An Engagement Of Convenience

Harriet nodded. ‘She’s married now. My mother still lives in Pennington, but my father died when I was at University.’

‘I’m sorry. I know how that feels.’ Rosa eyed Harriet curiously. ‘You’re still single, then. No boyfriend? ’ She laughed suddenly. ‘With your—or rather our looks—there must surely be men in your life?’

‘None at the moment,’ said Harriet lightly. ‘How about you?’

Rosa’s eyes lit up like lamps. ‘I’ve actually met a man who couldn’t care less about my money, for a change. After an early disaster I swore I’d leave the falling in love bit to the other sex. Then I met Pascal a few weeks ago and wham. Flat on my face. Can’t eat, can’t sleep. Hilarious, isn’t it?’

‘Does he feel the same way?’

Rosa sighed. ‘I wish I knew. I met him when he was at the Hermitage covering a conference for a few days, but since then our encounters are few and far between. He’s a foreign correspondent with a French newspaper.’

‘Ah. Is that why the date fell through tonight?’

‘Yes. He had to take off to cover some story half a world away, and couldn’t make it. If not,’ said Rosa with brutal honesty, ‘I wouldn’t be here in a roomful of squawking women. Present company excepted,’ she added, grinning. ‘You never squawked—too frighteningly composed, always.’

Harriet grimaced. ‘Moody, you mean. I was a hugely difficult teenager. My family must have heaved a sigh of relief when I went away to college. After I qualified I got a teaching job in Birmingham. But my mother hasn’t been well lately, so I’ve come back home for a while. And we’re both enjoying the arrangement.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry, Rosa, but I promised the Head I’d do some networking—convince all the young marrieds that Roedale is the school for their daughters present and future.’

Rosa pulled a face. ‘Rather you than me.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy having supper with me somewhere afterwards?’

Taken aback for a moment, Harriet found she rather liked the idea. ‘Why not? Give me half an hour.’

Which had been the beginning of it all. Harriet sighed heavily enough to attract a quizzical look from Leo Fortinari.

‘Am I going too fast, Rosa? Are you nervous?’

Harriet smiled brightly. ‘Yes. But not about your driving. I’m just wondering how Nonna will react to the sight of me.’ Which was the truth as far as it went. Though sitting at close quarters with this self-assured Italian male was no help to relaxation, either. But Leo Fortinari would expect that. According to Rosa their parting years ago had been anything but cordial.

He turned his attention back to the road. ‘You are different now, Rosa. At one time you had no nerves at all. But have no fear, Nonna forgave you long ago. We shall be with her in half an hour.’

Half an hour!

The supper with Rosa after the school reunion had been surprisingly enjoyable for Harriet. As schoolgirls they’d had nothing in common, but as adults they found a rapport totally unexpected to both of them. After that first night they began going out together regularly, and when Rosa was even more blue than usual over Pascal’s continued absence she would appear on the Foster doorstep, in need of sympathy both Harriet and her mother found easy to provide.

‘Quite extraordinary,’ said Claire Foster, the first time Harriet brought Rosa to the house. ‘I saw you in school once or twice, of course. But the likeness is even more marked now you’re older.’

‘Only Harriet’s smaller, and her hair curls,’ said Rosa enviously, and coaxed Claire Foster to go out for a meal with them.

And when Claire protested she was too tired after a day of caring for her bedridden mother, Rosa, dressed to the nines, went off in her Alfa Romeo and bought fish and chips they ate straight from the packages at the kitchen table, the three of them giggling together like schoolgirls.

Before long all three of them were on close terms. Childhood friends had married and moved away, and Harriet’s college friends were London based and she rarely saw any of them other than at a party or a wedding. Rosa filled a void Harriet hadn’t even realised was there until the night of the reunion. And it was a relief to confess her worries to someone sympathetic. Claire Foster was on a hospital waiting list for a minor operation, and the rambling old family house was in desperate need of repairs Harriet’s earnings as a translator couldn’t begin to cover.

‘Mother’s forced to sell the house,’ said Harriet one evening, over a meal in a wine bar.

‘What a hassle for her, especially if she’s not feeling well,’ said Rosa, frowning. ‘Does she mind?’

‘Yes. Desperately. It’s been the family home for generations. She adores it.’ Harriet leaned forward suddenly. ‘Those men over there, staring at us. Do you know them?’

Rosa favoured the riveted males with a basilisk stare, then turned back to Harriet, winking. ‘Just a couple of Romeos turned on by the resemblance.’

‘I doubt it,’ retorted Harriet. ‘We’re hardly a perfect match—me in my office gear, and you in those jeans. How you can breathe beats me, let alone sit down.’

‘It’s the cut, darling, they cost a fortune.’ Rosa flushed suddenly. ‘Sorry—tact was never my strong point.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Harriet, unperturbed.

Rosa looked at her steadily. ‘Actually, Harriet, I do. I worry a lot.’

‘About Pascal?’

‘All the time,’ admitted Rosa, sighing. ‘But in this instance I mean Claire, and you. What happens to your grandmother if you get a smaller place?’

‘She comes with us. At the moment she’s got selfcontained quarters upstairs, and we use the rest. But the idea of three of us cooped up together in some poky flat gives me nightmares!’ Harriet shrugged, depressed. ‘For some reason I’ve never been a favourite with Grandma. Kitty was her pet. But I’ve always felt unhappy—and guilty—because I find it so hard to love my grandmother, or even like her. Frankly, Rosa, she’s a difficult lady. Which is nothing to do with age—she always was. And now she’s bedridden and in pain quite a lot, poor dear, her fuse is even shorter.’

‘I suppose she hates the thought of a nursing home?’

‘Mother won’t hear of it.’

‘Your mother’s a saint!’ said Rosa emphatically.

‘More than you know. Heaven knows how she had patience with me when I was a teenager.’

‘I was no angel myself,’ said Rosa soberly. ‘But what was your problem?’

Harriet pulled a face. ‘It makes me embarrassed to think of it now. I’ve never told anyone—not even Guy.’

‘Who’s Guy?’ pounced Rosa.

‘Ex-boyfriend.’

‘Why ex?’

‘He’s Deputy Head at the school I taught at in Birmingham. When I left at the end of my first year to help Mother he objected, said I should put him first.’

‘So exit Guy! Any regrets?’

Harriet shrugged. ‘I missed him at first. Or maybe I just missed the social side and so on.’

‘Was he good at the ‘so on’?’ asked Rosa, smiling wickedly.

Harriet grinned back. ‘None of your business.’

‘Which means he wasn’t.’

‘If anyone was lacking in that department it was me, Rosa.’

‘No way,’ said Rosa emphatically, her big eyes sparkling. ‘Definitely Guy’s fault if he couldn’t ring your bell. Anyway, what were you going to tell me that you couldn’t tell him?’

Harriet pulled a face. ‘In my teens I got this bee in my bonnet, a fantasy about being adopted. I developed a real attitude—made my parents’ life a misery.’