‘Shall we get married in Queensland?’ he asked.

‘I’m not going to Queensland. I’m going to Melbourne to open my Australian office,’ she reminded him.

‘Yes, I saw your little goodbye note in the Courier, but I’m going to Queensland. I’ve been given a lead on a fabulous new resort opening up there. Rainforest. The barrier reef. A marina…’

‘Sounds wonderful.’

‘So come and give me your opinion. Then I’ll help you set up your own empire if that’s still what you want.’

‘Mmm. Maybe I should think about that. As a partner in Bella Lucia, I’m going to have other responsibilities.’

‘As my wife, the mother of my children and a partner in Bella Lucia, you may have a point.’

‘As my husband and the father of my children, you’re going to be pretty busy yourself.’

‘So, we have a deal?’

‘No, we have a partnership, but forget the quiet wedding, Max. This time you have to turn up and face the music, a full dress occasion with a dozen bridesmaids, emotional family members and enough rose petals to scent all of Richmond Hill. She grinned. ‘Do you think you can manage that?’

‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.’

‘Well, just in case you need reminding,’ she said, unfastening a tiny gold pin from under the collar of her jacket, transferring it to his, ‘you’d better have this. Don’t lose it again.’

Louise was driven to her wedding in a ribbon-bedecked open carriage drawn by two white horses, her father at her side.

At the church gate, she was met with a barrage of photographers eager to get pictures of the high-society guests, of the bride herself. Inside the church porch, Jodie, who’d flown over for the wedding to be her matron of honour, was waiting to straighten her veil and train.

She had the bright nosegay of tiny bridesmaids, the daughters of Bella Lucia staff, each wearing a dress a different shade of pink from palest rose to darkest fuchsia, as well as two distinctly unimpressed page boys, firmly in hand and they all fell in behind the bride and her father without a fuss.

‘The groom did manage to turn up, then?’ John Valentine asked the verger.

‘Oh, very eager, sir. First to arrive. I always think that’s a good sign.’

‘Hmmph. Well, yes, I’m sure you’re right.’

Louise smiled behind her veil. She hadn’t doubted Max, not for one moment. It wasn’t that he never missed a date, but these days he never failed to phone and let her know if he was having a problem. If he’d be late.

‘Ready?’ the verger asked.

‘Ready,’ Louise assured him. ‘And just as eager as the groom.’

A signal was given and as the first notes of the Wedding March reached them she leaned against her father just for a moment and said, ‘You have been the best father a girl could ever have. Thank you.’

For once lost for words, he just squeezed her hand in reply, tucked it beneath his arm before setting off with her up the aisle.

The church was full, not just with their parents, but crammed with Valentines from all over the world. Rachel, Luc and their baby, Rebecca, Mitch and their children, Emma, Queen of Meridia, with her king, Melissa, who had eyes for no one but her sultan, thanks, it appeared, to a little help from Max, Jack with Maddie, Beverley. Daniel and Stephanie, and Dominic with his wife and children. Patsy and Derek were there somewhere, too, but Louise saw only one man. Not even his best friend, Sheikh Surum AlThani of Qu’Arim, in all his robes, standing at Max’s side, could eclipse the joy shining from the vivid blue eyes of the man she had loved all her life. From this day forward they were to be together for always. Partners. Lovers. Friends. Husband and wife.

As she reached him he smiled, took her hand, raised it to his lips and a soft sigh rippled through the church. Then they turned to face the vicar and the service began.

‘Dearly beloved…’

Only when the vicar asked, ‘Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?’ was there the slightest hiccup in the service. Instead of simply putting her hand into Max’s, her father said, quite distinctly, ‘Me. I do…’

Afterwards, in the vestry as they signed the register her mother scolded him, but he was unrepentant. ‘I just wanted Max to know,’ he said. ‘I wanted everyone to know that I’m happy.’ He turned to his brother, put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Really happy. It’s a wonderful day.’

Max and Louise stood at the head of the receiving line, to greet their guests as they arrived for the reception. The guest list of family and friends read like an international Who’s Who. They had come from Australia, America, France, Meridia, Qu’Arim. Old family from Italy mingled with Ivy’s aristocratic relations.

And there was Patsy.

