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on the roof, Andie went down to the village to pick up her bag and visit Alberto and Elena, where she spent a happy hour reminiscing and catching up.

      She told them about the wedding, explaining that it would be a simple affair, but she would love to have them join her and Cleve and the Starks for a small celebration meal afterwards. She left, promising to let them know when, and went back to the villa to hunt down the dress she was hoping to wear.

      The gowns had been laid in acid-free tissue and layered with silk lavender bags and she found the dress she was looking for in the second trunk. Inside the lid was an album of photographs of Sofia modelling the gowns and the colours of the kimono dress were as fresh and vibrant as the day she’d been photographed for Vogue Italia.

      She swallowed down a lump in her throat, knowing that she didn’t have that kind of style. That it would never look like that on her. And when she held it up against her there was another problem. She was not model height. Even with high heels the dress was going to be too long.

      ‘Miranda...’

      It didn’t matter. She could take up the hem or there were plenty of dresses and not all of them were floor length.

      ‘I’m ready whenever you are.’

      Cleve appeared in the doorway looking good enough to eat in a dark blue shirt and a pair of lightweight grey trousers he’d bought the day before.

      ‘Stay there,’ she warned, holding the dress behind her.

      He held up his hands and backed away, grinning. ‘I’m doing nothing to anger the superstition gods.’

      They had lunch on a restaurant terrace overlooking the sea near San Rocco. Afterwards they picked up the rings from the jeweller and the translated declarations from the notary.

      ‘Shall we go to the municipio and see if they can fit us in some time this week?’ Cleve asked.

      ‘I’d rather ask the mayor of Baia di Rose if he’ll perform the ceremony. It feels more like home.’

      ‘If that’s what you want,’ Cleve said. ‘You know it’s not too late—’

      ‘No fuss, Cleve.’ Then, when he let the question hang, ‘It’s too soon.’

      To him the last year had felt like a lifetime but maybe the kind of celebration he believed she deserved would seem indecent if you were on the outside looking in.

      ‘You should write to Rachel’s parents.’

      ‘They cut me dead at the inquest but I wrote to them on the anniversary of her death. Sent flowers. The letter came back marked return to sender. I imagine the flowers went in the bin.’

      ‘It must be so hard to lose a child.’

      ‘It’s a terrifying responsibility.’

      For a moment they stood, their hands tightly clasped, contemplating the fact that, as parents, their lives would never be their own again.

      * * *

      The mayor of Baia di Rose was delighted to be asked to officiate at their wedding. All they had to do was choose a day and a time.

      ‘I’ll have the roof finished in a couple of days. If we get married on Saturday we could leave the next day,’ Cleve said.

      Leave? So soon? But then why wouldn’t he? Goldfinch was his life.

      He’d taken time out to come and find her and offer to do the honourable thing. He hadn’t bargained on a baby. He hadn’t actually bargained on a wedding. He certainly hadn’t bargained on fixing a hole in the roof.

      He must be desperate to get back to his desk.

      ‘That suits me,’ she said.

      He turned back to the mayor and asked him if the municipio was open on Saturday.

      ‘No, signor. But I can perform the ceremony any day, anywhere within my comune.’

      ‘This Saturday.’

      ‘Except this Saturday. It is my daughter’s birthday.’

      ‘Sunday, then.’

      Sunday, too, was a very busy day for the mayor, what with church and lunch involving his entire extended family, but he finally agreed that he could marry them late in the afternoon, just before sunset. They just had to let him know where.

      ‘Any ideas? On the beach?’ he suggested.

      Miranda shook her head. ‘There are some occasions that are not enhanced by the addition of sand.’

      ‘You don’t like picnics on the beach?’

      ‘Gritty sandwiches. No, thanks.’ Then, apparently able to read his mind, she blushed. ‘And it doesn’t do anything for designer dresses. Why don’t we have the ceremony on the terrace overlooking the sea?’

      ‘I will convert you to beach picnics,’ he warned her, before turning back to the mayor. ‘We have a date, signor. On the terrace at the Villa Rosa just before sunset on Sunday.’

      They picked up a bottle of champagne to share with Matt and Gloria when they called to tell him to save the day.

      Matt met them at the front door. ‘Have you checked your messages?’

      Andie’s heart did a flip. ‘Is there a problem?’

      ‘Come in. You’re going to want to be sitting down when you hear what’s happened.’

      ‘Is it my parents?’ she demanded. ‘Has there been an accident? Is Dad sick?’

      ‘Matt,’ Cleve said sharply.

      ‘Sorry. Nothing like that. Posy rang.’

      ‘Posy?’

      ‘She knew the house was a mess and wanted to be sure that you were okay. I was working and my mother answered the phone.’

      ‘Oh.’ Certain she knew what was coming, she sank onto the nearest chair. ‘What did she say?’

      ‘Too much. As you know she called the fire brigade and I had no idea that Cleve being here, the wedding, was a secret. I’m really sorry.’

      ‘What did Gloria actually say?’ Cleve persisted.

      ‘She said that Miranda was fine despite the bang on the head and the fire, which understandably freaked Posy out, so Mum told her not to worry because Cleve was taking good care of you. And then, because of course she’s met Posy, she said she was looking forward to seeing her at the wedding.’

      Head, fire, Cleve, wedding... Not quite the full house.

      ‘Did she mention the baby?’

      ‘I think the explosion from the other end of the phone in response to the word wedding warned her that she might have already said too much. She panicked and hung up.’

      Well, that was something.

      ‘Ten minutes later your other sister called.’

      ‘Imogen. Please, please tell me that your mother didn’t speak to her.’ Imogen would have had the lot out of her in ten seconds flat.

      ‘She’d already called me and explained what had happened so when the phone rang again I picked up. Before she could start I told her that I’d ask you to call her. Her response was that if she doesn’t hear from you by seven this evening she’ll be on the first plane out of London tomorrow. I’m so sorry,’ he repeated.

      She shook her head. ‘It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Is your mother okay?’

      ‘She’s hiding in the conservatory, too upset to face you.’

      ‘Please tell her not to worry. This is my family drama and I’ve handled it really badly. I’ll tell her myself as soon as I’ve sorted this out.’

      ‘Thanks.

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