But her temper flared into life, telling her that pigs would fly before she explained herself to him. After snubbing her for days, who the hell did he think he was to judge her so easily?

‘Don’t let me keep you,’ Angel said coolly, and saw his face harden against her.

She knew her temper boiled over too easily these days. Eight years of keeping it strictly under control had left her glad of the release of anger. As Vittorio walked away there was even a bitter satisfaction in knowing that she had the upper hand.

She repented almost at once.

‘I’m not a nice person,’ she muttered. ‘What’s happening to me?’

But it was too late to call him back, and her mind was becoming filled with darkness and tension again.

‘Not again,’ she whispered. ‘Please, not again. Not until this is over.’

It was hard to resist the thought that this had happened because Vittorio had turned against her, but she told herself not to be absurd. The mere idea that the offer or withdrawal of his friendship could affect her like this was one that she wouldn’t tolerate.

On the afternoon before Mack and the photographers were due to arrive, Vittorio said, ‘Do you want me to meet your friends at the airport?’

‘No, thank you. That isn’t your job. I’ve made arrangements.’

‘Yes, padrona,’ he said politely, and left.

A hired car and chauffeur would be waiting for them at Naples airport. Angel had chosen not to go there herself, because she wanted to spend all the time on her appearance. It took an hour to decide on the dress. The one she finally chose was white and luxuriously simple, with a V-neckline that plunged down between her breasts, suggesting, but not quite revealing.

Her face took even longer. She’d never depended on make-up artists, but she’d learned from them and could now produce the desired effect unaided: just enough darkening around her large eyes to make them even more emphatic, the luscious gleam added to her lips.

Then her hair, shining, tumbling over her shoulders, long enough to flick this way and that in tempting attitudes. She’d wondered if she’d forgotten how to do all these things, but the skills returned to her with disturbing ease.

She was downstairs an hour before they were due, checking and re-checking the bedrooms, the kitchen where Berta was preparing a feast, the dining room where the table was laid with crystal and silver. She declared everything perfect, which made Berta beam.

Vittorio appeared, carrying a heavy silver dish, and it suddenly struck her as odd that he should be here. Odder still was the fact that he was smartly dressed in black trousers and snowy white shirt, with a dark red bow tie. With a sense of outrage, Angel realised what he looked like.

‘Why are you dressed like a waiter?’ she demanded.

‘I suppose that’s what I am,’ he said mildly. ‘I’ve offered to help Berta serve the meal. We want to make the best impression on your friends, padrona.’

That last remark sounded like a calculated insult, she thought. She knew why he’d done this-not to be helpful, but to stay here and make his disapproval obvious. With difficulty, Angel restrained her temper and said calmly, ‘That’s very obliging of you.’

Vittorio nodded like a good servant, set the silver dish down and left the room. But she followed him into the hall, seized his arm and forced him to turn.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ she flashed.

‘Being obliging, padrona.’

‘The hell you are! You fixed this so that you could keep me under your eye. How dare you spy on me?’

His eyes narrowed and she guessed he wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. But it was his own fault for provoking her.

‘Why are you so determined to think the worst of me, padrona?’

‘Don’t call me that! Do you hear? Don’t ever do it again.’

‘But it’s the truth. We are mistress and servant. If I can face it, why can’t you?’

‘The way you say it, it’s a sick joke.’

His eyes raked over her, and she understood the implication. It was a sick joke.

‘How dare you?’ she breathed.

‘What do you want me to say? The other night you rejected Angel. You said she was shallow and stupid and knew nothing except how things seemed on the surface. There was an honest woman talking, a true woman, with a heart. But now? Look at you. You’ve turned into that creature again and invited the world in to see you using my home as a backdrop to your shallowness. And I say that by doing so you desecrate it. There now, are you answered?’

Vittorio was sorry as soon as the words were out of his mouth. The gaze Angel turned on him was stricken, as though he’d struck her a savage blow. He hadn’t meant to. Lashing out defensively, he’d forgotten the vulnerability she strove so hard to conceal, but he could see it now in the dark shadows in her eyes, so like the ones he’d seen before.

‘Look,’ he said hastily, ‘take no notice-’

But before he could finish there was a sound from outside, and a man’s voice called, ‘Angel, where are you?’

Instantly Vittorio saw something come over her. She straightened up, adjusted her shoulders, and took a deep breath. Then, right there in front of him, she turned into someone else. Her eyes grew brighter, her mouth stretched into a calculated, dazzling smile. She was Angel again.

Then she was hurrying towards the front door, arms outstretched to meet the three men descending from the car. The first one, a great bear of a man, enveloped her in a hug, bawling, ‘Angel, my sweet!’

‘Mack, darling!’

Vittorio watched her embrace each of the three men one by one, laughing, teasing them, apparently overwhelmed with delight. If he hadn’t seen the transformation a moment ago, he would have believed every word of it. Now he could only see the strain behind each word and gesture.

He heard the beefy man say, ‘You really made them pay over the odds for this, so let’s make it a good one.’

Then Angel’s tinkling laugh, and the provocative words, ‘Well, a man ought to pay over the odds, and I always give good value.’

Mack gave a lecherous guffaw that made Vittorio want to knock him to the floor.

He wondered what she would say if she knew that he had volunteered to help out today, not to spy on her, but simply to be there if she needed him. She would probably laugh, he thought, exasperated with himself. It drove him wild that his hostility was constantly undermined by a mysterious urge to protect her.

When everyone had been installed in their rooms, there was wine and cakes. Then Angel began to show them around while the photographers inspected the house, seeking angles, setting up lights. Vittorio kept severely away from them.

