‘Wow!’ she exclaimed. ‘You look fantastic. No wonder you melted the Iceman’s heart.’

‘The Iceman?’

‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ Dulcie was conscience stricken. ‘But Guido says it’s what the family have always called him. Not to his face, naturally. You know how grim he can be. But of course you see a side of him that nobody else does.’ She gave a delighted chuckle. ‘Now I’ve made you blush.’

‘I’m not,’ Harriet said, although conscious that she was going pink. There was something in the implication that she and Marco were lovers that discomposed her. To hide her face she turned away and patted down her dress.

The beautician had come out from the salon to take charge of her appearance, and Harriet’s face was made-up with subtle flattery, so that her expressive green eyes dominated her face. Her hair was swept up on top of her head, with just a few curving wisps gently drifting down about her cheeks and neck.

She wore a clinging dress of golden brown crushed velvet. She knew she looked good and the knowledge gave her confidence.

There was a knock at the door and Dulcie opened it to reveal Guido and Marco, both in bow-ties and dinner jackets, both incredibly handsome.

Marco surveyed Harriet with satisfaction. ‘Bene! Just as I hoped. This will look splendid on you.’

He opened a black box, revealing a heavy gold chain. Dulcie stared at it, wide-eyed, before seizing Guido’s hand and whisking him away.

‘Spoilsport,’ her beloved chided her when they were out in the corridor. ‘It would have been fun to see the Iceman playing the lover.’

‘You wouldn’t have seen it,’ Dulcie told him. ‘Marco wouldn’t open up with us there. But now that we’re gone I’ll bet they’re locked in a passionate embrace.’

Guido inched hopefully back towards the door. ‘Can’t we just-?’

‘Behave yourself! Besides, I have other plans for you.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, that’s different.’ He allowed himself to be led away in the opposite direction.

They would both have been disappointed had they seen Marco’s calm demeanour as he raised the elaborate chain and draped it around Harriet’s neck.

‘I’ve always known that gold would suit you,’ he said, fastening the clasp at the back. ‘I was right.’

Awed, Harriet gazed at the woman in the mirror and didn’t know her. This wasn’t herself, but a magnificent creature, with a timeless splendour. She might have been Cleopatra, or some ancient pagan goddess. Marco had judged perfectly.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I never dreamed I could look like that.’

‘I know. You have discerning eyes for everyone but yourself. I have known this about you from the first moment.’

A special note in his voice made her conscious that his fingers were still resting against her neck. Glancing in the mirror she met his eyes and saw in them a glow that he’d never shown her face to face. Then he seemed to become self-conscious, and the shutters came down again.

‘Are you ready?’ Lucia asked from the door. ‘People are beginning to arrive.’

The other five were waiting in the corridor. Even Leo had managed to shrug himself into a dinner jacket. Lucia, splendid in rubies, surveyed them all with satisfaction.

‘The Calvanis are a handsome family,’ she said. ‘And they attract handsome women. Now let’s all go down and knock ’em dead.’

CHAPTER SIX

STANDING in the receiving line Harriet thought the guests would go on forever. There were a number of banking ‘big names’ and some of Marco’s most important clients, but there were also a lot of titles, Countess this, Princess that, Duke, Baron. This was society with a capital S.

Where it wasn’t titled, it was wealthy. Harriet guessed that half the bank vaults in Rome must have disgorged their contents of family jewels. Tiaras, rivières, bracelets, earrings, diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls, each one signifying that its wearer would compete in riches with any other woman there.

As she could herself, she realised. The glowing gold that Marco had fastened around her neck was, in itself, a declaration. And so was the ring. She shuddered at the thought of wearing a ring worth a ‘mere’ ten thousand in this company. The one now weighing down her hand informed the world that Marco Calvani’s chosen bride was a woman who commanded his respect, and therefore must command theirs.

The women seemed young or middle-aged, most of them older than they looked because they had time and money to spend fighting the years. They were dressed in the height of luxurious fashion, not merely to look good but to make a statement. Not a fashion statement. Something else.

Beware!

That was it.

There was a frisson in the air, a sense of danger, and suddenly she could hear Olympia’s voice saying, ‘Marco’s known as a lady-killer, with the emphasis on killer.’

