Excerpt of The Wedding Arrangement by Lucy Gordon

I'M CRAZY to leave.

The words pounded in Luke Cayman's head as he packed his bags on the day after his brother Primo's en- gagement.

I should stay and fight for her. Yet he got into his brand new state-of-the-art sports car and headed out of Naples 'like a bat out of hell', as he put it.

It was a relief to get on to the autostrada, where he could let it rip, driving the two hundred miles to Rome at the top of the legal limit and making it in two and a half hours.

Once there, he checked into a five-star hotel in Parioli, the wealthiest and most elegant part of the city, and in- dulged himself with the best of Roman cuisine and wine, which he drank in brooding silence.

I should have stayed. But there was Olympia's face in his mind, as he'd last seen it, her eyes fixed blissfully on Primo, her fiancé, soon to be her husband. Who was he trying to kid? He'd never stood a chance.

He was just thinking of an early night when a hand clapped him on the shoulder and a hearty voice said, "You should have told me you were coming."

Bernardo was the hotel manager, a plump, hearty man in his mid-forties. Luke had stayed here before on busi- ness trips to Rome, and they had always been on good terms.

"It was a last-minute decision," Luke said, trying to sound cheerful. "I find myself the owner of a building in Rome and it needs my attention."

"Property? I thought you were in manufacturing." 'I am. This place was given to me in repayment of a debt."

"Round here?" 'No, Trastevere."

Bernardo raised his eyebrows. If Parioli was Rome's most elegant area, Trastevere was its most colourful.

"I gather it's in a poor state of repair," Luke said. "When I've put it right, I'll sell it."

"Why not just sell it now? Let someone else bother with the repairs."

"Signora Pepino would never let me get away with that," Luke said with a grin. "She's a lawyer who lives and works there, and has already bombarded me with letters saying what she expects me to do."

"And you'll do what this woman tells you?" 'She isn't a woman, she's a dragon. That's why I didn't tell her I was coming. I can get a look at the place before she starts breathing fire at me."

"Is that the only reason?" Bernardo asked, regarding him shrewdly.

Luke shrugged. "Ah, a lovely lady broke your heart and now —" 'No woman has ever broken my heart," Luke said sharply. "I don't allow that to happen."

"Very wise." 'I let myself get a little too close to a woman, although I knew she was in love with another man. It was a mis- take, but mistakes can be put right. A wise man sees the danger and takes action."

"And you managed that with your customary effi- ciency?"

"My what?" 'You're known as a man who believes in good order, keeps things in proportion, and stays invulnerable. I envy you. It must make life simple. But now you need to get blissfully roaring drunk, with good companions who will put you safely to bed afterwards."

"For pity's sake, Bernardo, how often have you seen me like that?"

"Not often enough. It's unnatural." Luke gave a reluctant laugh. "Maybe, but it helps a man stay in charge of his life, and that's what matters. Goodnight."

He went to his room quickly, suddenly uneasy in Bernardo's company. For a moment he'd seen himself through his friend's eyes, a man who prized good order and self- control above all else: a cold, hard man, who gave little and counted it out carefully first.

It wasn't so far from the truth, he thought. But it had never troubled him before.

He checked the messages on his cellphone and the words, Call your mother, appeared on the screen. Grinning, he called Hope Rinucci, his adoptive mother, and the only one he had known.

"Hi, Mamma. Yes, I got here safely. Everything's fine." 'Have you met Signora Pepino yet?" 'I've barely arrived. I've had a meal, that's all. Let me settle in before I confront her. I need all my courage."

His mother's exasperated voice reached him down the line. "Don't pretend you're afraid of her."

"I am. I'm shaking in my shoes, I swear it." 'You'll go to hell for telling lies, and serve you right." He chuckled. She always made him feel better. In his mind he could see her in the Villa Rinucci, high up on the hill. She liked to take phone calls on the terrace, looking out over the Bay of Naples, the most glorious view in the world, according to her. It would be dark now, with only the twinkling lights breaking through the black velvet, but the beauty was still there.

"Are you exhausted after all the festivities?" he asked. "I've no time for that. I'm planning the party for Primo and Olympia's engagement."

"I thought we had that last night." 'No, that was just the tail end of Justin's wedding," she said, naming her first son. "One wedding begets another, and naturally we toasted Primo and Olympia, but they'll want a proper engagement celebration of their own."

"And if they don't they're going to get it anyway," he said with wry fondness.

"Well, you can't expect me to pass up the chance of a party," she said reasonably.

"It would never occur to me that you'd pass up the chance of a party," he said truthfully. "And after that, there's the wedding, unless Olympia's mother has some mad idea of organising it herself."

"Oh, no, we discussed that last night, and she quite agrees with me."

"You mean she can't stand up to you any more than the rest of us," he said with a laugh. "I don't know what you mean," Hope said, affronted. And she really didn't.

