bank. After that speculation raged, and came to more or less the right conclusion.
‘So now your engagement isn’t a secret,’ Lucia said with satisfaction some days later. They were sitting at breakfast, Marco having arrived late the night before, and slept over.
Harriet looked at her quickly. ‘It isn’t precisely an engagement,’ she said.
‘Then what is it, precisely?’
She looked at Marco but he gave her no help, and she floundered, ‘It’s sort of-unofficial.’
‘I have no patience with all this shilly-shallying. Anyone can see that you’re right for each other, and now the world knows you’re engaged.’
‘You wouldn’t have given them that impression by any chance?’ Marco demanded ironically.
‘I didn’t need to. Everyone saw you lost in each other at
Since they could hardly explain that they’d been fighting at the time neither of them answered, and Lucia took this for confirmation.
‘And taking us to the bank was practically an announcement,’ Lucia added. ‘So now we must have a party. Everyone will expect it. They’ll also expect a ring. See to it.’ She bustled away before they could answer.
‘What are we going to do?’ Harriet demanded.
‘A party’s actually a good idea,’ Marco said. ‘It’s time you met some family friends.’
‘But an engagement party-a ring-’
‘It changes nothing. We get engaged, we change our minds, we get unengaged. And my mother’s right about the ring.’ He scribbled an address and gave it to her. ‘That’s the best jeweller in Rome. I’ll tell them to expect you.’
‘You’re not coming with me?’
‘I have urgent business to attend to,’ he said, not meeting her eye. ‘They’ll have a fine selection ready for you. Pick the best.’
She attended the jeweller later that day. He treated Signor Calvani’s fiancee with awed respect, and showed her a selection of diamond rings, all of which looked lavish and frighteningly expensive. There was one that pleased her, a band of tiny diamonds set in white gold, crowned with one large diamond of marvellous quality. But she knew too much about jewellery not to guess its fabulous price, and there was no way she could accept it.
‘Don’t you have something a little-smaller,’ she asked, feeling that ‘cheaper’ might be tactless.
‘These are the ones Signor Calvani selected,’ the jeweller said.
So he’d been to the shop. But not with her. Worse, he was trying to control her choice, and up with that she would not put.
‘I’d like to see something else,’ she said firmly.
He was aghast. ‘But Signor Calvani-’
‘Will not be wearing this ring. I will.’
‘But-’
‘Of course, if it’s too much trouble, I can go elsewhere.’
Defeated, the little man produced a tray of less extravagant rings. Then he mopped his brow.
She finally chose a charming solitaire, resisting his attempts to direct her back to the luxury rings, and went away with it on her finger.
Marco arrived at the villa that evening, bearing a large black jeweller’s box.
Harriet hadn’t expected him to give in easily, and reckoned she didn’t have to be clairvoyant to guess that the box contained the rings she’d rejected.
So it was war then! She was ready for him.
Marco greeted his mother pleasantly before taking Harriet aside.
‘Thank you for my lovely ring,’ she said, holding up her hand.
He took her hand between his and firmly removed the solitaire without even looking at it.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’
‘There was a mistake. He must have shown you the wrong tray.’
‘There was no mistake. This was the one I liked.’
‘My fiancee does not wear cheap rings,’ Marco said firmly.
‘Cheap? It must be worth ten thousand euros.’
‘Exactly,’ he said in a clipped voice. It was clear that he was keeping his annoyance under control.
‘I see. If “your fiancee” was seen flaunting a mere ten grand your clients would start checking the value of their stocks and shares, to see if you were losing your financial touch.’
‘Since you obviously understand I don’t see why we’re having this discussion.’
‘Please give me back that ring.’
‘No.’
‘It’s the one I want.’
There was a silence in which he raised his clenched hands to his head in a gesture that was an odd combination of frustration, obstinacy and helplessness. Their eyes met, determination on both sides. Marco opened the box.
‘I would prefer you to select one of these,’ he said, speaking carefully.
‘And I would prefer the one I chose.’
Through gritted teeth he demanded, ‘Why must everything be an argument?’
‘Because you try to control me at every turn, and I won’t have it.’
‘Nonsense. I’m merely asking you to do what’s proper to our situation. Good grief, Harriet, just the other day you spent more than this without turning a hair. Money I hadn’t authorised, let me remind you.’
‘Are we going to start that again?’
‘I just think it odd that you’ll plunder my pockets with the ruthlessness of a corporate raider when it’s a question of an old carved stone, but over this you suddenly get delicate about the price. Where’s the logic?’
‘Who says there has to be logic?’
‘It helps sometimes,’ he said savagely.
‘Then how’s this for logic? It’s not the price. It’s you directing me here and there like a train running on rails. This train is coming off the rails and going her own way.’
‘And never mind how it affects me?’
‘Your clients will get over it.’
But he was cleverer than she had allowed for, and the next moment he come up with the one thing she wasn’t prepared for. The anger died out of his face, and he looked at her with a rueful smile.
‘Harriet, for a brilliant woman you can be remarkably stupid.’
‘What does that mean?’ she asked cautiously, divining a trap but unable to see where it lay.
‘It’s not my clients I’m afraid of. It’s my mother.’
‘Oh, really! If you’re trying to persuade me that you’re afraid of your mother-!’
‘Terrified. What do think she’s going to say to me if she thinks I’ve treated you shabbily over the ring?’
He was smiling at her in a way she found disturbing.
‘I’ll explain to her that this way my choice-’
‘It’s no good,’ he sighed. ‘She’ll say I should have asserted myself. She doesn’t know how hard that is with you. If you won’t help me out I’ll-well, I just don’t know what I’ll do.’
‘Now you stop that,’ she said severely, trying not to respond to his smile. ‘I see right through you, d’you hear?’
‘I’m sure you do.’
‘And you don’t care a rap, do you, as long as you get your own way?’
‘You understand me perfectly.’
‘Well, of all the admissions-! You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
‘Why? Nothing wrong in getting your own way. Don’t you like to do that?’
‘Of course, but I have some scruples how I go about it.’
‘Scruples are a waste of time,’ he said seriously. ‘If it works for you, go for it.’
‘No matter who else-?’
‘No matter anything.’
‘But that’s dreadful.’
