She took a horse and rode for miles, noticing how the corn had grown since she first saw it, how the olives and grapes were flourishing in the sun.

How she loved the sun! It was as though she had only discovered it in Italy. There was sun in London, but it beat down in fierce strips of ugly road, baking pavements, suffocating. Here sunshine was fresh air and freedom, and a new awakening.

Her options were simple. She could return to England and fight, or she could stay here and fight. It was fighting either way, no question.

The prizes were uneven. A cold, soulless place in the firm, or another firm. There were plenty who would be glad to have her.

Or she could abandon London and everything she had worked for. All those years of striving for the best, the best clients, the best apartment, the best clothes, the best invitations-all gone to nothing.

In exchange she would have a life here, in a country that had seized her heart, in daily contact with a man who was rude, hostile, unrelenting, a man who’d rejected her out of hand without even seeing her, but who also troubled her heart and her restless body.

‘Nonsense!’ she said aloud. ‘I’m damned if I’m going to fall in love with him! Who the hell does he think he is?’

After a while she made up her mind. It felt less like taking a decision than facing the inevitable. Mounting her horse she galloped back to the farm and began to pack. The following morning, in the teeth of Gino’s protests, she drove herself to the airport.

There she handed the car in at the local branch of the rental company. An hour later she was in the air, on her way to England.

Rinaldo was away for a week. Twice he called and left messages on the answerphone. Eventually the phone was answered by Teresa, who brought him up to date with events, including the fact that Alex had left and would not be returning.

The following evening Rinaldo arrived home.

He found Gino sitting at the desk in his office, frowning as he poured over account books.

‘You’ll never manage it,’ he said, grinning. ‘Give up.’

‘Rinaldo!’ Gino leapt to his feet and hugged his brother eagerly.

Rinaldo hugged him back, and for a moment the two brothers thumped each other on the back.

‘What’s been happening?’ Rinaldo asked.

‘Alex has gone,’ Gino said gloomily.

‘So I gather from Teresa.’

‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’ Gino demanded, outraged.

‘What do you want me to say? She was always bound to go back where she belongs.’

‘I felt she belonged here,’ Gino sighed.

‘That’s what she wanted you to think, to keep you off guard. Circe played her games, and we were nearly fooled. Forget her.’

‘You as good as told me to make love to her.’

‘Yes, and I should have known better. You’re no match for her. It’s lucky you didn’t fall for her seriously.’

‘Who says I didn’t?’

‘You forget how well I know you. Your most death-defying passion lasted a whole two days, I seem to recall.’

Gino shrugged despondently. ‘Yeah-well, she’s gone now.’

‘So forget her.’

‘Do you think she really loves him?’

‘I said forget her.’

‘Hey!’ Gino said, staring into Rinaldo’s tense face. ‘No need to get mad at me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Rinaldo growled, rubbing his eyes. ‘I’ve had a long drive, and I’m not in the best of moods.’

‘You do look pretty done in,’ Gino said with his quick sympathy.

In fact, he thought, his brother looked as though he hadn’t slept for a week. Or if he had slept, he’d had nightmares.

Poor old fellow, Gino thought. The threat to the farm must be troubling him more than he let on.

‘Come and have something to eat,’ he said kindly. ‘And you can tell me about the machinery.’

‘Machinery?’

‘The stuff you went to buy.’

‘Oh, that. No, I didn’t find anything. Something to eat sounds a good idea.’

The maids had already gone to bed. Teresa served them in the kitchen, then retired.

Gino noticed that Rinaldo ate as though he barely knew what the food was.

‘So what have you been doing these last few days?’ he asked.

‘Oh-driving around.’

‘For a week?’

‘Am I accountable to you?’

‘If I vanished for a week I’d have some explaining to do.’

‘So you would. Now drop it and tell me the news. When did Alex leave?’

‘The day after you did. I keep waiting to hear from the lawyers, but nothing’s happened.’

‘We’ll hear when it suits her,’ Rinaldo observed. ‘She’s playing games.’

That was the mantra he’d repeated obsessively during the last few days. She was playing games, which meant he’d done the right thing to get the hell out.

From that first startling moment at his father’s funeral he’d known that he couldn’t afford to weaken where this woman was concerned. Hard on the heels of that thought had come fierce regret that he’d ‘given’ her to Gino. He’d said it casually, arrogantly, thinking life was that simple. In truth he’d expected a female dragon who would scare his volatile brother off.

