‘Will I do?’

‘Oh, yes, you’ll do, and then some. You look gorgeous. I was right to make you get that dress. And those sandals. Lord, but I envy you your long legs and your ankles. If you knew how rare it is for a woman to have ankles as slender as yours, and yet have perfect balance so that you can walk on them without wobbling! I could murder you for that alone.’

Celia chuckled. She owed Angela a lot, for it was she who’d taught her how to win the admiring glances that she knew followed her even without seeing them. Angela had decreed the colours that went with Celia’s red hair.

‘But what does it mean-red hair?’ Celia had asked.

‘It means you’ve got to be very careful what you wear with it. You’re lucky in your complexion, pale and delicate, the perfect English-rose style.’

‘What’s an English rose?’ Celia had asked at once.

‘Let’s just say men go for it. That’s what you’re hoping for, isn’t it?’

‘Certainly not. This is a business meeting to discuss strategy and forward planning.’

‘Boy, you really have got it bad.’

Celia laughed, but inwardly she could feel herself blushing. Her friend’s words were true. She had got it bad already.

When she opened the door to Francesco that evening she heard what she’d been hoping for-a brief hesitation that said he was taken aback by her appearance. She smiled at his wolf whistle and inclined her head in mock acceptance.

There was the tiniest hint of their future disagreements when he wanted her to leave Wicksy behind.

‘He goes with me everywhere,’ she said firmly

‘Surely he doesn’t have to? I’ll keep you safe.’

‘But I don’t want to be kept safe,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Wicksy treats me as an equal in ways that nobody else does.’

‘But you don’t need him if you’ve got me,’ he insisted. ‘Besides, restaurants don’t like dogs.’