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  But he nevertheless drew her away from the edge of the terrace and seated her at a small white ironwork table. There was a blue and white sun umbrella above them which he promptly retracted.

  `Even your skin doesn't need protection from the sun at this time of day,' he remarked, seating himself beside her and sliding his arm along the back of her chair.

  Jessica raised her eyebrows, looking pointedly at the arm. He gave her his most charming and least readable smile.

  `We are going to watch the sunset,' he said blandly.

  The bay was set out before them, the little town, with its promontory of castle and church, to their right. Even as Jessica watched, the sky began to fill with streaks of rose and apricot. Light fractured on the edge of the drifting clouds, throwing rainbows into the water.

  `It's going to be a good one,' said Leandro with satisfaction, and he let his hand fall comfortably on to her shoulder.

  Beside them a waiter appeared with a tall bottle and, two glass flutes on a silver tray. Leandro cast a quick glance at the bottle and nodded professionally. The man

  put down the tray and glasses on the table and began to rip gold foil from the cork of the bottle.

  `What. . .' began Jessica.

  But Leandro forestalled her. 'Sun,' he murmured mischievously, with a gesture at the Technicolor sky, `champagne. .

  Jessica watched, flinching slightly, as the waiter untwisted wire from the cork and then removed the cork itself with a great flourish and explosion of sound and wine.

  Leandro shook his head deprecatingly. 'He must have shaken it up deliberately,' he told her. 'Removing a champagne cork is a simple business. One day I will show you. You do not need to sound as if you are opening World War Three. Nor do you need to waste the wine like that.'

  `I'm sure you're an expert,' said Jessica.

  `I am,' he agreed, oblivious of insult.

  The waiter, slightly shamefaced, mopped the table and glasses, as well as the neck of the bottle, before putting the bottle in a free-standing ice bucket which he placed at Leandro's elbow. Then he put the glasses on the tray and offered one first to Jessica, then to her host.

  Sighing, Jessica accepted hers.

  `Leandro, are you trying to overwhelm me?' she asked, trying to sound amused and managing only to sound wary.

  `No. I rely on the sunset to do that.' He gave a soft laugh at her expression. 'Poor Jessica! Don't look so outraged. Drink your champagne and abandon yourself to the beauties of nature.'

  Disturbed, she did as he said. The sunset was certainly spectacular and, apart from that ominous arm about her shoulders, his behaviour was quite unthreatening. So why am I so jumpy? thought Jessica, bewildered.

  She lifted her glass to her lips, pretending to drink, pretending to be absorbed in the expanse of sea and sky.

  But in truth all she was aware of was Leandro: his steady breathing beside her, the warmth of his body, his eyes which, though they were hidden behind smoked glass, she knew never left her. Somewhere deep inside her she was aware of a trembling. It was a sensation of absolute weakness, almost as if she was ill or very afraid, and yet it was not unpleasant. It terrified her, so that she could hardly bear to sit still there beside him and watch the evening die.

  They were not alone. Quite apart from the waiters, more and more people were drifting out on to the terrace to watch the sunset. There was a soft buzz of conversation. It was all very civilised and indolent. A number of their companions on the terrace were in evening dress, and one or two of them greeted Leandro casually.

  Watching one of them, a tall woman with diamonds in her hair and ears, stroll away, Jessica murmured drily, `The beauties of nature? The clink of ice in Martinis and the scent of Patou?'

  She thought it would annoy him. She thought he would frown and call her a puritan as he had done before. But she misread him. He laughed.

  `Close your eyes and enjoy it,' he advised. 'I'll wake you when the floor show starts.'

  Jessica was so annoyed at this flippancy that she tossed off her glassful of champagne as if it was lemonade.

  `I thought it had started,' she said, with a gesture at the sky.

  He shook his head. 'You ain't seen nothing yet.' He reached round and poured more champagne into her glass.

  The shadows were lengthening rapidly on the waterfront path. A slight breeze had sprung up, stirring the leaves in the potted lemon trees on the terrace, and making the fringe of an awning on one of the buildings below them ripple. The sea, too, seemed to surge more strongly.

