An Italian Engagement

‘If she does she never says so,’ he said, so brusquely Abby changed the subject.

‘Did you find out anything about Gianni’s mystery lady?’

‘Not a damn thing. I wish to God I had. If she’s someone’s wife there’ll be all kinds of hell to pay.’

‘Do you think that’s likely?’

‘On one hand I doubt it. Gianni’s a good Catholic boy, remember, also very wary of bad publicity. But he’s also young, Italian, and madly in love. So who knows?’

‘Do you think he’ll tell you eventually?’

‘Not with my mother around. Besides, I’m leaving shortly. I have this important appointment to keep next Sunday, remember. I’ll come for you at twelve.’ He paused. ‘It’s going to be a long week until then, Abby. Goodnight, sleep well.’

The moment she disconnected, her phone rang again.

‘Abby, at last! You’ve been engaged for ages. I know it’s late but your mother said you were back tonight, and I couldn’t wait.’

‘Rachel? You sound a bit wired. Is something wrong?’

‘No. Something’s beautifully, wonderfully right! I’m engaged—third time lucky, and this time it really is the real thing.’

Abby’s heart sank. Rachel Kent had been her friend since nursery school in Stavely, but she was also the one who most often needed Abby’s shoulder to cry on when the latest ‘real thing’ went wrong. ‘Tell me all about it, then. Who is he this time?’

Rachel gave a bubbling little laugh. ‘It’s Sam.’

Abby frowned. ‘Sam who?’

‘Sam Talbot, of course—now, be nice. Don’t laugh, Abby.’

‘I’m not laughing, just surprised.’ Rachel had been engaged to Sam first time round. ‘So when did this happen?’

‘Today. The proposal, I mean. We met again at that wedding last month and I’ve been seeing him quite a lot since, but I didn’t tell you—or anyone else—in case nothing came of it.’ Rachel heaved an ecstatic sigh. ‘Sam kept my ring all this time, Abby, isn’t that romantic?’

‘Absolutely. Mind you hang on to it this time.’

‘I certainly will! Look, Abby, we’re having a family lunch party at home to celebrate next Sunday, which is why I had to catch you the minute you got back. I know you’re busy this time of year, but we arranged it especially for Sunday so you could be there.’

Abby winced. ‘Rachel, I’m so sorry. I can’t. I’m already booked that day.’

‘Oh, Abby! Anyway, no problem. Bring this Silas of yours with you. Promise you’ll come. You didn’t make it to the other engagement parties, and this one is really important. Please, please say yes, Abby.’

‘Oh, all right, Rachel, I’ll be there,’ said Abby, resigned. ‘But no Silas. He’s history.’

‘Really? When did that happen?’

‘When Sadie left to live with Tom. Silas took it for granted he could move in with me instead. I turned him down flat and he got quite nasty.’

‘He didn’t hit you or anything?’ demanded Rachel fiercely.

‘No. He just tried to rush me off to bed to show what I’d be missing.’

‘Pig! You threw him out?’

‘After a ludicrous little scuffle, yes. He keeps ringing me to grovel, and he’s called round twice since, but I told him to get lost.’

‘Good for you. Anyway, forget about Silas, love. I’ll line up someone exciting for you instead.’

Rachel brushed away Abby’s urgent protests, eager to know all about the new baby and the trip to Italy, until Abby stemmed the flow at last by congratulating her friend again before she rang off.

Abby looked at the kitchen clock, wondering if she should ring Max now. No. Better to leave it until tomorrow. Right now her disappointment was so intense she might even get tearful if she tried to tell him Sunday lunch was cancelled. And she didn’t want him to know quite how much she’d been looking forward to seeing him again.

* * *

Next day was hectic as Abby caught up on correspondence and lent a hand with the summer brochures for the following year. Simon Hadley was delighted with the success of Abby’s trip to the Villa Falcone, and asked, not for the first time, if she’d changed her mind about deserting him. Since he already had someone lined up for her job, Abby just laughed, and soon became knee-deep in arrangements for the concert on the following Saturday. It was so late by the time she got home she rang her mother the moment she was through the door.

‘You must be shattered, darling,’ said Isabel.

‘It was hard going today,’ admitted Abby. ‘Anyway, are you all set for your trip tomorrow? Be warned, that sofa of Domenico’s isn’t too comfortable.’

‘He wanted me to use his private apartment at the Forli Palace Hotel. His parents did that, but I don’t fancy it on my own. I’m not going to be there long so I suggested sharing Isabella’s room if he could put up some kind of folding bed in it.’

‘Brilliant idea. She’ll love that.’

‘By the way, I heard all about Bella’s special outing to Florian’s with Mamma and Papa. Well done, Auntie—did Marco behave for you?’

‘He was rather rowdy at one stage,’ Abby admitted, laughing. ‘But after I changed his nappy—I hope you’re impressed—I walked him around for a bit, and he settled down in the end. My rendition of “Mull of Kintyre” put him out cold.’

Isabel chuckled. ‘Thanks for the tip. You sound tired, darling, so have an early night. I’ll ring when I get there, of course. And come down for a weekend the minute you leave your job. I’ve hardly seen anything of you for months.’

Abby promised, wished her mother bon voyage, and ate her supper before making the call to Max. To her intense frustration his mobile number was unobtainable and the only response from his house was a recorded message in two languages. He was probably playing chess with Aldo the builder, or happy families with Gianni and his mother. Or whoever. Max Wingate’s social life was none of her business.

* * *

Next day was equally hectic, with overtime necessary to make up for a couple of hours off in the afternoon for a job interview. Abby got home late again, to find a message from Isabel, reporting safe arrival. After a long, hot bath Abby felt too weary to bother to dress again, and got into the camisole and briefs she slept in. She poached an egg for her supper and curled up on the sofa in her dressing gown to watch television, tired and yawning, but still too restless to go to bed. It was surprisingly hard to come back to earth after the Italian adventure. When the doorbell rang she leapt up irritably, in no mood for visitors. If it was Silas Wood he could just go away again. She snatched up the entry phone receiver to tell him that, and almost dropped it when she heard Max Wingate’s voice.

‘Abby? I should have rung first, but I took a chance on finding you in.’

‘Max? What on earth are you doing here?’ she said blankly.

‘Standing outside the street door. Are you alone?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Let me in, then. I’ve come a long way to see you.’

Casting a despairing look at her outfit, Abby pressed the release button, and fled to her bedroom to use a lipstick before she opened the door to a very different Max from the one who’d kissed her goodbye in Perugia. He seemed bigger than she remembered, his sleek hair was tousled, he needed a shave, and he looked altogether tougher and more formidable in jeans, boots and a leather jacket. In the face of such overpowering testosterone, Abby stared at him speechlessly.

Max smiled down into her startled eyes, fighting the urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. ‘Hello, Abby. Sorry it’s so late.’