‘Too right. It stops me being wrong-footed by people who don’t know what they’re talking about.’

‘Meaning me?’

‘Meaning anyone.’

‘Meaning the entire rest of the world, as far as you’re concerned. So now you’ll have exactly the wife you need, someone who’s seen the worst of you and will put up with it for the sake of your money.’

He grunted. ‘You think you’ve seen the worst of me?’

‘Well, I hope the rest isn’t even more unpleasant.’

‘It can be,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘It can be a lot more unpleasant. Think hard before taking me on.’

‘Fine! It’s all off. Here endeth the shortest engagement in history. The protagonists couldn’t stand each other.’

She dropped her voice on the last words, aware that she was attracting attention. Marco also looked around, before lowering his voice and leaning closer to her.

‘You’re being melodramatic,’ he said coldly. ‘There’s no need for all this emotionalism.’

She too leaned closer. ‘I’m not being emotional, I’m being coldly realistic. Why not? It works for you.’

‘You know nothing about me,’ he snapped. ‘All this because I want to organise your finances-’

‘You don’t want to “organise” my finances, you want to control them, and me. Where would it stop if I let you?’

‘Let me? Do you think I’m asking permission?’

‘I think you’d better be.’

‘Harriet, I’m telling you, no more buying.’

‘And I’m telling you that you’ve made me a loan, not bought me body and soul. The shop is mine.’

‘For how long if I decided to turn really nasty?’

‘You? Nasty? Surely not! Listen to me, Marco, I own that shop, I run it, and I alone decide what it needs. If I see stock I want, I won’t ask you first, I’ll buy it and tell them to bill me.’

‘And if I insist on returning it?’

‘That’ll be hard because I’ll be back in England.’

‘Having smuggled an Etruscan necklace or two under your jacket, I suppose?’ he said with heavy irony.

‘It was a fake and I’ll do whatever is necessary,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Marco, my boy!’

They both looked up quickly to see a large, middle-aged man who’d approached their table while they were preoccupied. Marco rose to shake his hand, introducing him to Harriet as Alfredo Orese.

Orese, she thought. And he worked for the Banca Orese Nationale.

‘Unforgivable of me to interrupt two lovebirds,’ Alfredo said jovially, purloining a chair from another table and joining them. ‘Nice to see a young couple absorbed in each other, head to head, oblivious to the world, know what I mean?’

That must be how they had looked, Harriet realised, smiling noncommittally.

‘Not a word, Alfredo,’ Marco said amiably. ‘Let us keep our secrets.’

Alfredo put his finger over his lips and winked. He was somewhat the worse for wear, and seemed less like a banker than a man who liked a good time. He ordered a bottle of the best champagne, toasted them noisily, kissed Harriet’s cheek and finally, to their relief, took himself off.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ Marco said, letting out his breath. ‘He’s a good fellow, means no harm.’

‘And likes playing at being a banker,’ she said wryly.

‘How did you know?’

‘The name. But I reckon the name is the only reason he’s there.’

He grinned. ‘Yes, but to his credit he understands that and doesn’t interfere. You ought to marry him. He’s got ten times what I have and he’d let you blow the lot without protest.’

‘Ah, but he wouldn’t give me a good fight like you do.’

‘You can count on me for those.’

‘All right, I’ll grant you that my financial management leaves something to be desired-’

‘I wouldn’t myself have dignified your carry-on with the name of financial management-’

‘Do you want to fight again?’ she asked sweetly.

‘No, it’s too soon after the last time. Let’s space them and get our breath back.’

‘Will you be quiet while I make a sort of concession?’

He looked at her attentively.

‘I admit I’ve made some mistakes-did you say something?’

‘Not a word.’

‘I’ve made a few mistakes, and I shall be interested to hear your advice.’

His lips twitched. ‘Interested?’

‘Interested.’

‘To the point of taking it?’

‘Let’s see what the future holds.’

He grinned. Humour altered his face as though a light had come on inside him. He could be charming, she thought, when he allowed himself to relax. She was beginning to understand his habit of describing everything in business terms. They were the words he understood most easily, but they covered something else deep inside him, and she was beginning to be intrigued by what that ‘something else’ might be.

