An Italian Engagement. CATHERINE GEORGE

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      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.’

      ‘Hi,’ she responded huskily. ‘This is a surprise.’

      ‘Did I get you out of bed?’

      ‘No.’ Her mind raced over the contents of the fridge and her cupboards. ‘Can I get you a glass of wine?’

      ‘Dry white?’ he asked, smiling.

      ‘What else? I usually have a glass while I’m making supper, but I had a very busy day and I was so tired tonight I thought it might knock me flat…’ Stop gabbling, she told herself, and took a mental inventory of her food supplies. ‘I could throw some supper together for you.’

      ‘No, thanks, I’ve eaten. And I’m driving so I’ll pass on the wine.’ Max looked down at her, an indulgent smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘Relax. You’re like a cat on hot bricks.’

      ‘Of course I’m not,’ she said brightly. ‘Take off your jacket. I’ll make coffee.’

      The living room in the basement flat had always seemed perfectly adequate for two tall females to share, but it seemed crowded with the addition of Max Wingate. Abby filled the kettle and put out mugs, very conscious that he was watching her every move. She took biscuits from a tin and put them on a plate, her mind working overtime. It was late and he was a long way from Gloucestershire. Was he expecting to stay the night? Delighted though she was to see him, she wasn’t up for that. She put the dish on the end of the low table nearest the scuffed leather club chair, handed Max his coffee and curled up on the sofa with her own.

      ‘Thank you. I’m on my way to Kew to stay with my father for a night or two, but I thought I’d make a surprise visit here first.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Not such a good idea from your point of view?’

      So he had no intention of staying the night. Abby gave him a radiant smile. ‘Actually it’s a brilliant idea, because I need to talk to you urgently. I tried ringing you, but no luck.’

      ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘I can’t make Sunday lunch after all.’

      He masked a fierce stab of disappointment with a wry smile. ‘Ah. You’ve got a better offer?’

      She shook her head ruefully and told him about Rachel’s engagement party. ‘She’s arranged it specifically for Sunday because I can’t manage any other day at this time of year. So I have to go.’

      Max’s slanting eyebrows rose. ‘If the lady is an old friend surely you want to go?’

      ‘Of course.’ Abby shrugged. ‘But we haven’t caught up with each other for a while, so she thought I’d be bringing Silas with me. The Mozart fan,’ she added.

      ‘Is the party here in London?’

      ‘No, at Rachel’s home in Stavely. I didn’t make it to her other engagement parties, so I really must turn up at this one.’

      He looked amused. ‘How many has she had?’

      ‘This is the third—well, sort of.’ Abby grinned. ‘Sam, the latest contender, is the one she was engaged to first time round.’

      Max shook his head in mock respect. ‘And he’s willing to risk it a second time? Brave man.’

      ‘Actually he’s perfect for Rachel. She should have hung on to him in the first place. You’d like him.’

      ‘Then take me to meet him—or was the invitation only for the Mozart-lover?’

      Abby looked at him with dawning hope. ‘You’re willing to go to the party with me?’

      He was willing to do anything in the world to make her happy, he realised, startled. ‘Why not? I could drive you down, and we’d still achieve lunch together.’

      ‘I’d like that.’ She pulled a face. ‘I admit I’d rather not go alone. If my mother had been home she would have gone with me, but—’

      ‘But she’s in Venice. So I’ll go with you as protection.’

      ‘From what?’

      Max eyed her levelly. ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

      Abby hunched a shoulder. ‘It’s just that Rachel’s such a matchmaker. She always insists on inviting some man she swears is perfect for me—and the result is disaster every time.’

      Max ate a biscuit, frowning. ‘Enlighten me. Why does your friend feel obliged to hunt up men for someone as attractive as you?’

      Thanking him for the compliment, Abby explained that, although she and Rachel were close, they were very different personalities. ‘She can’t function without a male presence in her life. I can and do, perfectly happily, but Rachel just can’t accept a concept so alien to her. She keeps trying to pair me up with someone. ‘

      ‘Is that why you steered clear of the other engagement celebrations?’

      ‘No. I was in the middle of exams for the first one and in Venice the last time.’ Abby smiled ruefully. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I love Rachel to bits, but her matchmaking drives me crazy.’

      ‘Solution,’ said Max, seizing the opportunity with relish. ‘On Sunday, tell her I’m the replacement for the Mozart man.’

      Abby eyed him dubiously. ‘You won’t laugh when she demands your intentions.’

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