A Rumoured Engagement

‘I’ve spent most of the day in the sun.’

‘How was your walk to the village?’

‘It didn’t happen. Serafina and son went off in the car with my shopping list and saved me a trip.’ She stretched a little. ‘So I’ve done nothing all day.’

Luke sighed theatrically. ‘While I’ve spent my time chasing round a large part of Tuscany winkling out unusual top quality beverages I can sell at reasonable prices and still make a profit’

She grinned up at him. ‘But you succeeded. You’ve got that satisfied look about you—the hunter home from the hill with the best catch.’

‘I acquired some pretty impressive merchandise today. One so-called table wine is a real world-beater. I’ve got several customers waiting for it—’ He stopped, laughing. ‘Sorry. My hobby-horse tends to run away with me. By the way,’ he added, making for the door, ‘if you don’t feel like cooking we can always eat out somewhere. There’s a trattoria the other side of—’

‘Certainly not,’ said Saskia indignantly. ‘I’ve been slaving away most of the day over our meal, I’d have you know.’

‘I thought you said you’d been out in the sun.’

‘Not all day,’ she said demurely.

Luke leaned against one of the arches. ‘So what should I be opening in the way of wine?’

‘I’ve been reading your book on the subject,’ she said smugly. ‘I had a rummage down in the cellar, and some of your Dolcetto from Piedmont would be just the ticket. So I brought a bottle up. I’ll open it while you’re in the bath.’

‘What are we having?’

‘Wait and see!’

Luke gave her an amused, considering look, then excused himself and went off whistling into the house. When he returned, half an hour later, in khaki trousers and another of his thin white shirts, Saskia was sitting at the table on the terrace with an opened bottle and two glasses on the table beside her.

‘I could get used to this very easily,’ he remarked, and poured wine into the glasses before letting himself down beside her with a sigh. ‘An evening with stars and a rising moon, with just that hint of cold to warn us to enjoy it while we may—and a beautiful woman for company. One, moreover, who is also providing dinner. I usually eat out when I’m here on my own.’

‘I suppose you know a lot of people in the area.’ She revolved the wine in her glass and sniffed deeply before tasting it, secretly much gratified by the compliment.

‘I do. What do you think of the wine?’

‘Lovely. Soft and very fruity.’

‘And fairly alcoholic,’ he warned.

‘Don’t worry. I never drink more than two glasses of anything.’ Her smile was sardonic. ‘Even after my experience with Francis I consoled myself with chocolate, not alcohol.’

Luke was silent for a while. ‘As must be perfectly obvious, Saskia, I burn with curiosity on this particular subject. And not just because I brought you and Lawford together, either.’

‘All right,’ said Saskia briskly. ‘After dinner I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.’

Luke turned his head to look at her in the dusk. ‘What story?’

‘You and Zoë. I thought you two were headed for the altar.’ She smiled at his raised eyebrows. ‘She’s the only one you ever brought to Christmas in Oxford. Mother was planning her wedding outfit.’

‘It’s a very short story,’ he said dismissively. ‘Not even very interesting. But, if you want to hear it, why not? Though you’ve never shown much interest in my private life before.’

‘Nor you in mine,’ she retorted, then bit her lip. Be nice, she told herself.

‘Then perhaps it’s time we started. Who knows?’ he said lightly. ‘We might be able to steer each other away from future trouble.’

Later, in the kitchen, Luke sat at the table Saskia had laid ready for dinner, watching as she slid the ravioli into boiling water and set a small pan of butter to heat.

‘You can cut some bread if you like,’ she remarked, while she stood, eyes glued to her watch. ‘I need to time these exactly.’

‘I never realised you were so skilled in the kitchen,’ said Luke, slicing the loaf thickly.

‘I loved helping Mother as soon as I was big enough to stand up without falling over.’ Saskia smiled at him over her shoulder. ‘Nonna—my grandmother—too. I had some steps I used to drag round the kitchen so I could reach the table. They both used to let me play with the left-over pasta dough, and my grandfather would eat the horrible little grey bits when it was cooked. It was a very useful skill later, when Mother was delayed in the shop in my schooldays. I often started the dinner once my homework was done. Especially when my grandparents came here to live at Villa Rosa.’

‘It’s a pity your grandmother didn’t have longer to enjoy it,’ said Luke quietly.

Saskia nodded, threw a handful of sage leaves into the butter, then drained the ravioli in a colander in the sink. ‘But she loved it while she was alive. Then Grandad came home to England to live with his sister, and made this place over to Mother.’

‘How is he?’

‘Fine. He enjoys a game of golf still, and likes pottering about in Aunt Cora’s garden, and they belong to a bridge club. And quarrel a lot—and enjoy it.’ Saskia set two plates on the table, then the ravioli garnished with the butter sauce. ‘Right. Let’s eat. I thought something filling would go down well for the first course.’

Luke needed no second bidding. He ate in silent concentration for a while, then looked at her with deep respect. ‘This is wonderful. What’s in the sauce?’

‘Nothing much. Butter, sage and so on. Serafina sent me some fresh herbs from her garden. But the next course, I warn you, is cold. I took you at your word.’ Saskia took their plates, then brought out a platter of thinly sliced turkey, ham and salami, along with a salad of ripe red tomatoes and mozzarella cheese dressed with the local olive oil and Serafina’s basil.

Luke professed himself just as happy with the second course as the first, and chatted easily during the meal about his recent visit to Bordeaux at harvest time, followed by his trip to the Rassegna del Chianti Classico—the biggest celebration of local wines in Tuscany. Before that, he told her, there had been a visit to New Zealand in the spring, and he went on to describe the prodigious tasting sessions he’d enjoyed at the various wineries there. Saskia listened enviously—something he remarked on after a while.

‘You’re an amazingly good audience, Saskia.’ He smiled. ‘You and I have never spent very long in conversation together before. Without Marina and Dad and the twins, I mean.’

‘No.’ She returned the smile ruefully. ‘But I’m consumed with envy. I never realised what an interesting life you lead. A lot more interesting than mine.’

‘Then make a change.’

‘I may, at that. I’ll start looking when I get back.’

They finished the meal with figs and cheese, then cleared away together. When the big, uncluttered kitchen was tidy, Saskia made coffee and they took it outside to drink on the terrace. The moon was high in the sky now, but the air was chilly, and Saskia went to her room for a sweater before joining Luke, who was leaning in one of the archways, his eyes on the scene before him. Up here on the hill they could have been suspended in moonlit space. The village below was hidden in a veil of mist which warned that summer was almost over.

‘Other-worldly, isn’t it?’ she said softly as she stood beside him, looking up into his absorbed face. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘That I smell change in the air.’

Saskia nodded. ‘Serafina says the cold weather’s about to arrive.’

‘Does she, now? That settles it. Excuse me a minute, Sassy. I have to ring someone.’

‘Right.’ She sat down and poured herself a coffee, while Luke went off to get his cell-phone. He left his bedroom door open, and she could hear him talking to someone, the words indistinguishable but the urgency unmistakable. Then after a few minutes’ conversation he laughed uproariously, and she relaxed. Nothing, it seemed, was wrong. Whoever he was talking to.

When Luke rejoined her, also wearing a sweater, he let himself down onto the wicker sofa beside her and accepted a cup of coffee with thanks. ‘That’s a relief. I was talking to Tom Harley, Joe’s nephew.’

‘In California?’ she said in surprise.