They were watching her with hungry, glittering eyes. Curiosity, jealousy, cynicism? All these and more. Lust, envy, memories, anticipation. Some of these bold-eyed creatures had been his lovers, and wanted her to know that. And they were frankly calculating how long she could keep him faithful. Not long, some of them were doubtless thinking. They wanted her to know that, too.

She was in the lion’s den.

A spurt of anger inspired her to raise her head and straighten her shoulders.

No matter that this engagement might soon be over. Tonight, at least, he was officially hers, and she would defend her right to him.

‘Are you all right?’ Marco asked, glancing at her.

‘Fine. Never better,’ she assured him.

‘I believe you. This is a jungle, but you’re strong.’

‘I’m not scared, but perhaps they should be.’

‘Yes,’ he said, giving her one of his rare, brilliant smiles. ‘Come,’ he led her onto the floor as the music started. ‘Let’s tell them what they want to know.’

And they told those hot-eyed, resentful women exactly what they wanted to know, dancing close, head to head, body to body, hips moving together, seemingly lost in each other.

It was false, Harriet thought; all put on for the crowd. But the pleasure that came from just being near him was there again, infusing her limbs as they moved against his. The low-cut dress was revealing, but instead of being embarrassed, as last time, now she felt pride. She had come to believe that she was worth looking at, and she wanted this man to think so, too.

He did, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. He seemed transfixed by her creamy bosom, her long neck, her bold eyes.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want you to dance with anyone else.’

‘Then I won’t,’ she said, smiling.

‘Unfortunately you must, and so must I.’

‘Yes, or all those women are going to be so disappointed.’

‘Forget them.’

She laughed, so close to his face that her breath warmed him, and she felt him tremble. ‘They don’t want to be forgotten.’

‘Forget them,’ he said again. ‘That’s an order.’

‘You give orders very easily, but it’s unwise of you to tell me what to think.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why is it “unwise”?’

‘Because you should never give an order you can’t enforce. How will you ever know if I’m doing what you want?’

His brow lightened. ‘I shall just take it for granted that you’re not. Then I can’t go wrong.’

‘You understand me almost as well as I understand you,’ she teased.

‘And what am I?’

‘A tyrant.’

‘And you’re a witch.’

The music was coming to an end. He had just time to give her a wry look before they passed on to other partners.

The dances slid by, Count Calvani, Guido, Leo, then the local dignitaries, until finally she came to Baron Orazio Manelli.

She’d met him briefly at the start of the evening. He was younger than she had expected, middle-aged rather than elderly, strongly built with a fleshy face and a haughty expression. She’d written to him so often that she wondered if he would react to her name. He gave her an appraising look but it was hard to be sure what it meant.

Now he approached her and asked her to dance, with a look in his eye that told her he’d remembered.

‘I wondered why your name was familiar,’ he said genially as they took the floor. ‘You’ve been writing to me.’

‘For two years now. Everyone knows your art and sculpture collection is fabulous but you hide it away.’

‘My father and my grandfather were collectors. Me, I like to spend my time among the living, not the dead. Why should a beautiful young woman like you want to bury herself in the past?’

‘I love it. It’s my life.’

‘Not your whole life surely? Your husband will want your attention.’

‘And he’ll have it,’ she said demurely. ‘Within reason.’

He laughed so loud that heads turned. ‘Marco won’t let you get away with that.’

‘Who says I’ll ask him? I shan’t stop being an antiquarian just because I’m a wife.’

He gave a throaty laugh. ‘I’m beginning to like you. Perhaps we should talk some more.’

‘About your collection? And me coming to see it?’

‘How can I refuse you?’ Somebody jostled him from behind. ‘Can we go to a place that’s less crowded?’

It couldn’t do any harm to slip away just for a moment, she reasoned. They would go into the next room, where the party was also taking place, but where there were fewer people. But next door somebody was singing a song, so they went on further, until they reached the garden and found a bench under a tree from which hung coloured lights.

Manelli began to talk of gold, vases, jewellery, spreading a carpet of wonders before her so that her inward eyes were dazzled. The outside world slipped away. Harriet forgot where she was and what she should be doing. Time passed unnoticed as new worlds opened before her.