An Engagement Of Convenience

Harriet’s youthful angst had been aggravated by her sister’s teasing. Their father, Alan Foster, had been large and fair, like a throwback to some Viking invader—and Kitty was his image—while their tall, willowy mother had the chestnut hair and pale complexion of her own father.

‘And then there was me,’ said Harriet. ‘Black hair and eyes, olive skin, and a head shorter than anyone else in the family. And at the mercy of teenage hormones. Kitty used to tease so much that I was a changeling, I began to believe it.’

‘But you weren’t adopted, surely!’

‘No, of course I wasn’t.’ Harriet grinned sheepishly. ‘Quite apart from the gruesome birth details Mother gave me when I was older, I’ve got a perfectly valid birth certificate confirming my pedigree. My looks are just some peculiar freak of genetics.’

Rosa was quiet for a moment. ‘Talking of Kitty,’ she said slowly, ‘I know it’s none of my business, but couldn’t she help a bit, financially?’

‘Not a chance. Kit’s husband started up his own business recently, they’ve got a hefty bank loan, and she’s pregnant, which means giving up her own job.’ Harriet changed the subject swiftly. ‘Anyway, enough of that. Tell me about Pascal. Still no news of him?’

Which was the question which had landed her where she was right now, thought Harriet despairingly, as her destination loomed nearer. Pascal Tavernier, it became plain as the weeks went by with no word, had left Rosa flat, without even the grace to tell her to her face.

‘Since that last phone call, saying he was off to the Middle East, I haven’t heard a word,’ said Rosa unsteadily. ‘And this morning, to cap it all, I got a letter from my grandmother, asking me to Tuscany for her eightieth birthday. I used to spend my summer holidays there at one time, but I haven’t been back for years.’

‘Why not?’ asked Harriet curiously.

Rosa sighed. ‘I was in my “rebel without a cause” stage, and Nonna’s an autocrat of the first water. I behaved badly, did something she couldn’t forgive. So I was expelled from Eden. Told to go home and stay there until I’d repented of my sins.’

‘What did you do, for heaven’s sake?’

Rosa was silent for a moment. ‘I fibbed a bit,’ she said at last, ‘about Pascal being my first real love. At one time I had a terrific crush on my cousin, Leo. You know I’m half Welsh, half Italian. Leo’s the Italian connection, a Fortinari, like my mother. He runs the family vineyards.’

‘And?’

‘I cringe to think of it, now, but I used to follow Leo round like a puppy. I was a much bigger nuisance than you ever were, Harriet, believe me.’

‘But no response from Leo, I take it.’

‘Not a flicker. So I decided to make him jealous by flirting with someone else. Leo was ten years older than me, and seriously unimpressed. Things got a bit out of hand at that point, so Nonna sent me home in disgrace.’ Rosa shuddered involuntarily. ‘When my parents died she was too ill with grief to come to the funeral, but she’s been writing to me regularly since, and now, just when the timing’s all wrong for me, she wants me in Fortino at last, to celebrate her birthday.’ She sighed, and thrust a hand through her heavy hair. ‘Harriet, I can’t tell you how much I long to make my peace with Nonna. But I can’t go.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not until I’ve heard from Pascal.’ Rosa swallowed, suddenly deathly pale. ‘Sorry—need a cloakroom.’ She bolted, leaving Harriet staring after her in consternation.

Rosa was a long time in returning. When she slid into her seat at last her face was ashen and desperate, a look of such intense misery in her eyes Harriet put out a hand to cover hers.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said gently. ‘Is it Pascal?’

Rosa took in a deep, shaky breath. ‘Serves me right, I suppose. Since Leo I’ve always called the tunes where men are concerned. But not this time. Pascal’s obviously forgotten all about me.’

Harriet squeezed her hand. ‘In which case, Rosa Mostyn, cross him off the list. Forget him.’

‘Easier said than done,’ said Rosa, with an unsteady smile. ‘Pascal’s left me something to remember him by.’

Harriet stared in dismay. ‘You mean—?’

Rosa nodded desolately. ‘I’m expecting Pascal’s baby. I’ve tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But I can’t ignore it anymore. And because I left the Villa Castiglione under a bit of a cloud, no way am I going back showing signs of being pregnant. If I had Pascal in tow as the prospective father, of course, it would be different But not alone. Not like this,’ she added hopelessly.

‘Does your brother know?’ asked Harriet, frowning.

‘No way. Tony would go up like a rocket. In any case his wife Allegra’s about to produce their first any minute, and she’s not well. My little problem is the last thing either of them needs right now.’

Harriet’s grasp tightened. ‘Rosa, I’m so sorry. What can I do to help?’

Rosa’s imploring black eyes locked with Harriet’s. ‘Will you go to Italy in my place? Pretend to be me for a weekend?’

‘What?’ Harriet pulled her hand away, staring at Rosa incredulously. ‘You’re joking!’

‘You’re the only one who could do it,’ said Rosa rapidly. ‘You look like me, you speak Italian fluently. And no one there has seen me for years, except at the funeral earlier this year. And that day my face was so blotched and swollen with crying I was unrecognizable anyway.’ She leaned forward urgently. ‘If you’ll do this for me, Harriet, I’ll pay for Claire’s operation, get the repairs done on your house, and get someone in on a permanent daily basis to help with your grandmother.’

