An Italian Engagement. CATHERINE GEORGE

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      CHAPTER ONE

      AFTER travelling the first stages by boat and train it was a relief to take to the road for the last lap of her journey. Abby checked the map, took a minute or two to familiarise herself with the hire car, then set off on a route which meandered through a sunlit Umbrian landscape with postcard views on all sides. But after a few kilometres the surface began to deteriorate. The road grew narrow and hair-raisingly steep, winding up in hairpin bends, each one tighter than the last. Abby crouched over the wheel, praying she wouldn’t meet any oncoming traffic, her eyes too firmly glued to the road to notice the warning light on the dashboard. Suddenly a geyser of steam spurted up from the bonnet, a smell of hot metal filled the car, and a despairing look at the temperature gauge confirmed that it was almost off the clock.

      Abby pulled over as far as she could against the hillside, yanked hard on the handbrake to secure the car on the steep incline, released the bonnet switch and got out, eyeing the car with hostility. It was obviously too hot to touch, but in the afternoon sunlight it was unlikely to cool down any time soon, either. Using a clump of tissues to protect her fingers, she raked up the bonnet and jumped back to avoid scalding jets of steam. The radiator obviously needed water more than she did. Great. Abby took her phone from her bag to explain why she was late. And ground her teeth in frustration. No signal. No choice, then, either. She had to walk. She reached in the car for her hat, then shot straight out again as she heard the roar of a powerful engine somewhere up ahead. Acting on instinct, she darted in front of her car, waving her hat in frantic warning as a flame-red vehicle came surging round the bend through a cloud of dust. Abby jumped out of the way at the last minute, her heart hammering at her ribs as the car swerved to halt just a yard or so away, its heavy tyres scattering shale and pebbles in all directions. Shaken and breathless, she stood her ground as six feet of furious male jumped out and bombarded her with a spate of Italian so rapid and incensed she could barely understand a word of it.

      Knowing she’d only get another flood in response if she uttered a word of her own very basic Italian, Abby held up her hand like a traffic policeman, took off her dark glasses and smiled ruefully. ‘I’m terribly sorry. My car’s broken down. Do you speak English?’

      The man’s eyebrows shot up over aviator lenses. ‘Good God. You’re a Brit?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said, surprised, because so was he.

      ‘What the devil are you doing here? I could have killed you! This is a private road.’

      Her smile faded. ‘I’m aware of that. I’m on my way to an appointment at the Villa Falcone.’

      ‘Oh, right. Another of Gianni’s fans,’ he said, in a tone which raised her hackles.

      She gave him a frosty look. ‘My appointment with Mr Falcone is strictly business.’

      ‘That’s what they all say.’ He thrust a hand through his hair, scowling at her. ‘That was a damn stupid thing to do. Be grateful my brakes are efficient.’

      Abby was used to dealing with people in her job, but she was hot, tired, late for an appointment, and in no mood for a lecture. ‘If this road is Mr Falcone’s private property are you a fan, or just a trespasser?’

      ‘For your information,’ he drawled, ‘it’s not Gianni’s private road. It’s mine.’

      ‘Oh.’ Abby’s hot face reddened in embarrassment. ‘Then I apologise. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere.’

      ‘Obviously. Let’s take a look at your car.’

      Abby raked the bonnet up again and stood back. He hooked his sunglasses in his belt and bent over the engine to investigate. She looked on without much hope, but when he straightened to wipe sweat from his forehead she frowned in surprise. The tanned, saturnine face looked familiar. She could have sworn she’d seen him before—Oh, come on, Abigail. How СКАЧАТЬ