then excused himself and went off whistling into the house. When he returned, half an hour later, in khaki trousers and another of his thin white shirts, Saskia was sitting at the table on the terrace with an opened bottle and two glasses on the table beside her.

      ‘I could get used to this very easily,’ he remarked, and poured wine into the glasses before letting himself down beside her with a sigh. ‘An evening with stars and a rising moon, with just that hint of cold to warn us to enjoy it while we may—and a beautiful woman for company. One, moreover, who is also providing dinner. I usually eat out when I’m here on my own.’

      ‘I suppose you know a lot of people in the area.’ She revolved the wine in her glass and sniffed deeply before tasting it, secretly much gratified by the compliment.

      ‘I do. What do you think of the wine?’

      ‘Lovely. Soft and very fruity.’

      ‘And fairly alcoholic,’ he warned.

      ‘Don’t worry. I never drink more than two glasses of anything.’ Her smile was sardonic. ‘Even after my experience with Francis I consoled myself with chocolate, not alcohol.’

      Luke was silent for a while. ‘As must be perfectly obvious, Saskia, I burn with curiosity on this particular subject. And not just because I brought you and Lawford together, either.’

      ‘All right,’ said Saskia briskly. ‘After dinner I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.’

      Luke turned his head to look at her in the dusk. ‘What story?’

      ‘You and Zoë. I thought you two were headed for the altar.’ She smiled at his raised eyebrows. ‘She’s the only one you ever brought to Christmas in Oxford. Mother was planning her wedding outfit.’

      ‘It’s a very short story,’ he said dismissively. ‘Not even very interesting. But, if you want to hear it, why not? Though you’ve never shown much interest in my private life before.’

      ‘Nor you in mine,’ she retorted, then bit her lip. Be nice, she told herself.

      ‘Then perhaps it’s time we started. Who knows?’ he said lightly. ‘We might be able to steer each other away from future trouble.’

      Later, in the kitchen, Luke sat at the table Saskia had laid ready for dinner, watching as she slid the ravioli into boiling water and set a small pan of butter to heat.

      ‘You can cut some bread if you like,’ she remarked, while she stood, eyes glued to her watch. ‘I need to time these exactly.’

      ‘I never realised you were so skilled in the kitchen,’ said Luke, slicing the loaf thickly.

      ‘I loved helping Mother as soon as I was big enough to stand up without falling over.’ Saskia smiled at him over her shoulder. ‘Nonna—my grandmother—too. I had some steps I used to drag round the kitchen so I could reach the table. They both used to let me play with the left-over pasta dough, and my grandfather would eat the horrible little grey bits when it was cooked. It was a very useful skill later, when Mother was delayed in the shop in my schooldays. I often started the dinner once my homework was done. Especially when my grandparents came here to live at Villa Rosa.’

      ‘It’s a pity your grandmother didn’t have longer to enjoy it,’ said Luke quietly.

      Saskia nodded, threw a handful of sage leaves into the butter, then drained the ravioli in a colander in the sink. ‘But she loved it while she was alive. Then Grandad came home to England to live with his sister, and made this place over to Mother.’

      ‘How is he?’

      ‘Fine. He enjoys a game of golf still, and likes pottering about in Aunt Cora’s garden, and they belong to a bridge club. And quarrel a lot—and enjoy it.’ Saskia set two plates on the table, then the ravioli garnished with the butter sauce. ‘Right. Let’s eat. I thought something filling would go down well for the first course.’

      Luke needed no second bidding. He ate in silent concentration for a while, then looked at her with deep respect. ‘This is wonderful. What’s in the sauce?’

      ‘Nothing much. Butter, sage and so on.

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