‘Not on your life!’ Harriet jumped up, her face rigid with offence. ‘Some things you just can’t buy, Rosa.’

Outside in the street Rosa caught Harriet by the arm. ‘Please don’t be angry. I can’t bear it.’ She sighed heavily ‘Look, for weeks I’ve been trying to find a way to help you and Claire, but I knew you wouldn’t accept money from me. I hate to see your mother so unwell and exhausted. You, too, working by day, and helping with your grandmother at night. So look on this as a simple equation. You need money. I’ve got a lot of it. All I ask from you is two or three days spent at the Villa Castiglione as Rosa Mostyn. I’ll provide the clothes and everything else you’ll need. In return I’ll ask my brother to send the Chesterton Hotel maintenance people over to your place, and I’ll get your mother into hospital right away.’

Harriet, incensed, had refused point-blank. But later on Rosa found an unexpected ally in Claire Foster. After listening to Rosa’s sad little story, instead of supporting her daughter in her indignation, Claire reminded Harriet that it wasn’t so long since she’d complained about the uneventfulness of life back in Pennington.

‘Sounds like fun,’ she said wistfully. ‘In your place, darling, I’d do it like a shot. What an adventure!’

‘And a profitable one for the Fosters, of course,’ said Harriet tardy.

Claire winced, and Rosa rushed to put her arms around her, glaring at Harriet. ‘How can you say such a hurtful thing to your mother? But even if it’s true, why not? You’re lucky you’ve still got a mother. You should jump at the chance to do this for her—’ And to Harriet’s dismay Rosa began to sob bitterly, burying her head on Claire’s shoulder.

Harriet felt like a criminal as her mother comforted Rosa, and let her cry. But after a while Rosa sat up, scrubbed at her eyes, and apologized, sniffing hard.

‘Sorry for the drama, folks. Hormones in a twist. Anyway it was a damn fool idea, Harriet. Forget it,’ She turned to Claire. ‘Look, you know I’ve become very fond of you both. So let me pay for the operation and the repairs anyway, Claire. Please. No strings. Except to let me come here now and then.’

‘Wouldn’t your brother object to a spot of moonlighting by his maintenance people?’ said Harriet dryly.

Rosa scrubbed at her mascara stains. ‘Not in the least, as long as I keep on making my Mostyn presence felt at both hotels while his attention’s on Allegra. Tony owes me.’

On her return home in disgrace from Italy Rosa’s penance had been a job at the Hermitage, the lavish Mostyn hotel in the country. Outraged by his mother-in-law’s letter, which caused a rift never to be healed, Huw Mostyn put Rosa to work as kitchen help at first, and from there she worked her way upwards through various jobs until her father finally sent her on a management course she took to like a duck to water.

‘Rosa,’ said Claire gently, ‘why has it taken so long for your grandmother to want you back?’

‘Because I flatly refused to repent and apologize,’ said Rosa, biting her lip. ‘Besides, after being packed off home like that I just couldn’t face going back again. I did repent in time, but by then it was far too late to apologize, stubborn fool that I am.’

Harriet jumped up as her grandmother’s bell rang. ‘You stay there, Mother.’

Enid Morris, as usual, wanted Claire, but Harriet explained that her mother was tired, saw to her grandmother’s most intimate needs, settled her back in bed with her book and her spectacles, doled out her pills, placed a drink in exactly the right place, found the right channel on the television, then rearranged the pillows several times until the invalid was grudgingly satisfied. Harriet went downstairs afterwards deep in thought. Her mother, in poor health herself, performed these same tasks dozens of times a day, and not only coped with a querulous invalid, but with the laundry, shopping, and cooking that went with the job. Harriet felt sudden shame. All that was needed, to make life a little easier all round, was a trip to the Italy she adored, pretending to be Rosa Mostyn for a couple of days. As only Harriet Foster was equipped to do.

Harriet paused at the foot of the stairs, looking into the hall mirror. She stared hard and long at her reflection, which, she couldn’t deny, was a mirror image of Rosa’s. She lingered outside the sitting room door, listening to Rosa talking to Claire, and even to her own hypercritical ear, she could have been listening to herself. Both of them had husky voices, with a distinctive little catch that Guy Warren, in a fit of frustrated rage, had once termed misleading because it was so sexy.

Harriet waited a minute longer, then thrust open the door, and before she could change her mind, said, ‘All right, Rosa, I’ll do it. I’m probably mad, and I’m sure to regret it, but as Mother said, it’s an adventure. As long as your grandmother isn’t harmed in any way by the switch, I’ll pretend to be her loving granddaughter for a day or two. But this is a one-off, Rosa. Afterward you’ll just have to tell her about the baby.’

CHAPTER TWO

HARRIET’S TENSION INCREASED as the purring Maserati turned off on a narrow road which wound up a hill in dizzying curves. Leonardo Fortinari drove his petrified passenger through an entrance flanked by stone pillars into the steep, tiered gardens of the Villa Castiglione, and stopped at the foot of well-worn steps leading to a balustraded terrace adorned with small, time-worn statues and stone urns spilling flowers. After a glance at her taut face he touched a hand fleetingly to her denim-clad knee.