the wrong sort of people,’ he said, thinking of the father who’d selfishly cast her off, and the mother who’d made the child bear the burden of her grief. ‘Did your father totally reject you?’
‘No, he kept up a reasonable pretence when he couldn’t help it. I studied in Rome for a year. I chose that on purpose because I knew he’d have to take some notice of me. I even thought he might invite me to stay.’
‘But he didn’t?’
‘I was asked to dinner several times. His second wife sat and glared at me the whole time, but Olympia was always nice. We got quite friendly. After that my father sent me a cheque from time to time.’
‘Did he help you buy the shop?’
‘No, that was money I inherited from my mother’s father. I was able to buy the lease and some stock.’
‘Your father could have afforded to help you. He ought to have stood up to that woman.’
‘You mean his wife? Do you know her?’
‘And detest her. As do most people. Of course she was determined to keep you out. My poor girl. You never stood a chance.’
‘I guess I know that now. But at the time I thought I could win him over by doing well, learning languages, passing exams, being as Italian as possible.’
Marco was growing interested in her strange upbringing. He suspected it had moulded her into an unusual person.
‘Did you really think I was a bailiff?’ he asked curiously.
‘For a moment.’ She gave a gruff little laugh. ‘You’d think I’d know how to recognise them by now. I keep thinking things will get better—well, they do. But then they get bad again.’
‘But why? That shop should be a gold-mine. Your stock is first-rate. It’s true, you made a mistake about the necklace, but—’
‘I did not make—never mind. Sometimes I get on top of the figures, but then I see this really beautiful piece that I just have to have, and bang go all my calculations.’
‘Why not just sell up?’
‘Sell my shop? Never. It’s my life.’
He ran up a flag. ‘There’s more to life than antiques.’
She shot it down. ‘No, there isn’t.’
‘You seem very sure of that.’
‘It’s not just antiques, it’s—it’s the other worlds they open up. Vast horizons were you can see for thousands of years—’
She was away again. Recognising that it would be impossible to halt the flow until she was ready Marco settled for listening with the top part of his brain, while the rest considered her.
He’d grown more agreeably impressed as the evening wore on. She was an intriguing companion, intelligent, educated, even witty. It was a shame that she wasn’t beautiful—at least, he thought she probably wasn’t. It was hard to be sure when her hair shielded so much of her face. But her green eyes flashed fire when she spoke of the ‘other worlds’ that she loved, and in them was a kind of beauty.
Her lapses into gaucheness were hardly her fault. She’d been denied the chance to grow up in sophisticated society. A few trips to the discreetly luxurious shops on the Via dei Condotti would greatly improve her. He felt he had the basis for a deal that would be beneficial on both sides.
Harriet was bringing her passionate arguments to a conclusion. ‘You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?’ she asked anxiously.
‘You care passionately about your subject,’ he said. ‘That isn’t being crazy. It’s being lucky. So saving your shop means more to you than anything in the world, and perhaps I can help. How much would it take to extricate you from your difficulties?’
She named a large sum with the air of someone plunging into the deep end.
‘It’s a lot,’ Marco said wryly, ‘but not too much. I think we’re in a position to help each other. I can make you an interest-free loan that will solve your problems.’
‘But why should you?’
‘Because I want something in return.’
‘Naturally. But what?’
He hesitated. ‘You may find this suggestion a little unusual, but I’ve considered it carefully, and I assure you it makes sense for both of us. I want you to come to Rome with me, and be my mother’s guest for a while.’
‘Are you sure she’ll want that?’
‘She’ll be delighted. Your paternal grandmother was her dearest friend, and her hope is that our families can become united. In short, she’s trying to arrange my marriage.’
‘Who with?’ Harriet asked, not wanting to seem to understand too much too soon.
‘With you.’
She’d known that this moment was coming, but without warning she was embarrassed. Watching him sitting there in the corner, the candlelight on his face, he was suddenly too much; too forceful, too attractive, too like an irresistible gale storming through her life, flattening all before it. Too much.
‘Hey, hold on,’ she said, playing for time. ‘Things aren’t done like that these days.’
‘In some societies marriages are still arranged—or at least, half arranged. Suitable people are introduced and the benefits of an alliance considered. My parents’ marriage was created like this, and it was very happy. They were compatible, but not blinded by emotions too intense to last.’
‘And you’re asking me—?’
‘To think about it. The final decision can be taken later, when we know each other better. In the meantime I’ll sort out your financial problems. Should we make a match I’ll wipe the loan out. If not we’ll part friends, and you can repay me on easy terms.’
‘Whoa there! You’re going too fast. I can’t take this in.’ It was true. She’d thought herself well prepared, but everything was so different to her imaginings that it was taking her breath away.
‘You can’t lose. At the worst you get an interest-free loan that will save your shop.’
‘But what’s in it for you?’ she demanded bluntly. ‘You can’t get married just to please your mother.’
It seemed to her that he hesitated a fraction, then answered with a little constraint. ‘I can if that is what I wish. It’s time for me to have a settled life, with a family, and it suits me to arrange it in this way.’
‘It will give us both time to think,’ he went on. ‘You return with me, try out life in my country—your country, and consider whether you’d enjoy it permanently. If you and my mother get on well, we’ll discuss marriage.’
‘What about you and me getting on well?’
‘I hope