  The clouds were moving fast now, breaking the bars of light as if they were beams from arc lights. It dazzled the eyes. Briefly Jessica wished she too were wearing dark glasses, much as she detested them on Leandro.

  She said suddenly, not looking at him, 'Why do you wear those ridiculous sunglasses? They make you look like a Mafia hit man.'

  Pained, Leandro said, 'Surely not? I am too fair—and besides, I dress too well.'

  `Oh, they're designer sunglasses, are they?' demanded Jessica waspishly.

  `I imagine someone designed them, certainly,' Leandro agreed at his most equable.

  She cast him a look verging on dislike. 'They're an affectation. A silly, pointless affectation. Like champagne and all that sunbathing—good for the image.'

  His mouth twisted a little. 'You don't like my image, do you, Jessica?'

  `I don't have to like it,' she said, remembering her manners and scenting a challenge in one unnerving moment. 'It's nothing to do with me.'

  `And if I told you. .

  But she was not to find out what he might tell her. All around them the desultory conversation sank and a sigh went up. Startled, Jessica turned back to the vista—and gasped.

  The clouds had now chased themselves out to sea and the sky was clear. The sun was an enormous disc the colour of fire and the whole sky and sea were bathed in the glow. The water below them looked like a cauldron of fire; even the foam was pink. The little town turned a burning rose. The buildings were suffused with it, the flagstones gleamed with it.

  Jessica held her breath; everyone else on the terrace seemed to do the same. The clink of glasses and bottles was silent. Nobody spoke.

  Slowly, slowly, the sun sank and the glorious mantle of colour turned from flame to orange to gold. And then, as Jessica thought it could not possibly be any more beautiful than it had been, it turned to the deep true burnished gold of ceremony. Against it the shadows were very black. The sun itself had slipped below the horizon and the sky was paler than the golden harbour, where little boats bobbed like jewels against their midnight shadows.

  High in the sky, insubstantial as gossamer, a lemony moon appeared.

  A long sigh went up from the terrace. Jessica found that Leandro had taken her hand and was holding it hard. She turned to him, eyes shining.

  `Yes,' he said, and leaning forward, kissed her briefly but with decision.

  On the terrace, normal communication was being resumed. Bottles were circulating, a woman laughed, someone called out to a waiter. In the almost dark Jessica and Leandro sat, not saying anything.

  At last he moved.

  `I wanted you to see that,' he said. His tone was abrupt, even awkward. 'It's famous, of course. But tonight was special.'

  `I'm glad,' Jessica said simply. She turned her hand in

  his and her fingers returned his pressure. 'Thank you.' She gave a little shiver of pleasure, and he saw it. `Are you cold?'

  `No.'

  `You must say if you are. I told them I wanted us to eat out here, but if you want to go in. .

  `No, I'm perfectly warm. As you pointed out yourself, I'm used to lower temperatures than you favour.'

  `You are indeed.' His answer was amused and returned to the faintly teasing tone she had become accustomed to. 'Even so, it's late in the season and there is a breeze.'

  'If I get cold you can be immensely macho and lend me your jacket,' Jessica told him calmly. 'I'd rather eat out here under the stars—trul
y.'

  The arm about her shoulders gave her a quick hug. `So there is some romance in your soul, after all.'

  `Not a drop,' she retorted. 'But if I sit in the dark nobody will notice that I'm not a beautiful jetsetter wreathed in diamonds.'

  His shoulders began to shake—she saw the movement in the darkness—but when he spoke he sounded solemn enough.

  'Oh, Jessica, you will break my heart. So lovely and so cynical!'

  `And so dowdy. And so bad for your image,' she added tranquilly.

  The twilight was nearly over now, the last streaks of amber disappearing from the sky. Attendants began bringing lights from the hotel on to the terrace. They intensified the shadows where their illumination did not fall.

  Leandro said slowly, `Ah, yes, my image. I think we need to talk about that.'

  A bracket containing four candles in glass shades stood at the edge of the terrace beside their table. Jessica looked up curiously, but behind the glasses his expression was unreadable.

