‘Good evening, signorina,’ Renato Martelli said, giving her a courteous little bow. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’

‘You mean, meet me again, don’t you?’ she asked coolly. ‘You surely can’t have forgotten our encounter in Gossways this afternoon?’

‘What’s this?’ Lorenzo asked. ‘You’ve met before?’

‘Earlier today,’ Renato Martelli confirmed. ‘I was impatient to see the lady of whom I’ve heard so much, so I adopted a subterfuge, for which I hope I’ll be forgiven.’ He was smiling as he raised her hand to his lips.

Heather regarded him wryly. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

Renato gallantly pulled out a gilt-and-plush chair for her, and the three of them sat down.

‘What subterfuge?’ Lorenzo asked, looking from one to the other.

‘Your brother came to my counter, posing as a customer,’ Heather told him.

‘I thought we could assess each other in a more natural atmosphere,’ Renato explained.

‘Each other?’ she murmured.

‘I’m sure you formed your own opinion of me.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she assured him. ‘I certainly did.’

She left it there. She was far from finished but she didn’t want to look as though she were sulking. A waiter appeared with the menu and when he’d given the order Renato added, ‘And a bottle of your very finest champagne.’

At this hint of approval Lorenzo grinned. Perversely Heather found herself even more annoyed. Was she supposed to jump for joy because Renato Martelli had tossed her a crumb of favour?

She would never have guessed they were brothers. She knew that over the centuries the island of Sicily had been invaded so often that many racial types-Greek, Arab, Italian, French, Spanish, Celtic-were mixed in its inhabitants. There was something Greek in Lorenzo’s fine looks, blue eyes and light brown curly hair. Despite his size his movements were graceful.