Then he’d met her and known that this was a job for a man, not a boy.

Their antagonism was a relief, giving him a breathing space. But she’d been clever, offering sympathy like water in a desert to a man who’d spent too long being strong for others. The feeling was so good that he’d almost weakened, but he’d escaped in time.

So he’d won, as he made sure he always did. But now he found himself in a wilderness, his victory nothing but ashes.

‘I don’t think she was just playing games,’ Gino said quietly.

‘Then why is she back in England now, planning her wedding?’

Gino had no answer. Looking at the weariness in Rinaldo’s face made him realise how depressed were his own spirits. The house had been quiet since Alex left, life had lost its savour.

After that there seemed nothing to say. Rinaldo fetched a bottle of old malt whisky, and they sat in companionable silence, sipping slowly, until Gino roused himself to say in a diffident voice.

‘There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a while now.’

‘Go on.’

‘The day Poppa died-you were at the hospital first. By the time I arrived, it was too late. And I always wondered-what happened?’

‘Nothing, he was unconscious.’

‘I know but-he didn’t come round?-even for a moment?’

‘If he had I’d have told you.’

‘It’s just so hard to think of him just lying there, still alive but not talking.’ Gino sighed ruefully. ‘You know what a talker he was.’

Rinaldo closed his eyes, and through his memory there passed the picture of his father, terribly still, swathed in bandages.

Like Gino he had felt it impossible that a man so full of life could lie still and silent. At any moment he would open his eyes, recognise his son and speak. There would be-there must be, some exchange between them before the end.

The picture swirled, blurred. He struggled to see clearly again but it was gone. As often before, he was tortured by the feeling of something there, just beyond the edge of memory.

Several times in the past he had come to the edge of this moment, but whatever it was always eluded him, driven away by the jangle in his head.

It had happened that day in the barn with Alex. Their brief moment of sympathy had caused a door of memory to start opening. But not far enough. And it would never happen again now. She had gone, and that was all for the best.

He would try to believe it.

‘I wish I had something to tell you,’ he said heavily. ‘I, too, find it hard that he just left us without a word of goodbye or explanation. But there’s nothing we can do but accept it. Now let’s get some sleep.’

They went upstairs to bed, and the house lay in silence for an hour. Then Gino awoke, uncertain why, but with a feeling that something was up.

Pulling on a robe he slipped into the corridor, where he found Rinaldo, dressed in shorts.

‘We have a burglar downstairs,’ Rinaldo said softly.

On bare feet they moved noiselessly along the corridor and down the stairs. Through the door they could make out part of the room illuminated by a bar of moonlight. The rest was in darkness, but they could hear the intruder moving about, then a crash, like a chair overturning.

‘Right,’ Rinaldo muttered.

He moved fast, not switching on the light but judging the position by sound alone, then launching himself forward, colliding with a body that reeled back, landing on the floor beneath him.

For a moment they fought in silence, gasping with effort and writhing madly together. Gino, coming into the room, heard a yell from Rinaldo as something caught him on the side of the head. Hurriedly Gino put the light on.

Then he froze at the sight that met his eyes.

Rinaldo drew in a sharp breath. ‘You!’ he said explosively.

From her position on the floor Alex glared up at him.

‘Get-off-me!’ she said emphatically.

Breathing hard, Rinaldo pulled back from her, and stood up. Alex rose stiffly, supporting herself on Gino’s outstretched hand.

‘What the devil are you doing here?’ Rinaldo demanded.

‘I live here. I went away, now I’ve come back.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t just leave us and forget,’ Gino breathed joyfully.

‘When I left I didn’t know what was going to happen,’ Alex said. ‘I had to see how the land lay. Now I know, and I’m here to stay.’

‘What does the English fiancé have to say about that?’ Rinaldo demanded, rubbing his face self-consciously. ‘Can we look forward to his descent on us? Shall I tell Teresa to prepare a room for him? Perhaps you mean to be married from this house?’

‘Oh, put a sock in it,’ Alex said firmly.

‘Excuse me? Sock?’

‘It’s an English expression,’ she explained. ‘It means don’t say any more. David’s out of the picture.’