  'What's wrong with your image?' she asked flippantly.

  `You tell me.' He was wry. 'You don't seem to care for it.'

  She managed a little shrug. 'I suppose you're just not my type.'

  'Or my image isn't.'

  'There's a difference?'

  'Oh yes,' said Leandro grimly. 'I'm not quite the shallow playboy you like to think.'

  She was taken aback. don't. .

  `Don't you?' Suddenly and unexpectedly he grew savage. He smashed his fist down on the iron table so that the glasses jumped and a little of her wine spilled. 'Then why have you been needling me ever since you arrived on the yacht?' He started to mimic her primmest tones.

  "All that lazing about: don't you ever do a stroke of work? No honest man ever had a tan like that." You just took one look at me and decided I was not worth the time of day. And you and I both know why.'

  Jessica said stiffly, 'It never occurred to me that a man with your reputation would want me to pass the time of day with him.'

  His smile was twisted. 'You know exactly how much I want you, Jessica Shelburne, so you can stop lying about that for a start.'

  She gasped. 'You're talking nonsens!'

  `No, I'm not.'

  She was lost, floundering. 'You can't possibly want. . . I mean, it's ridiculous. .

  `Because of my reputation?' Leandro sounded weary. `Jessica, why don't you drop your prejudices and think for a moment?'

  `Think about what?'

  `You and me. Us. The pair of us,' he added deliberately.

  Jessica recoiled as if some of the hot wax from the candles beside her had spat on to her skin. 'We are not a pair!' she snapped in a fury of panic.

  Leandro leaned forward and took both her hands in his, holding them firmly on the table. They were still side by side and his shoulder was strong against her own. Jessica felt trepidation touch her again, light and shivery as a moth's wing.

  He said very quietly, without any of that teasing flirtation which she had learned to parry, 'I think you're

  wrong. We have been—' he hesitated '—attracted from the start. Both of us.'

  `Attraction is not unique,' said Jessica in a stifled voice. `I'm attracted to lots of men.'

  `Do you scratch at all of them the way you have at me?'

  `I ' She paused, disconcerted. 'No,' she said at last. Then, rallying, 'But you're a special case.' Her voice grew wry. 'They're not often international heartbreakers.'

  He gave a sharp sigh and struck the table impatiently with their clasped hands.

  `Look,' he said, 'when I was eighteen and had just left school, Giorgio took me under his wing. It lasted for a year. OK, I admit I did all the things you disapprove of, all the things that got my name in the papers and my photographs in the magazines. But it was nearly twenty years ago, for God's sake!'

  `Are you trying to tell me that these days you're an upright citizen without an all-night party to your name?' Jessica asked drily.

  Leandro laughed. 'I'm trying to tell you I grew up years ago. And I can think of something better to do with my nights than party.'

  `I don't doubt that. It's what keeps your name in the papers twenty years on,' she pointed out.

  He groaned, letting go her hand and pushing himself back in his chair.

  'What can I say to convince you?' He sounded half amused, half despairing. `Do you know the way these gossip-column types work? Here in Italy, at least.'

  Jessica shook her head.

  'Well, to a great extent they're invited to things by people who like the publicity—my uncle, my mother, people like that.'

  `Not you?'

  He shook his head. 'It's a damned nuisance. And sometimes worse than that.' His face darkened. 'Some-

  times it's damaging, really damaging. It turns people into products so that people they've never met think they know all about them instantly. It's crazy! In the end, people like Giorgio don't know who they are any more; they just know the product requirements.'

  Jessica could see the force of that, but she was still sceptical.

  `And you've avoided it? But there's a file of press clippings on you. I saw some in England, and Enrico has a whole book of them.'

  `Enrico,' said Leandro, 'has a nasty sense of humour. He has known me since I was six. He thought my year of wine, women and song was a deplorable waste of time and told me so. He also collected all the evidence so that he could taunt me about it ever after.'

  `Recent press clippings,' said Jessica. For instance, you were in Paris at Christmas and. .

