An Italian Engagement

‘So far there’s been nothing I can’t handle, mainly because I do my research in advance.’ She eyed him questioningly. ‘The glorious voice apart, I don’t know much about your brother.’

Max shrugged. ‘Gianni’s got his feet firmly on the ground. He enjoys the adulation and the fuss women make over him, but he won’t give you any trouble.’

‘You’re obviously fond of him.’

‘It’s hard not to be fond of Gianni.’ He gave her a sidelong glance as Todi rose into view on its hill. ‘We’re almost there. So, Miss Abigail Green, now you’ve got the business part over, let me show you something of the city tonight. I’ll introduce you to some local cuisine afterwards.’

Abby stared at him in surprise. She had expected him to drop her at the hotel and take to his heels in relief, his rescue mission over. But she was utterly delighted by the idea. A meal alone in her room was no competition for dinner in Todi with a man like Max Wingate. ‘Thank you, I’d love to see something of the town.’

He smiled. ‘Good. Afterwards we can eat formally at the Ristorante Umbria, or more casually over pasta at the Cavour. Your choice.’

‘Casual, please,’ said Abby promptly. ‘But I’ll need half an hour to change.’

‘I’ll wait for you in the bar. Give me your car keys. I’ll hand them over to the manager.’

Max watched her hurry away before he sought out the manager. He chatted with him for a while, and then settled at the bar with a glass of beer, prepared to wait a lot longer than half an hour. Not that he minded. Abigail Green was worth waiting for. When a frantic female had materialised in front of him on a road where he normally never saw a soul, he’d played hell with her from pure fright, because he could so easily have killed her. Then he’d taken a good look at her and thanked God his tirade had been in Italian. If she’d understood a word of it he’d have had fat chance of persuading her to spend the evening with him. And just the short time he’d spent in her company so far had whetted his appetite for more.

* * *

The room Domenico had arranged for Abby looked out over the hotel gardens and swimming pool, but for the moment her interest was centred solely on the bathroom. She showered at top speed, and to save time made brief phone calls to her mother and Laura while she dried her hair and did her face. At last, in a sleeveless black dress as simple as a T-shirt, she hung long amber drops in her ears and went downstairs, prepared to enjoy her evening out in Todi with a man who attracted her far more than any man she’d met in a long time. If ever.

Max walked into the foyer just as Abby appeared, and gave a heartfelt vote of thanks to fate as he smiled down at the glowing face framed in a glossy fall of hair almost as dark as his brother’s. ‘A woman of her word,’ he commented, tapping his watch. ‘Dead on time. Are you still up for a stroll before dinner?’

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Abby assured him. ‘My brother-in-law says it’s a very interesting city.’

‘He’s right.’ Seized by an overpowering need to touch her, he put a hand under her elbow as they walked to the car, wondering if she felt anything like the same jolt of heat as her bare skin came in contact with his fingers. ‘Todi’s big on walls, three concentric rings of them—medieval, Etruscan and Roman, with some magnificent ancient gates. But the Rome jet-set is fast catching up with Todi. Some of its medieval houses have been restored as weekend getaways.’

‘Your brother didn’t fancy one of those?’

He shook his head. ‘Gianni inherited the Villa Falcone from his father, complete with Rosa and her crew to look after him when he’s home from his travels. And when his presence is demanded in Venice he enjoys more pampering there from his mamma.’ He gave an approving glance at her flat gold sandals. ‘The streets are mostly cobbled, but I see you’re prepared for it.’

She nodded with enthusiasm. ‘The only part of Italy I’ve visited before is Venice.’

He smiled down at her as he held the car door open. ‘You’ll enjoy the contrast. We’ll park near the Piazza Oberdan. From there it’s a short climb to the church of San Fortunato and the best view of the city.’

Abby’s day had started early in Venice, with a ride by water taxi followed by several hours by rail before the ill-fated drive from Todi. But all that seemed a long way behind her as she explored the ancient, beautiful city with Max Wingate. The pace of life there seemed so much slower that Abby could literally feel herself unwinding as they came down from San Fortunato to wander through streets which Max told her had changed little in appearance or purpose for centuries. They looked at so much beautiful architecture as they strolled that by the time they reached the basilica in the Piazza del Populo Abby’s action-packed day had caught up with her and she agreed gratefully when Max suggested they walk down the Corso Cavour in search of dinner.

‘For your information, Todi’s medieval piazza is one of the most famous in Italy,’ he told her as they reached the restaurant.

