the Armytage charm. Now, before you cast me out into the night, would you mind very much if I had the bath I was after earlier on?’
‘You’ve as much right to a bath and bed here as me,’ she said grudgingly. Then, abruptly, as much to her own surprise as his, offered to provide supper. ‘I’ve made some pasta. There’s enough for two. You can share it, if you like.’
He stared at her blankly for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’d like that very much, Sass-Saskia,’ he amended hurriedly at her scowl. ‘Give me half an hour to wash off the picturesque dust of Tuscany and I’ll be the perfect supper guest.’ He sketched a mocking bow. ‘And provide the obligatory bottle, of course. I left a fair selection here on my last visit.’
Saskia shrugged. ‘It’s a pretty ordinary meal, oh, Master of Wine. Not fit for your finest Barolo, or whatever.’
‘I’m sure I’ll find something appropriate.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Now I come to think of it, we’ve never shared a meal alone together before, little sister. Which calls for something special to mark the occasion.’
Saskia watched him go, frowning, then took off the towel and shook out her hair, gazing at the stars piercing the twilight sky. She had run away to the Villa Rosa to lick her wounds in private. But after three days of her own undiluted company she found she quite welcomed the prospect of a guest for dinner. Even in the shape of Luke Armytage.
In her uncluttered bedroom on the upper floor, where pale curtains moved gently at the open window, Saskia dried her hair, brushing it into the chin-length bell-like shape she’d paid a small fortune for the week before in London. Her departure had been hurried, with only a large canvas hold-all for luggage, which meant that her choice of clothes was limited. And because Luke had a maddening habit of looking just right at all times, Saskia discarded the jeans and sweatshirt she’d had ready in favour of a short, clinging dress in dark brown jersey with a plunging V-shaped neckline.
After three long days spent in Tuscan sunshine her olive skin was the colour of honey, and to show off her tan she thrust the sleeves up to her elbows, slid her bare feet into gilt thonged sandals, and added a few deft touches to her eyes and lips. When she went downstairs Luke was waiting for her on the terrace, dressed in pale trousers and a yellow shirt, his wet hair slicked back. Two large glasses and an opened bottle of wine waited on one of the tables.
‘I thought we might have some of this beforehand,’ he said, half filling the glasses.
Saskia took one from him with a word of thanks. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘To us,’ he said promptly, and swirled the wine in his glass, sniffing deeply. ‘Not bad,’ he pronounced, after tasting it.
She copied the process mockingly, took in a little air with the wine, and savoured the taste on her tongue. ‘Delicious. Not that I’m an expert like you. What is it?’
‘You mentioned pasta, which is what I meant to cook for myself tonight, so I looked out a local table wine. This one’s particularly good-note the fresh crimson tint. How would you describe the flavour?’
Saskia took another mouthful and waited for the aftertaste, which lingered long enough to tell her the wine was a good one. ‘Cherries?’
Luke nodded. ‘Clever girl. Juicy, bitter cherries, at that.’ He raised his glass again. ‘To my good fortune.’
‘You’ve run something really special to earth today?’
‘In a way.’ He gave her a leisurely top-to-toe inspection. ‘I meant I’m pleased to have an unexpected companion for dinner. And you look very special indeed, Sassy. Am I allowed to pay you compliments?’
‘The “special” part’s all right,’ she retorted, ‘but not the name.’
‘All right, Saskia. I won’t tease.’ He held out the bottle, but she shook her head.
‘I’ll leave it until we eat. Otherwise you’d have to cook the dinner.’
‘I can, easily,’ he assured her.
‘I know. You can do everything,’ she said, resigned. ‘Tonight, however, you’ll have to put up with my cuisine.’
‘Gladly!’
She eyed him suspiciously. ‘You’re being very nice to me tonight, Luke. Why?’
‘Does there have to be a reason?’
She looked away. ‘I thought my mother might have said something.’
He shook his head. ‘I haven’t spoken to Marina for some time. r’ve been on my usual treasure hunt. I only hope the business isn’t grinding to a halt in my absence.’
Lucius Armytage was a wine merchant, with two London-based shops and a mail-order service, all of them specialising in quality wines for the connoisseur. Although only in his mid thirties, he was a Master of Wine, a successful businessman, and the author of a book dedicated to bringing the pleasure of wine to a wider audience. And in the ten years since his father had married her mother he had always managed to rouse resentment in Saskia Ford.
Tonight, it seemed, despite the embarrassing incident earlier, Luke was favouring her with the easy charm he normally reserved for the rest of her sex.
‘You can stay here and watch the stars come out,’ she said, getting up. ‘Or you can come and watch while I put the meal together.’
Luke got up at once, and collected the glasses and wine. ‘That’s no choice, little sister.’
In the kitchen Saskia put a pan of sauce on to heat, and without being asked Luke put knives and forks on the table, found checked cotton napkins and talked easily of his travels in his constant search for quality wine to sell in his shops.
‘I’ve been in Piedmont-or Piemonte, whichever you like. Magnificent food, and wine to match.’
‘It must be a wonderful thing to have a satisfying job which takes you to such beautiful places,’ she said enviously, and plunged fresh ribbons of pasta into a pot of boiling water.
‘Don’t you enjoy your job?’ he said, surprised. ‘I thought life on the trading floor of your smart bank was the ultimate buzz.’
‘It was, once.’ Saskia shrugged. ‘Lately I’ve lost the taste for it. But I’ve got a mortgage to pay off, and so on, so I suppose I just have to stick at it. I’m not a City trader with a high salary, remember. I’ve been Charles Harrison’s PA for so long he takes me for granted, keeps delegating more and more to me-but enough of that. This is nearly ready.’
They sat down to steaming plates of pasta bathed in a tomato sauce perfumed with garlic and basil, and rich with mussels and prawns.
‘Ah,’ said Luke, sniffing the air with reverence as he poured the wine. ‘Marina’s special sauce.’ He shot a look at Saskia. ‘Did you make this?’
‘Of course. I made the pasta, too.’
They ate without talking for a while—Saskia’s hunger, for the first time in days, matching that of her unexpected visitor.
Luke paused to cut hunks off the loaf which lay nearby
