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Immi said. ‘I’ve been looking for that dress Sofia wouldn’t let you wear. Do you remember? You sulked for hours.’

      ‘I never sulked!’ Portia rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, I sulked but it was a dream dress.’

      ‘Exactly.’

      She sighed. ‘You’re right. It would be perfect.’

      ‘It’s not in any of the trunks we’ve found.’

      ‘When she rescued it from me she took it into her bedroom.’ Portia led the way, then turned at the doorway. ‘You’re not sleeping in here?’ she asked, surprised.

      Andie shook her head. ‘It didn’t feel right.’ She saw Immi and Portia exchange a glance and quickly said, ‘All I found in Sofia’s wardrobe were day clothes.’

      Portia crossed to a chest of drawers, sighing as she opened each one, lifting out a scarf, something in oyster satin that slithered through her fingers, lace... ‘Posy is going to make a fortune selling this stuff.’ Then, as she opened the bottom drawer she reached in and lifted out something wrapped in tissue paper.

      ‘Is that it?’ Immi asked.

      Portia placed it on the bed, unfolded the tissue, removed satin lavender bags and then shook out an ethereal shimmer of a dress. The simplest long-sleeved shift created from sheer lace into which flowers had been worked and from which tiny beads glistened. At first sight it looked transparent, but beneath the lace there was a nude slip.

      For a moment none of them said anything then Andie gathered herself. It was too much... Too bridal. Exactly what she’d wanted to avoid.

      ‘It will be too long,’ she objected. ‘There’s no way to shorten it.’

      ‘Let’s see.’

      They had her out of her T-shirt and trousers before she could argue and dropped the dress over her head.

      It slithered over her body and crumpled gently at her feet but before she could say a word Portia and Immi spoke as one.

      ‘High heels!’

      They did a high five, then burst out laughing. ‘Come on. Let’s go shopping.’

      * * *

      Next morning they picked up Gloria and all four of them made their way to a hotel overlooking San Rocco that had a luxurious spa. By the time they’d ordered coffee and cake her mother, grandmother, Laura Finch and Posy had arrived.

      There were a few tears, exclamations over the ring, an unexpectedly heartfelt hug from Laura, a whispered thank-you and then it was time for facials, massages. They had lunch. The afternoon was all about hair and nails, the bliss of pedicures followed by champagne in the hot tub for everyone but Andie and then afternoon tea.

      But all the time, amidst the laughter, there was a little nagging voice that kept repeating Portia’s words.

      ‘You would never settle for second best...’

      ‘Andie...’

      Portia caught her as they were leaving.

      Her sister had been full of life all day but just once or twice she’d caught a look, as if Portia were somewhere else.

      ‘Are you okay, Portia?’

      ‘Fine,’ she said, too quickly. ‘A bit stressed. Work... I was wondering, are you and Cleve staying on here after tomorrow?’

      She shook her head. ‘We’ve been here too long already. We’ll be home on Monday.’

      ‘Oh...’ She looked surprised, then grinned. ‘Honeymoon before the event...’ Then, ‘If I’m not going to be playing gooseberry I thought I’d ask Posy if I can stay on for a while. Decompress.’

      * * *

      By the time they arrived home Andie was desperate to be alone and, making the excuse that she was tired, went up to her room.

      For a while there were the familiar sounds of her sisters squabbling over the bathroom, the murmurs and giggles as they picked over the day and then gradually everything grew quiet with only the now familiar sounds of the old house as it settled and cooled.

      Silent but for a tap on her window.

      The first time she heard it Andie thought it was a moth, tricked by the light of the moon shining on the glass. The second time it was accompanied by her name whispered softly.

      ‘Miranda...’

      Only one person ever called her that.

      ‘Cleve?’ She scrambled out of bed and found him leaning on the windowsill. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Standing on a ladder, talking to the woman I’m going to marry tomorrow. It’s damned uncomfortable. Can I come in?’

      ‘Have you been drinking?’

      ‘A glass or two of wine. A brandy...’

      ‘How did you get here?’ she demanded. ‘You’d better not be driving.’

      ‘It’s a lovely night for a walk and I have something important to tell you.’

      ‘Idiot. Get down now, before you fall. No, wait. I’ll come and hold the ladder.’

      She pulled on a wrap, held her breath on the landing half expecting one of her sisters to appear, then crept downstairs. Cleve was waiting on the doorstep but before she could berate him he’d caught her around the waist and was kissing her senseless.

      He tasted of old brandy, delicious, warming, melting all her doubts. ‘You do know that if you’re here after midnight you’ll turn into a pumpkin?’ she said, when he finally eased away so that they could breathe.

      ‘I won’t stay,’ he promised, ‘but on the subject of superstitions, I wanted you to know that I’ve sorted out the troublesome “something blue”. You’ll have it tomorrow.’

      ‘You walked all the way from San Rocco to tell me that?’

      ‘There isn’t a phone but I cannot tell a lie. I had a lift in Matt’s taxi. I only walked up from the village.’

      She shook her head. ‘Come on, I’ll drive you back.’

      ‘The walk will clear my head.’

      ‘If you don’t put your foot in a rabbit hole and break your ankle,’ she said, pulling away in the direction of the garage.

      ‘Wait. It wasn’t just the something blue,’ he said. ‘There’s something else.’ Now he was serious and her heart, beating much too fast, seemed to stop. ‘While I was home I realised that everywhere I turned in my flat there was a reminder of Rachel—the colour of the walls, the sofa, pretty much everything in the kitchen. I want us to have a fresh start so I’ve put it on the market, fully furnished.’

      His flat was so much bigger than hers, it was the obvious place to live but she’d been dreading it. She leaned against his chest and let him hold her while she gathered the breath to whisper, ‘Thank you.’

      ‘You might not be so happy when we’re squeezed into your little flat while we look for a house.’

      ‘We’ll manage.’

      ‘It’s nearly twelve. I’d better go.’ He kissed her again. ‘Until tomorrow.’

      * * *

      The next morning Immi produced boxes of tiny white solar lights and yards of heart-shaped bunting that she’d brought with her. While she and Posy threaded them through the garden, along the wall and over the terrace, Portia disappeared on some mysterious errand of her own.

      Boxes of flowers arrived from a smart florist in San Rocco.

      ‘Immi!’

      Imogen held up her hands. ‘Not me,’ she said. ‘All I did was pass on Cleve’s

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