An Engagement Of Convenience

Vittoria Fortinari turned to Harriet with a happy sigh. ‘Now, darling, what would you like to drink before we go to bed?’

Harriet had trouble in getting to sleep that night, her wakefulness nothing to do with the fear of discovery, or the strange bed, or even nerves about the party. The problem was Leo Fortinari. For some reason she’d taken it for granted she would feel as hostile towards him as Rosa did. It had never occurred to her that she would be so powerfully attracted to him. On the moonlit loggia it had taken every last scrap of will-power she possessed to withstand the persuasion of his mouth and skilled, arousing fingertips. Harriet shivered, her face burning as she felt her nipples rise and harden against the silk of Rosa’s nightgown. If he’d kissed her mouth... She flipped over in the bed, her hands clenched in the pillow as she burrowed her face into it.

What was Leonardo Fortinari up to? she thought stormily. According to Rosa he had been the deciding factor in her exile from Fortino all these years. And right up to the little interlude on the loggia his attitude had shown small sign of change. Which had made his lovemaking all the more shocking. Harriet gritted her teeth. Her main worry now was nothing to do with the guests at the party, only the fact that Leo had promised—or threatened—to stay close by her side all night to supply the missing names. A prospect which did nothing at all for her insomnia.

Vittoria Fortinari’s birthday dawned bright and sunny, chilly enough at the Villa’s altitude for Harriet to put on one of Rosa’s sweaters over her shirt and jeans to eat breakfast. She stole downstairs, holding a large shiny carrier bag behind her back, and met Silvia in the hall, carrying a large tray into the salon.

‘Good morning. The signora will be with you in a moment,’ gasped the plump little woman, as she put the tray down on a table. ‘She ordered breakfast in here just for today. The dining room is ready for the party.’

‘Can I do anything to help?’ asked Harriet, hiding the bag behind a chair.

Silvia looked doubtful. ‘But the signora—’

‘I’d like to help,’ said Harriet firmly.

‘In what way, exactly?’ asked Vittoria Fortinari, hurrying into the room. ‘Good morning, darling. You can bring the coffee in now, Silvia, please.’

‘Good morning, and happy, happy birthday,’ said Harriet, kissing Rosa’s grandmother with an affection she found remarkably easy. Her own grandmother would have pushed her away irritably if she’d tried anything so demonstrative.

‘Thank you, Rosa.’ Vittoria beamed, looking so happy Harriet banished all her qualms about the impersonation and set herself to make the day as special for Rosa’s grandmother as possible.

They sat down with plates on their knees in picnic fashion, the older woman obviously enjoying the novelty as they ate slices of melon and ate hot rolls fresh from the bakery in the village before finishing all the coffee Silvia brought them. While they ate Harriet volunteered her skill at table-laying, and at folding napkins into flower shapes, skills Vittoria took to be part of Rosa’s training at the Hermitage, but which had actually been acquired in less exalted catering establishments during Harriet’s university vacations.

‘I really would like to help,’ said Harriet, meaning it on her own behalf, and at the same time hoping the offer would win points for Rosa.

‘Then you shall,’ said the signora fondly. ‘I can set a table well enough, but transforming napkins into flowers is beyond me, alas. And certainly beyond Silvia and the helpers we’ve brought in from the village. ’

Once Silvia had cleared away, Harriet reached behind her chair for the large scarlet bag and handed it over. ‘Happy birthday again, Nonna.’

Signora Fortinari received the bag with girlish excitement, exclaiming at the number of parcels inside. Knowing that Rosa had taken endless time and care to think of a gift that would please her grandmother most, Harriet watched, feeling tense on Rosa’s behalf, as Vittoria unwrapped a box and lifted the lid, then stared down at its contents with eyes which filled with tears she dashed instantly away. She took out the photograph with unsteady hands, one finger smoothing the chased silver frame as she gazed down at the faces of her daughter and son-in-law, taken only a month before the air crash.

Rosa had taken the photograph herself on her parents’ last anniversary. Happy and smiling on a sunlit afternoon on the beach where the family had gathered for a picnic, the couple were laughing at the camera, their arms around each other.

