tonight.’
She paused to regard Olympia with admiration.
‘We’ll have some dancing and I just know you’ll look wonderful in a long dress.’
‘Mamma!’ Luke covered his eyes.
‘Well, she will. Crimson, I think.’
‘Crimson?’ Olympia exclaimed in surprise. ‘I’ve never thought of it as my colour.’
‘But it is. You must wear crimson, if not tonight then the next time I see you.’
She kissed Luke and hurried out before either of them could answer.
‘You do realise that you’ve just been given your orders, don’t you?’ Luke said with a grin. ‘Mamma’s rather overwhelming, but she means it kindly.’
‘I know she does, and she’s made me feel so welcome.’
Luke suppressed the thought that this was because Hope was preparing to swallow Olympia alive in the name of ‘acquiring daughters-in-law’, and merely said, ‘You will come, won’t you? Just to keep her happy? She always gets cross if her sons turn up without girlfriends. She accuses us of only associating with the kind of girls a man can’t take home to his mother.’
‘Rightly?’ Olympia asked, her eyes full of fun.
He cleared his throat. ‘It’s a long story. She thinks she’s right and I just go along with it. We all do. But boy, does she ask a lot of questions! I swear it’s like being interrogated by the Inquisition, but if you’re there I’ll be spared.’
‘You won’t, you know,’ she chuckled. ‘You’ll just be asked a different kind of question, and probably twice as many.’
He groaned. ‘How horribly true!’
‘Questions are what mothers do,’ she said sympathetically. ‘One way or the other.’
‘But you will come, won’t you? It’s the least you can do after knocking me down.’
‘All right,’ she said, laughing.
It would be better than spending the evening alone, wondering when Jack would return. She had tried to call him earlier but his cellphone had been switched off.
Luke drove her back to the Vallini and whistled at the sight of her destination. Once inside she went straight to the hire shop, seeking a suitable dress for that night. She was resolute in her determination to make her own choice, but somehow the gown that suited her best just happened to be deep crimson satin. She hired it and some gold jewellery, then bought gold sandals to go with it.
When the hairdresser had come to her suite and whipped up her hair into an elaborate confection, she was ready for the evening.
She tried to call Jack, but for the third time she couldn’t get through. She frowned, puzzled by the odd silence and wishing with all her heart that he could be here and see her looking like this.
His brother was nice, but it was chiefly his relationship to Jack that made him so. She would see the house which had been their home and learn something about him.
If only he could be here, she thought sadly, regarding the vision in the mirror that he wouldn’t see.
Luke’s frank admiration was balm to her soul, although he couldn’t resist saying, ‘You’ll give Mamma ideas, dressing like that.’
‘It’s not because of anything she said. This was the perfect dress. She was right about that.’
‘I’ll believe you. She won’t.’
‘Is it far?’ she asked, diplomatically changing the subject.
‘No distance. Just at the top of this hill. You’ll see it as soon as we’re on the road.’
Just as he’d said, the family home loomed up above them as they climbed the hill. All the lights were on and they seemed to blaze out a welcome over the whole of the surrounding city, the countryside, the bay, even as far as Vesuvius.
‘When you’re up there the volcano looks very near because there’s nothing in between but clear air,’ Luke told her. ‘The least little murmur from Vesuvius, the tiniest puff of smoke, seems to be happening right on top of you.’
‘You mean things happen even these days?’
‘Nothing to worry about. The old man gives the odd grumble from deep in the earth, just to remind us not to take him for granted, but the last actual eruption was sixty years ago. Toni’s father saw it happen and he used to warn us always to tell the truth, because Vesuvius was listening and would growl with displeasure if we offended. So every time there was the faintest murmur we all used to jump nervously.’
At last they swung into the great courtyard of the villa. As they left the car a door in the house opened and his mother emerged, throwing up her arms in joyful greeting.
‘Mamma!’ Luke called cheerfully, climbing the steps, Olympia’s hand in his. ‘You see, I’ve brought her.’
His mother gave him a perfunctory kiss before welcoming Olympia eagerly, her eyes flickering over the red dress.
‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘It suits you, as I knew it would.’
‘It’s just an accident that she chose that dress, Mamma,’ Luke said quickly. ‘She told me so.’
‘Of course she did. Olympia, my dear, you are very welcome. Now come and meet the rest of my family.’
As Olympia went into the house Hope drew Luke aside, murmuring, ‘She’ll make a beautiful bride.’
‘Mamma, you don’t know her.’
‘I can tell these things. She
‘For which one of us?’ he asked, amused.
‘Whichever one she will deign to have,’ Hope informed him caustically. ‘She may take her pick.’
‘Oh, no,’ he said at once. ‘She’s all mine.’
‘Congratulations, my son. Your taste is improving.’
As they entered the warm house Olympia turned towards her. ‘Mrs Cayman-’
Luke’s mother laughed. ‘Oh, my dear, I’m sorry. We’re all so casual about names. I’m not Mrs Cayman any more. That was years ago. I’m Signora Rinucci.’
‘Rinucci? You mean-?’
‘Toni’s name is Rinucci, and this is the Villa Rinucci.’
‘Then-you know Primo Rinucci?’
‘My stepson. He should have been here tonight but he was called back to England very suddenly. But of course, if you work for Leonate you must know him.’
‘No, I don’t. Somehow we’ve always just missed each other.’
‘Wait a moment,’ said Hope, going to a cupboard and reaching inside.
She brought out a large photo album and laid it down on a small table, turning the heavy pages until she came to a picture and pointed to it.
‘That’s him,’ she said triumphantly.
Smiling, Olympia gazed down at the face of Primo Rinucci. And her smile faded.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FOR a long moment Olympia felt absolutely nothing. What she was seeing was so impossible that there could be no reaction.
Her hostess was explaining, ‘Primo was the son of my first husband, Jack Cayman. His mother was a Rinucci and he took the family name when he came to live here.’
Olympia barely heard the words. Her stomach was churning as the dreadful truth finally became real, sharp. This was Primo Rinucci. The man she had trusted, confided in, to whom she had revealed her whole ambitious strategy, had been keeping this secret all the time.
What a laugh she must have given him!
‘So that’s Primo,’ she said at last, surprised to find that she could speak normally. ‘No, I don’t know him.’
She fought to remain calm. Nobody must suspect that she’d received a shattering blow. That would be to pile