‘Enough for tonight,’ he said. ‘It’s a draw.’

She laughed and let it go.

As the coffee was being served the lights were lowered. Members of the band took their place on the low stage. A young woman came to the microphone and began to sing in a breathy voice. It was a song about loss and physical longing, the persistence of desire when all hope had gone.

‘I feel you touching me-though we’re apart-your hands, your lips are everywhere…’

She was a skilful artist, managing to squeeze the last ounce of sensuality from every word, every cunningly placed pause. A new atmosphere, romantic, delicate, subtly erotic, began to pervade the club.

By slow degrees Harriet felt herself come alive with the consciousness that she was sitting close to an attractive man, with only a thin layer of material between him and her nakedness. Suddenly the dress felt alarmingly low.

She stole a look at Marco to see if he was equally aware of her, but he was watching the stage. Her eyes were drawn to his hands, which were long and fine, but with a hint of power.

‘Your hands touch me everywhere-’ crooned the singer.

It was absurd to feel her body responding merely to a thought, but she couldn’t control the warmth that was stealing over her. How would those hands touch a woman? How would it feel to be touched intimately by them? It was as though she already knew. She took a deep, shuddering breath and fixed her eyes on the floor.

For his part, Marco was directing his eyes to anywhere but her. He’d gone to his mother’s villa tonight prepared only to stay for supper and depart, his duty done. One look at Harriet had changed his mind. Here was the sensual, flamboyant creature who’d hidden beneath her dowdy disguise, tantalising him with her elusiveness from the very first night.

His decision to take her out had been spur of the moment, something which shocked him but did not deter him. He kept a room at the villa and a set of evening clothes, so a change of plan presented no problems. As he drove her into Rome he’d wondered how the evening would go, what they would talk about. It hadn’t occurred to him that they would fight, but now he thought perhaps it should have done.

Finally he stole a glance at her, and saw that her face was averted from the stage, slightly towards him, but not looking directly at him. He realised that she wasn’t seeing anything external, but was lost in an inner world where he wasn’t invited. It was absurd to feel jealous, but he wished she would notice him. She didn’t.

The blue light from the stage drained all other colour from her, and sharply emphasised the shadows. For a moment she didn’t look like a living woman but like the statue of some ancient queen, perhaps Nefertiti or Cleopatra: some great lady, statuesque, imperious, magnificent.

But he knew that this was only part of her. The next moment she could come alive with the mischievous laughter of a child, or glare at him with the fierceness of an adversary. There was no knowing.

He saw that Alfredo was attracting his attention from a few yards away and forced himself to smile. Alfredo was a good fellow, not the brightest, but amiable, and he would be useful in gaining a partnership. He was indicating Harriet, winking, making ‘ho ho’ gestures implying that they were both men of the world. Suddenly Marco wanted to knock him down.

The singer departed, amid applause and the band struck up for dancing.

‘Would you care to take the floor?’ Marco asked politely.

She took his hand and he led her onto the dance floor, which rapidly became too crowded to do more than shuffle. He held her firmly, close but not too close, and she found that her step fell in with his easily. The effect of the sultry song was still on her, driving out all thoughts except that she was enjoying this moment and anticipating the next one. She smiled.

‘What is it?’ he asked at once.

‘I’m just having a good time.’

‘That smile meant something.’

‘It meant I’m having a good time.’

‘No, more than that. Tell me.’

His insistence disturbed her. She met his eyes and saw in them something that was too intense for the trivial question. Then somebody collided with her and she felt Marco’s hands tighten, steadying her. She was pressed against him, his face close to hers. Her senses swam and she closed her eyes to hide whatever they might have revealed to him.

‘Look at me,’ he murmured.

She did so and found him watching her intently. She could feel the movement of his thighs against hers, and the warmth of his hand in the small of her back, seeming to move with the flexing of her body, as though the material between had vanished. She was possessed by thoughts and sensations that shocked her with their frankness and urgency, and a little gasp broke from her.

‘What is it?’ he wanted to know.

‘I-nothing-nothing-’ she struggled to make sense. ‘Just the heat.’

‘Yes, the atmosphere is getting a little too much,’ Marco agreed. ‘My apartment is close by. Let me give you a coffee there.’