For a moment, as she watched, Harriet experienced a painful sense of intrusion. Then she forced herself back into the role she was playing, and cleared her throat. ‘I thought you’d like to remember them like that. I hope it hasn’t made you sad.’

Rosa’s grandmother put the photograph down very gently, then embraced Harriet, kissing her tenderly. ‘Such a beautiful thought, Rosa. Thank you, my darling. ’

‘Open the rest, then,’ commanded Harriet huskily. ‘Another one from me, and one each from Tony and Allegra.’

Rosa’s second gift was a cashmere sweater and long cardigan in a subtle shade of rose pink, and Signora Fortinari promptly tried on the cardigan, and pronounced it perfect. She kept it on as she unwrapped Tony’s present, which was a set of photograph frames, but in gold leaf and empty this time, ready to frame studies of the new little Mostyn when he arrived.

‘They know it is a son?’ said the prospective great-grandmother in wonder.

‘Modern technology, Nonna,’ said Harriet.

Allegra’s present was a whole range of wickedly expensive skin-care products, which Tony, according to Rosa, had considered a rather strange present for a woman of eighty. When Harriet told the birthday girl this she laughed delightedly.

‘Men! Allegra chose well. I see no reason why age should prevent me from pampering my skin.’

The rest of the day passed swiftly. Harriet was admitted to the large kitchen, where a crowd of voluble women gave the visitor a warm welcome as they began on the final preparations. Harriet helped lay a vast, damask cloth on the long table in the dining room, then began fashioning the matching napkins into lily and rosebud shapes which won the extravagant admiration of Silvia and her crew as they stacked plates and silverware at one end of the table, to leave room for the great platters of food they had taken days to prepare for the event.

And when floral birthday tributes arrived for Signora Fortinari at regular intervals, Harriet won everyone’s gratitude by arranging them in artistic displays to decorate the salon and the hall, and as a spectacular centrepiece for the table.

Because the day was warm enough to eat lunch out on the loggia Harriet insisted on serving it there herself to free Silvia for more pressing duties.

‘You have changed so much, Rosa,’ said Vittoria Fortinari, leaning back in a cane chair as she smiled at Harriet.

‘I’ve grown up,’ said Harriet soberly. Which was true enough, of both Rosa and herself. In different ways very difficult as teenagers, she felt that both of them had grown into women with more responsibility and gravitas than either of their families had ever dared hope at one time. She paused in the act of pouring coffee, seized by a sudden surge of anticipation as she heard an engine growling up the bends of the road towards the villa.

‘Dante!’ said the signora, to Harriet’s disappointment. Vittoria Fortinari beamed as a scarlet motor cycle streaked perilously through the stone pillars below and roared up the garden to come to a spectacular halt at the foot of the stone steps. A smaller, younger, and more beautiful version of Leo vaulted from it and ran up the stairs towards them, stopping in front of the signora with a low, flourishing bow, before seizing her in his arms and giving her a resounding kiss on both cheeks.

‘Happy birthday, Nonna,’ he said, in lighter, more musical tones than his brother, then turned to eye Harriet with open appreciation. ‘And this, of course, is the famous Rosa!’

Harriet was beginning to think that Rosa had been dangerously economical with the details of her youthful transgression. For a moment she eyed the slim figure in black leather quizzically, then gave him a friendly smile and held out her hand.

‘And this is the famous Dante.’

Dante laughed delightedly, took the hand in his and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You were only ten when I saw you last, Rosa,’ he said, eyes dancing. ‘You were all eyes and braids. And permanently in trouble.’

‘Not any more,’ she assured him. At least, not if she could possibly help it.

‘Leo said I should wait until tonight to meet you again,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but I was impatient to see if you had improved since I saw you last, Rosa. And you have!’

‘Many thanks,’ said Harriet dryly.

‘Impudent boy,’ said his grandmother lovingly. ‘Sit down and drink some coffee.’

‘In a moment,’ he promised, and went back down to the Ducati. He took a parcel from the pannier, then raced up the steps and went down on one knee in front of his grandmother. ‘For the love of my life,’ he said theatrically, and handed the present over.