  `At a dance of my mother's,' Leandro interrupted. 'She invited the columnists. I was there,' he shrugged, 'that's all.'

  Jessica narrowed her eyes. 'They're interested in you just because you happen to be there?' She shook her head, 'I'm sorry, but I can't swallow that. There must have been hundreds of people there.'

  `Yes, I concede that. But they knew me. Look—' he spread his hands `—a long time ago I sowed a few wild oats. They started a file on me; I'm in their card index. It's easy enough to keep it up, I suppose. I'm only on the fringe, but I do go to my mother's receptions. To Giorgio's parties, too, sometimes.' His face darkened briefly. `I'm not important and they don't pursue me, but if there is nothing very much worth reporting, I'm good for a couple of column inches. That's all there is. I swear it.'

  Almost against her better judgment, Jessica found she believed him. She said nothing but, from the way Leandro relaxed in his chair, she detected that he realised he

  had won his point. It was faintly annoying to be so transparent.

  She moved slightly away from him, disengaging her hands. He did not try to recapture them. At that moment a waiter arrived with two enormous menus. Jessica hid behind hers as if it was a shield, but Leandro barely glanced at his. He obviously knew the bill of fare by heart, thought Jessica with a return to waspishness. He might not be the playboy she had at first thought him, but he was still a good deal more sophisticated than most of the other men she had known.

  He said, 'Is there anything you particularly want to eat? Or shall I order for you?'

  `You know everything on the menu?' she asked in dulcet tones.

  Leandro looked amused. 'Still listing evidence of my misspent life? No, I haven't eaten my way through the menu and back. They just happen to have a convention here whereby they prepare their own specialities daily. I usually eat what the waiters recommend.' He gave her an ironic look. 'I thought you might like to do the same.'

  Jessica had the grace to feel ashamed. 'I'm sorry.'

  `Well, that's a step in the right direction.' He took the menu away from her. 'So what do you want?'

  She bit her lip. `Today's specialities, I suppose.' `Good girl!' he approved, the laughter in his voice undisguised.

  After that he began to talk to her in his most entertaining, lighthearted style. In spite of herself, Jessica felt exhilarated. It was as if, just for an evening, he was allowing her to taste the glitter and fun that he was habitually accustomed to
. She did not really approve of it, but it was stimulating to sit opposite the most handsome man in the place and be teased and flirted with as if she were a princess.

  Eventually she sat back, laughing at something he said. 'I feel like Cinderella,' she told him, unguardedly.

  He raised his eyebrows. 'Feet hurt?'

  `What?' she said, not following him.

  `The glass footwear,' he explained.

  `Oh!' She went off into a bubble of laughter. `No, not that.'

  `What, then?'

  `Oh, as if I'm in a fairytale. Time out of the real world.' Unexpectedly Leandro did not laugh. 'And it all ends at midnight?'

  `Naturally.'

  `Jessica ' He put his head on one side, considering

  her. 'Why do you have so little confidence?'

  She was surprised and slightly affronted. 'I have bags of confidence. I'm a professional woman and I run my career and my life very satisfactorily. I wouldn't do that if I didn't have confidence in myself.'

  `I don't think I meant self-confidence,' Leandro said thoughtfully. 'I meant confidence in things. Situations. Other people, maybe. You don't have any belief in anything except what you engineer yourself. I find it very difficult to deal with.'

  Jessica stared at him. 'I don't follow.'

  `No? Well then, tell me why this has to finish at midnight,' he challenged.

  She surveyed him calmly. She had been enjoying herself so much that she had forgotten where this dangerous charm would lead her. It was inexcusable. He had never made any secret, after all, of his ultimate intentions with regard to herself.

  She said coolly, 'Because I don't want to sleep with you.'

  `Granted,' he said, apparently unmoved. 'Does that mean we have to stop talking as well?'

  `You want to talk to me?'

  `Don't sound so unbelieving,' he murmured. 'Though I admit I'd rather you talked to me.'

  Jessica was instantly suspicious. 'What about?'

  The glasses glinted. 'Who is Chuck?' asked Leandro mildly.

  She choked. Whatever she had expected, it had not