‘Tell me about the other brother,’ Angie said now.

‘His name’s Bernardo, and he’s their half-brother. Their father had an affair with a woman from one of the mountain villages, called Marta Tornese, and Bernardo was their son. They died together in a car crash, and Lorenzo’s mother took the boy in and raised him with her own sons.’

‘My goodness! What a woman!’

The plane was banking, showing them the triangular island of Sicily, golden and beautiful against the blue of the sea. In another moment they had started the final descent to Palermo Airport.

As they came out of Customs, Heather broke into a smile and waved at two men standing apart. From Heather’s description Angie knew that the glamorous young giant with light brown curly hair was Lorenzo, her friend’s fiancé. She glanced at the other and felt a smile begin deep inside her.

He wasn’t a tall man, something which the petite Angie greatly appreciated. She hated getting a crick in her neck. So it was a mark in his favour that he was only five foot eight. His shape earned him a good review too. Ten out of ten, she thought, for lean wiriness, narrow hips and a look of hard, compact maleness that sent an uncompromising message to the woman who knew how to read it.

So far, so enjoyable.

It was when she got closer and saw his dark, serious eyes that her inner smile faltered a little. There was something about this man that she couldn’t smile at, something that sent a shiver of excited anticipation up her spine.

As Heather and Lorenzo threw themselves into each other’s arms the young man approached Angie, smiling very slightly. ‘I am Bernardo Tornese,’ he said in a deep voice.

Tornese, she noticed, not Martelli.

She took the hand he was holding out, and felt the whipcord strength of him, even in that light grip. ‘I’m Angela Wendham,’ she said.