She came in last with her new husband and Louise kissed them both, then turned to her mother and said, ‘Mum, may I introduce Patsy Simpson Harcourt and her husband Derek. Patsy, this is my mother.’

For a moment both women seemed frozen, then Ivy Valentine stepped forward, put her arms around Patsy and said, ‘Thank you. Thank you, Patsy, for giving me the most wonderful daughter any woman could ever ask for.’

Louise might have cried, but at that moment Jack tapped a spoon against a champagne glass and said, ‘We’re going to have the best afternoon and evening of our lives here, but before we get started I want us all to raise a glass in memory of William Valentine, who opened the first Bella Lucia restaurant sixty years ago and without whom we wouldn’t be here today.’

A murmur of assent ran around the room.

‘With Max and Louise now in charge the future is assured, so a toast to William Valentine and the great family he founded, to Bella Lucia. And to the next sixty years.’

‘Sixty years?’ Max looked adoringly at his bride. ‘Are you game for that, my Valentine?’

‘To be honest, I’m not into these short-term relationships,’ she said, with an impish smile. ‘But ask me again in sixty years. I’ll give you my answer then.’

One Summer in Italy… by Lucy Gordon

CHAPTER ONE

NOTmuch longer-if I can just hold out-please, please, don’t let them catch me…

The soft vibration of the speeding train seemed to be part of her thoughts. It was five minutes late but she should still reach Rome in time to get to the airport and catch her plane home.

Just a hundred miles to Rome-that’s not much really-unless the police saw me get on this train…

Had anyone seen her? She’d hurried, keeping her head down, trying to get lost in the crowd. Nobody had troubled her so far, but it was too soon to feel safe.

Perhaps she would never feel truly safe again. The man she had loved and trusted had betrayed her, throwing her to the wolves to save his own skin. Even if she managed to keep her freedom, the world had changed, becoming ugly and bitter, like the inside of her own mind.

Somebody eased past her in the corridor and she turned hastily away, staring out of the window to conceal her face. Outside, the Italian countryside, bathed in the glowing colours of summer, rushed by, but she was barely aware of its beauty. Only her fear existed.

When she next looked, she could see two uniformed men at the end of the corridor.

Police!

She must escape before they reached her.

Edge away slowly. Don’t attract attention. Try to look casual.

She wondered exactly what kind of description of her they had: Name, Sarah Conroy, but answers only to Holly; a young woman in her late twenties, tall, perhaps a little too slim, with light brown hair, cut short, blue eyes and a face with nothing special about it: a face that hadn’t lived very much.

Nondescript. Yes, that was the word for her, and for the first time she was glad. It might save her now.

Here was the end of the carriage. A short step and she was in the next one. It was first class, divided into compartments. But each one had the blinds down and it was too risky to take shelter in one of them without some idea of what she would find.

Without warning, the blind beside her flew up and she found herself staring straight at a little girl. She was about eight years old and in a childish temper. That was all Holly had time to take in before making a lightning decision.

It took a split-second to open the door, dart inside and pull the blind down again.

In the corner a young woman looked up from her book and opened her mouth, but Holly just managed to get in first.

‘Please don’t make a sound. I need your help desperately.’

She realised too late that she was speaking English. They wouldn’t understand a word. But before she could call on her unreliable Italian the child broke in speaking English.

‘Good afternoon, signorina,’ she said with quaint formality, ‘I am very happy to meet you.’

Her temper had vanished as if by magic. She was smiling as, with perfect self-possession, she offered one small hand. Dazed, Holly took it in her own.

‘How-how do you do?’ she murmured mechanically.

‘I am very well, thank you,’ the child responded carefully. ‘My name is Liza Fallucci. What is your name, please?’

‘Holly,’ she said slowly, trying to understand what was happening.

‘Are you English?’

‘Yes, I am English.’

‘I am very glad you are English.’

She was beaming as though she really was glad, as if someone had given her a big, beautiful gift.

The train slowed suddenly and the child nearly fell. The young woman put out a hand to steady her.

‘Careful, piccina. You’re still not steady on your feet.’

Now Holly saw clearly what she had missed before. The little girl was unable to walk properly. One leg was encased in a support, and as she moved she reached out to hold on to the seats.