"I look forward to it. I won't miss the chance to gloat over brother Primo's downfall."

"You'll meet the right one for you," Hope said, like all mothers.

"Maybe not. I might just settle for being a curmud- geonly old bachelor."

Hope crowed with laughter. "A handsome boy like you?"

"Boy? I'm thirty-eight." 'You'll always be a boy to me. Your wife is next on my list, and don't you forget it. Now, go and have a good time."

"Mamma, it's eleven o'clock." 'So? The perfect time for — anything you want." Luke grinned. His mother had never been a prude — one reason why her sons adored her. Toni, her husband, was far more strait-laced.

"I need to be clear-headed to deal with Signora Pepino."

"Nonsense! Just turn your charm on her, and that'll do the trick."

Hope Rinucci was convinced that all her sons had the charm of the devil and no woman could resist them. With the younger ones it was possibly true, but Luke knew that charm wasn't his strong suit. He was a tall, muscular, well-made man with features that were regular enough to pass for good looks. But his face fell naturally into stern lines and he smiled little.

It had been different with Olympia. In the few weeks he'd shared his apartment with her he'd forced himself to behave like a gentleman, knowing that her heart was already given to his brother, Primo. It hadn't been easy keeping his infatuation under control, and the strain had almost propelled it into outright love.

He knew that under Olympia's influence his nature had thawed, almost to the point of charm. But he was on his guard against it happening for a second time. Authority, no-nonsense, stubbornness: these he did well. Not charm.

But since there was no arguing with a mother's parti- ality he didn't try. They finished the conversation affec- tionately and he hung up, feeling strangely uneasy again. Something was wrong. He didn't know what, but he had an uncomfortable sense that the trouble lay with himself.

As always, when something disturbed him, he took refuge in work, pulling out the folder that contained the details of his newly acquired, if unwanted, property.

It was called the Residenza Gallini, a grandiose name that presumably promised more than it delivered, and, from the plan, seemed to be a five-storey building, built around four sides of a courtyard. The heart of the folder was the correspondence with Signora Minerva Pepino, a severe and ferocious lady whose very name was begin- ning to worry him.

It was easy fighting a man. You could go in with fists flailing. With a woman subtlety was needed, and Luke, who didn't 'do' subtlety any more than he 'did' charm, felt at a disadvantage.

She had opened hostilities with a reasonably restrained letter enquiring when he intended to come to Rome and set in motion the vast amount of work that was necessary to bring the property up to the standard essential to her clients, who lived there in conditions that were a dis- grace.

He had replied assuring her that he would arrive 'as soon as was convenient' and venturing, in the mildest possible way, to suggest that she exaggerated the condi- tions.

She had treated his mildness with the contempt it de- served, blasting him with a list of necessary repairs and including the probable prices, whose total made him gulp.

But now he felt he was getting her measure. The tradesmen who'd given these estimates were probably friends or relatives, and she was on commission. He be- gan to be offended at the way she clearly thought she could bully him, and repeated his assurance that he would come to Rome when it was convenient.

And so it had gone on, each growing more quellingly polite as their annoyance rose. Luke imagined her as a woman carved out of granite, probably in her fifties, rul- ing her world with grim efficiency, crushing all disagree- ment. Even her name was alarming. Minerva was the goddess of wisdom, known for her brilliant intellect but also for being born wearing armour and wielding a spear.

He would visit Rome and act like a responsible land- lord. What he would not do was let himself be ordered around.

He put the folder away. Suddenly his room felt too quiet, its very luxury pressing in on him like a stifling blanket. Coming to a sudden decision, he took the cash out of his wallet and put it in his pocket along with the plastic card that was the key to his room. Then he locked the wallet in the wall safe, and headed downstairs.

It was a balmy night and he was warm enough in his shirtsleeves as he walked away from the hotel and hailed a taxi to take him the length of the Via del Corso, with its late-night cafés and glittering shops. At the bottom they swung right, heading for the Garibaldi Bridge over the River Tiber.

"Here will do," he called to the driver when they had crossed the river.

He knew now that he must have reached the part of Rome known as Trastevere, a name which literally meant 'on the other side of the Tiber'. It was the oldest part of the city, and still the most colourful. The light streamed on to the streets, accompanied by song, laughter and ap- petising smells of cooking.

He plunged into the nearest bar and was soon envel- oped in conviviality. From there he drifted to another bar, relaxed by some of the best local wine he had ever tasted. Three bars later he was beginning to think that this was the way to live.

He wandered out into the cobbled street and stood there, gazing up at the full moon. Then he studied the street, realising that he had no idea where he was.

"Looking for something?"

Turning, he saw a young man sitting at one of the outside tables. He was little more than a boy, with a charming, mobile face and dark, vivid eyes. When he grinned his teeth flashed with almost startling brilliance.