Then the pictures began: Angel in the garden, flooded with bright sunlight, walking through the roses by the fountain, Angel the expert lemon-grower, indicating the terraces. From a high-up window in the house, Vittorio watched this at a distance.

When they returned they were still discussing lemons, and Mack was saying admiringly, ‘You’ve really become an expert in a short time.’

‘It’s not down to me,’ Angel disclaimed quickly. Seeing Vittorio crossing the hall, she said, ‘This is the real expert. I only know what Vittorio teaches me.’

‘Is that so?’ Mack said, advancing on Vittorio in a friendly spirit. ‘So, you’re the guy that Angel relies on?’

Vittorio gazed at him blankly. ‘Scusi?’

‘Angel says you know all about lemons.’

Mack spoke slowly, but it didn’t seem to help. Vittorio simply stared. After a moment he said in a carefully stupid voice, ‘Me no spikka da English.’

‘Cut that out,’ Angel muttered, half annoyed, half amused. ‘You “spikka da English” perfectly well when it suits you.’

Vittorio reverted to Italian to say, ‘But in the presence of your eminent friends my wits desert me. I am overwhelmed to meet such great people-’

‘Shut up!’ she said, trying to fight back her laughter. ‘Don’t play games with me or I’ll stamp on your foot.’

He grinned. ‘Scusi, signora. Me no spikka da English.’

‘Get lost.’

‘Si, signora.’ He gave her the grin of a conspirator and glided away before she could reply.

‘Angel, honey, can we have you over here?’

Angel sashayed back, giving Mack a wink and twisting her hips in a way that had the photographers begging for more. She felt strong and ready for anything. It made no sense that Vittorio could do this merely by grinning and sharing a joke with her, but then a lot about her response to this man didn’t make sense.

For dinner she changed into a black, figure-hugging evening gown, and descended slowly, stopping to pose every few steps. When Mack gallantly offered her his arm, she caught a look of faint surprise on his face.

‘I forgot, you’ve seen this one before, haven’t you?’

‘I admit I thought you’d have raided the couture establishments in Milan and Rome by now.’

‘At one time I would have done, but these days I’m just a simple country girl.’

‘That’s going to come as a great disappointment to your male admirers.’

‘There, and I thought it was me they loved, and not the trappings.’

Laughing, they went into the dining room, where Angel posed for more pictures as the perfect hostess of a sumptuous feast. Mack sat next to her, mentally taking notes, she was sure. He’d been interviewing her on and off all day, but she knew that the serious business was still to come. For what the magazine was paying, he’d made it clear he would expect more than platitudes.

Somewhere in the background she heard the house phone ring. After a moment, Vittorio came to find her.

‘There’s a man on the phone for you, padrona.’

‘Did you ask his name?’

‘No, padrona,’ he said quietly.

Puzzled, Angel went into the hall and took up the receiver. The called turned out to be Roy, one of Sam’s carers.

‘Sam asked me to call you right now,’ he said. ‘He’s feeling bright and on top of things.’

‘Wonderful!’

Then Sam’s voice, saying, ‘Hello, darling. How’s my girl?’

‘Sam,’ she said eagerly. ‘Oh, it’s wonderful to hear you. I miss you so much.’

‘I miss you too, darling. How do you like Italy?’

He even remembered that she was in Italy. The pleasure of finding his mind so clear made Angel laugh aloud.

‘It’s lovely here,’ she said. ‘But it’ll be even nicer when you’re here too.’

‘When am I coming?’

‘Not long now, darling, we’ll soon be together again.’

Vittorio, carrying things from the kitchen to the dining room, tried not to overhear, but the words seemed to stab him.

Mack was buzzing with eagerness when she returned.

‘Come on, tell. Who’s the man phoning you? A new lover? I thought you’d have been followed by hordes of lustful Italians by now. Can I tell my readers how you like Italian men?’

She gave a teasing laugh. ‘Mack, I promise you, Italian men are just like men the world over.’ She leaned close and whispered, ‘Very, very annoying.’

He chuckled, and the dangerous moment passed, but soon she knew she would have to confront the question of exactly how much she would tell him. How much could she bear to tell him?

Then she thought of the estate, peaceful and beautiful beneath the noonday sun. She thought of the lemons, gently ripening, ready for their moment of splendour when they would rescue the whole estate. She thought of the people who depended on her: Berta, the maids, the gardeners. She thought of Vittorio, bitter and awkward, but working selflessly to save the place he loved.

And she knew what she was going to say.

After dinner Angel took Mack into a small side room, which had once been used as a library, although most of the books had gone.

‘Let’s talk about Joe,’ he said. ‘How did you feel when he told you he’d found someone else?’

Angel managed a shrug. ‘Not really surprised. We’d been drifting apart for some time.’

‘Had you found another man?’

‘No, I never played around, so stop looking hopeful,’ she said with a hint of teasing.

‘Not one lover, hovering in the background?’

‘Not one. Give up.’

He gave a resigned sigh, and she thought she’d won this round, but he was preparing his bombshell.

‘Have you heard anything about Joe and Merry’s wedding?’ he asked with a casual air.

‘No, but our divorce became final last week, so I guess it’ll be soon.’

Mack grinned, reaching into a leather bag he was carrying, and whipping out a bunch of photos that he spread over the table in front of her. They showed a wedding. Joe Clannan grinned fatuously at his young bride, who resembled an overgrown meringue adorned with too much satin, too much lace, and too many diamonds.