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      Stefano paused. ‘The hour’s late,’ he said. ‘And it’s been a long evening. Why don’t we talk about it another time? Tomorrow, perhaps? Over dinner?’

      Allegra frowned. ‘Why not Monday, in my office?’ she countered.

      ‘Because I’ll be back in Rome on Monday,’ Stefano replied with firm finality. ‘Allegra, I am interested in you only as a professional—’

      ‘I know that!’ she said, a flush rising to her cheeks.

      ‘Then why not converse over dinner? We’ve just shown how we can be reasonable this evening. We can even, perhaps, be friends.’ He smiled, his amber eyes glinting with a promise Allegra remembered all too well. A promise of tenderness and compassion, of understanding and caring. Of love.

      False. All false.

      Allegra took a breath. Stefano was right; she was letting the past cloud the present issue, which was presumably a hurting child.

      She had to forget it, had to move on as she knew she’d done all those years ago. Yet seeing Stefano had brought it rushing back.

      She lifted her chin. ‘All right. Tomorrow.’

      ‘Tell me your address and I’ll fetch you.’

      ‘There’s no need—’

      ‘I’ll fetch you,’ Stefano repeated. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t need to. He simply smiled. Smiled and waited.

      Allegra chose to capitulate gracefully. Some battles, she knew, were not worth fighting. Not yet.

      She gave it to him, then rose from her chair. He stood also. ‘Goodnight, Stefano,’ she said, and she held out her hand.

      He glanced down at it, smiling wryly, before he took it in his. Her hand felt so small in his, small and fragile.

      ‘Good night, Allegra,’ Stefano said, his voice a husky murmur. ‘Until tomorrow.’

      All the next day Allegra’s mind hurtled from alarm to anticipation, marking quite a few assumptions along that perilous mental route.

      Stefano wanted to contract her services as an art therapist for a child. A child.

      His child?

      His wife?

      She probed these possibilities with careful, clinical precision. Did it hurt? How much pain?

      She wasn’t jealous, she knew that. She wasn’t even that surprised. So what did she feel?

      She didn’t know. Couldn’t answer. More thoughts, more emotions to tuck away in that box.

      As day darkened into twilight, Allegra surveyed the slim pickings of her wardrobe.

      She’d splurged on the dress for Daphne’s party, and there was nothing else remotely as sophisticated or expensive in her wardrobe. Her work clothes were generally plain and comfortable, and the few dresses she had were stodgy and serviceable.

      Allegra sighed. Why hadn’t she considered this before? She’d have had the time, if not the money, to buy something at the shops.

      Why, that objectionable little voice whispered inside her, do you care? Are you trying to impress him? Attract him?

      ‘No,’ Allegra said aloud but, even alone in her bedroom, her voice sounded flat and false.

      With a growl of impatience, she turned to the rack of clothes and picked a dress out at random. It was an olive green coat dress that she’d bought on sale for an interview, and while it presented a reliable if rather depressing image for work, it was hardly something one wore to dinner … especially if that dinner was at one of London’s classiest restaurants, which Allegra had no doubt it would be, knowing Stefano.

      Knowing Stefano … Did she really know him?

      Seven years was a long time for both of them. She’d never have expected him to act as he had last night, putting the past behind them. Wanting to be her friend. Caring about what she thought.

      And the only reason he’d done those things, she reminded herself, was because he wanted something from her.

      She slipped on the coat dress, only to grimace in rueful dismay at her reflection. She looked awful, drab and dreary, and she was vain enough to want to look at least half-decent for Stefano.

      Not beautiful, not sexy, not alluring. But attractive, at least. Attractive and professional, confident and calm.

      She chose a pair of slim-fitting black trousers and a white silk blouse that was plain but well-tailored.

      Catching her hair up in a chignon—nothing careless about it this time—she nodded at the rather austere image she presented. Professional, puritanical.

      ‘For the best,’ she reminded herself. After all, she was having dinner with Stefano in her professional capacity, not personal. Nothing personal. Nothing ever personal.

      The intercom for the front door sounded, and Allegra hurried to buzz him through.

      The walls were so thin, she could hear the creak of the stairs and his tread down the hall and her heart started to hammer.

      She grabbed her coat and handbag and met him in the hallway.

      ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m ready.’

      Stefano raised an eyebrow. He looked devastating in a charcoal-coloured suit, a crisp white shirt and mulberry-coloured silk tie. ‘We could have a drink first.’

      ‘Let’s go out,’ Allegra suggested. ‘My flat’s tiny.’ She realized with a little pang of shame that she didn’t want him to see her poky flat with its second-hand furnishings. Art therapists, even ones who’d had significant successes, didn’t make much money.

      She was proud of her flat, but she knew it would seem pathetic to him—the little life she’d built for herself—compared with what he had. What he’d been prepared to offer her.

      Stefano made no comment, merely shrugged one shoulder before gesturing for her to lead the way down the cramped hallway.

      Out in the street, traffic blared along with the stereo systems propped in windows, and there was an overwhelming smell of greasy kebab on the air.

      Allegra smiled brightly. ‘Where to? We could walk …’

      Stupid, she told herself. Stefano would have made reservations at a place far from here.

      ‘I have a car.’ He gestured to a black luxury car idling at the kerb. A few passers-by were giving it curious—and envious—looks as the driver hopped out and opened the back door for them.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind …?’ Stefano asked politely. ‘If you wanted to eat more locally—’

      ‘No,’ Allegra hastened to assure him, ‘this is fine.’

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