uproarious, bringing a crate of assorted wine and a ghetto blaster blaring out heavy rock.
Fee had prepared an enormous bowl of spaghetti carbonara, which they ate in the dining room. Lucy winced as she saw Dave carelessly stub out his cigarette on the comer of the huge polished table.
‘What a fabulous place,’ Ben commented, leaning back in his chair. ‘You were damned lucky to find anywhere in this neck of the woods. When my parents first came out here looking for a holiday place, they found everything in the district belonged to a crowd called Falcone—bankers from Florence, by all accounts. And they weren’t prepared to part with one inch of land, or a single brick of property.’
‘Falcone?’ Lucy questioned, frowning. ‘How strange. There’s a carving of a bird like a falcon over the main door here. I wonder if there’s a connection?’
‘Lucy,’ Fee said patronisingly, ‘is heavily into old buildings. She notices things like that.’
Hal leaned forward. He was tall and blond, older than the others.
‘Maybe she could switch to the present day and notice me instead.’
He gave a mock leer, making everyone laugh, but Lucy noticed how his eyes lingered on her cleavage, and felt uncomfortable.
Ben picked up one of the bottles on the table. ‘Or we could all notice this—Chianti Roccanera—one of the Falcone local by-products.’ His voice took on a reverent tone. ‘Dad would kill me if he knew we’d helped ourselves to some of this.’
Nina raised her glass. ‘Then let’s drink a toast to Ben’s father, and all the Falcones, including the one over the door,’ she said lazily. ‘And our landlord, Tomasso Moressi, who managed somehow to beat the system.’
When supper was finished, they rolled up the rugs in the salotto and danced. Lucy found herself watching the pairing-off process with detached interest. That it was not going to be to everyone’s liking was more than evident.
Nina singled out Greg, with whom she’d been flirting on the plane and who was, apparently, unattached, so that was all right. But Ben’s girlfriend, Sue, was frankly mutinous watching him gyrate with a laughing Fee. And Sandie was blatantly intent on winning Dave away from Clare.
Aware that Hal was heading in her direction, Lucy decided hastily that she would be better employed in clearing the remains of the meal. The dining room looked as if a bomb had hit it, she thought ruefully as she collected the dirty plates. Food had been spilled. A puddle of wine had collected on the table from an overturned bottle and dripped onto the floor. A lamp on a side-table had been knocked over and damaged, and one of the beautiful crystal goblets had been smashed.
And the kitchen was even worse. Fee seemed to have used every pan and bowl to concoct her spaghetti. Lucy sighed soundlessly, tucked a towel round her waist, and set to work.
The noise of the party seemed to be receding, and presently she heard splashing and laughter coming from outside. When she went to investigate, she found them all down at the poolside.
It was a warm, sultry night, with the sky blazing with stars. The ornamental lamps had been lit, and someone had changed the cassette for one with music of a slower, dreamier tempo.
Greg and Nina were dancing slowly, as if they were welded together. He was kissing the side of her neck, pushing down the straps of her dress as he did so.
Fee and Sandie were in the water with Ben and Dave, obviously skinny-dipping, their discarded clothing lying in untidy heaps on the tiled surround. Sue’s face was frozen as she watched them, and Clare was biting her lip, close to angry tears.
There’s going to be trouble, Lucy deduced resignedly. And I don’t really want to be involved.
As she turned to go, she found Hal blocking her way.
‘Running out on us?’
Lucy lifted her chin. ‘I’ve had a bad day. I think I’ll go to bed.’
‘What a wonderful idea.’ He gave her a slow, meaningful smile. ‘I’ll keep you company.’
She didn’t return the smile. ‘I think you’d do better to stay with your friends,’ she said evenly. She nodded towards Sue and Clare. ‘Some of them don’t seem very happy.’
‘They can look after themselves,’ he dismissed. ‘I’ve been watching you all evening. You’re a bit of a dark horse, Lucy.’ His eyes slid over her, making her feel as naked as the revellers in the pool. ‘So, what’s your story?’
She took his hand from her arm. ‘I haven’t one. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go.’
‘Oh, but I do mind.’ His voice hardened slightly. ‘Whatever the lads get up to tonight, tomorrow it’ll be kiss and make up with Sue and Clare. I’ve seen it all before. I’m sticking with you. You intrigue me.’
‘I’m afraid it isn’t mutual.’ Lucy’s tone was icy. She turned away, seeking another means of retreat, but Hal grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her round to face the others.
‘The lady wants to leave,’ he announced. ‘What do you say?’
‘Oh, let her go,’ called Fee. ‘Winters by name, wintry by nature,’ she added with a giggle. ‘She’s no loss.’
‘No, chuck her in here.’ Ben’s voice was slurred. ‘Serve her right for being a spoilsport.’
‘But don’t ruin her pretty dress,’ Greg added, leering, and Nina began to laugh.
‘Off, off, off,’ she chanted, and the others joined in, only Sue and Clare maintaining a tight-lipped silence.
Lucy froze as she felt Hal’s hands, odiously familiar, fumbling for her zip. Felt her dress beginning to slide from her shoulders.
‘No.’ Frantically, she kicked backwards, her sandal heel connecting smartly with his shin. He swore and his grip slackened fractionally—momentarily.
It was enough. Lucy pulled free and ran round the pool towards the sheltering darkness of the garden, desperation lending her speed, in spite of her aches and pains.
She had some crazy idea of trying to reach the car parked at the side of the house. But there was something blocking her way again. Or someone, her mind registered helplessly as she was captured and held.
Greg must have cut her off. At the very least, she was going to be stripped and thrown into the water, and every fibre of her being recoiled in revulsion from the thought.
‘Let me go.’ She began to struggle fiercely, punching and clawing at the imprisoning arms. ‘I said, leave me be, damn you.’
‘Sta’ zitto.’ The low voice was grimly familiar. ‘Shut up, you little fool, and be still.’
‘You?’ Lucy stared up at the dark, patrician face, and her voice cracked with relief, and another, less easily recognisable emotion, as she acknowledged, ‘It’s you.’
Involuntarily, she found herself pressing against him and burying her face in his chest as she drew a shuddering breath.
For