‘I can well believe it. Todi’s a delightful place. I only wish I could stay here longer,’ she said with a sigh.

‘Come back when you have more time.’

‘I’d certainly like to,’ she said to be polite, but knew that it was unlikely. Any trips to Italy meant Venice and a stay with Laura, Domenico and Isabella. Plus the new baby.

‘Your eyes lit up like lamps just then,’ commented Max as they were shown to a table beside a screen of greenery. ‘What—or who—were you thinking about?’ He hoped like hell it wasn’t some man.

‘Marco, my nephew, and his sister Isabella,’ said Abby, smiling. ‘It was hard to tear myself away from them this morning.’

‘The only baby I’ve ever had much to do with was Gianni. But I was ten when he was born, and resented him pretty fiercely at the time. What sort of wine do you like?’ Max added as a waiter handed out menus.

‘Something dry and white, please—and some mineral water on the side.’ Abby smiled crookedly as the waiter hurried off. ‘This afternoon, stranded on your terrifying road, Mr Wingate, I would have sold my soul for water—for me and the car.’

His mouth tightened. ‘In the circumstances it’s lucky I’d arranged to play chess with Aldo Zanini. What the hell would you have done if I hadn’t turned up?’

A chess game, then, not a date with some local signorina. Taken aback by how much that pleased her, Abby shrugged. ‘Not much choice. I would have hiked—or climbed—the rest of the way. I had no idea I was on the wrong road, remember. What would you have done if I’d collapsed at your door, gasping for water?’

‘Counted my blessings,’ he assured her, giving her that smile again. ‘Other than Renata on her bicycle, no woman ever makes it up to my place. But you’re welcome any time, Abigail Green.’

The smile faded to something which made her pulse race as the dark eyes held hers, then the waiter arrived with wine and Max turned back to the menu. ‘What would you like to eat? They do a good tagliatelle al tartufo here—pasta with truffles.’

‘Sounds wonderful,’ she said promptly. ‘Though I’d probably fancy anything they cared to put in front of me—I had to skip lunch.’

‘Truffle pasta for two, then.’

After some olives and a mouthful of cold dry wine Abby felt considerably better, and settled down to enjoy the kind of evening which rarely came her way during the summer season. ‘So, Mr Wingate. When you’re not on retreat in your eagle’s nest where do you live?’

‘In Gloucestershire, in a town called Pennington. I own a house within walking distance of my office building—why the smile?’

She chuckled. ‘Would you believe I went to school in Pennington? I was brought up not far away from there in Stavely.’

Max shook his head in wonder. ‘So you’re a girl from the Shires—small world. But you’re obviously based in London now.’

‘And run home to Stavely every chance I get! You told me you’re an architect, but what kind of work does your firm do?’ asked Abby.

‘We design large-scale buildings, mainly, but we also do individual work for people with specific requirements, like a recent client left partially paralysed after a road accident. I worked with him to modify his house, and now he can cope with everything in it from his wheelchair.’

‘That must be a very satisfying thing to do,’ she said, impressed.

‘It is.’ He smiled wryly. ‘But I also do an increasing amount for clients brave—or mad—enough to invest in romantic ruins. My house out here is a good advertisement,’ he said, topping up her glass. ‘What led you into your kind of work?’

She shrugged. ‘Fate, I suppose—coupled with a love of music. I read English at university, took a further business studies course after that, and while I applied for jobs I worked at the local stately home.’

‘Do they get many graduates on their staff?’

Abby nodded. ‘Quite a few in summer. But I had a foot in the door because I’d worked there before in vacations. The summer I graduated I helped out with a series of open-air concerts at the house, and got on very well with Simon Hadley, the events organiser. His permanent assistant left to have a baby before the end of the season and to my surprise he asked if I’d like the job. But after four seasons I feel it’s time to move on. I finish in a couple of weeks.’

He eyed her narrowly. ‘I thought you promised to see Gianni next summer!’

She flushed. ‘I will see him. I’ll be there at the concerts, but someone else will take care of him.’

Max shook his head in mock reproof. ‘You mean you strung him along to make him sign on the dotted line.’

‘I was acting under instructions from Simon,’ she said firmly. ‘But I wasn’t lying. I’ll definitely be in the audience when he sings.’

‘But you won’t be Gianni’s nursemaid.’ He leaned nearer. ‘How do you know I won’t betray your secret?’

She met his eyes squarely. ‘I don’t. Will you?’