The Italian Match. Kay Thorpe

viewed Gina’s arrival with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

      Not so, Cesare, who leapt to see her seated with a solicitude that went down like a lead balloon with both sisters.

      ‘Your leg must be supported,’ he urged, raising the chair’s built-in foot rest for her. ‘You are in much pain?’

      ‘None at all,’ Gina assured him, submitting to his ministrations only because it was marginally less awkward than asking him to desist.

      ‘I ordered fresh orange juice for you,’ said Lucius as one of the younger male staff members came from the house bearing a loaded tray. ‘It can, of course, be replaced by something stronger if you prefer.’

      ‘Thanks, but this is just what I need,’ Gina assured him as the tall, ice-cool glass was set before her. She seized on it gratefully, sending a good quarter of the contents down her throat in one gulp.

      ‘Iced drinks should be sipped so that the stomach suffers no sudden shock,’ commented Donata with a certain malice. ‘Isn’t that so, Lucius?’

      ‘Advisable, perhaps,’ he agreed easily. ‘If you are finding the heat overpowering we can move to a cooler part of the terrace,’ he said to Gina herself.

      The only heat she found overpowering was the kind he generated, came the fleeting thought. ‘I find it no problem at all,’ she assured him. ‘I always did enjoy the sun.’

      ‘What little you see of it in England.’

      ‘Oh, we have our good days,’ she returned lightly. ‘Sometimes several together. You’ve visited my country?’

      ‘Never for any length of time.’

      ‘Tomorrow is the Palio,’ Cesare put in with an air of being left too long on the sidelines. ‘I have grandstand seats long-reserved should anyone care to share them.’

      ‘Si!’ declared Donata before anyone else could speak. ‘Vorrei andare!’

      Lucius said something in the same language, wiping the sudden animation from her face. Pushing back her chair, she got jerkily to her feet and stalked off, mutiny in every line of her body.

      ‘What exactly is the Palio?’ asked Gina in the following pause, feeling a need for someone to say something.

      It was Cesare who answered. ‘A horse race run twice a year between Siena’s contrade. Riders must circuit the Piazza del Campo three times without the benefit of saddles.’

      ‘A bareback race!’ Gina did her best to sound enthused.

      ‘A little more than just that,’ said Lucius. ‘The city’s seventeen districts compete for a silk banner in honour of the Virgin. A tradition begun many centuries ago. The race itself lasts no more than a minute or two, but the pageantry is day long. You might enjoy it.’

      ‘You were only there the one time yourself that I recall,’ said Cesare. ‘Why do we not all of us attend together?’

      ‘It has become a tourist spectacle,’ declared Ottavia disdainfully. ‘I have no desire to be part of it. Nor, I am sure, will Marcello.’

      ‘Then, perhaps the three of us,’ he suggested, undeterred. ‘Gina cannot be allowed to miss such an event.’

      If Lucius refused too, it would be down to the two of them next, Gina surmised, not at all sure she would want to spend a whole day in Cesare’s company. Equal though he appeared to be in age to her host, he lacked the maturity that was an intrinsic part of Lucius’s appeal.

      ‘The three of us, then,’ Lucius agreed, to her relief. ‘Providing that I drive us there. I would prefer that we arrive without mishap.’

      Cesare laughed, not in the least put out. ‘You have so little faith in me, amico, but I accept your offer.’

      It had been an ultimatum not an offer, but Lucius obviously wasn’t about to start splitting hairs. Gina found herself wishing it was just going to be the two of them taking the trip. Safer this way though, she acknowledged ruefully. With Cesare around to act as chaperon, there would be no repeat of this morning’s assault on her senses. Whichever way things might turn out, she was in no position to risk that kind of involvement.