Italian, designer, a chunky gold ring on the hand she raised in salute as she caught Harriet’s eye. Sheer perfection, thought Harriet, as she watched Rosa glide through the chattering throng, greeting some people vivaciously, smiling politely at others she very obviously couldn’t remember from Adam. She came to a stop at last beside Harriet, smiling warily.
‘Hello. Remember me?’
‘How could I forget?’ Harriet’s answering smile was wry when a ripple ran through the room as the resemblance was spotted, remembered, and remarked on. ‘The waiter mistook me for you when I arrived.’
‘Sorry about that.’ Rosa hesitated. ‘Are you with anyone?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘None of my set deigned to turn up.’
‘Mind if I tag along then?’
‘Not in the least.’
Rosa gave her an expectedly grateful smile, then tapped Harriet’s left hand. ‘No ring. Which doesn’t mean anything, of course. What do you do with yourself these days, Harriet?’
Wishing passionately she could say she was head of a successful company, or some playboy billionaire’s mistress, Harriet told Rosa the truth. ‘I teach. In fact I’m going back to Roedale to teach French and Italian next term. But at the moment I’m doing translations for a local firm which exports to Europe.’
Rosa nodded. ‘You were always a whiz at languages.’ She signalled to the barman. ‘Vodka and tonic, please, and a refill for my friend.’
Harriet felt surprised. Rosa Mostyn and Harriet Foster had been anything but soul mates in the old days. Quite apart from the accidental resemblance, which both of them found deeply embarrassing, Harriet was a scholarship girl who travelled to school daily by bus, and worst of all, clever. Whereas Rosa was a boarder, more concerned with push-up bras than straight A’s, and lived for the day when she could leave.
Harriet accepted the drink and raised it to Rosa in thanks. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.’
Rosa shrugged. ‘I had no intention of coming. But I got a phone call at the last minute to say my date for the evening had fallen through. I was all dressed up with nowhere to go, so I thought, why not? My family owns the Chesterton Hotel and I could show my Mostyn nose to the staff here, and at the same time see how everyone’s changed—or not,’ she added, looking round the room.
‘None of your cronies here, either,’ commented Harriet. ‘In school you could never move for them.’
Rosa smiled cynically. ‘The Mostyn money, dear, not my charm and personality.’
They sipped in silence for a moment.
‘I was sorry to hear about your parents,’ said Harriet after a while.
‘Thank you,’ said Rosa quietly. ‘They’d never flown on the same plane before the crash.’ She downed her drink. ‘Pity I’m driving, or I’d have another. How about your family? I remember your sister Kitty, tall, blonde and great at games—a lofty prefect when we were small fry.’
Harriet nodded. ‘She’s married now. My mother still lives in Pennington, but my father died when I was at University.’
‘I’m sorry. I know how that feels.’ Rosa eyed Harriet curiously. ‘You’re still single, then. No boyfriend? ’ She laughed suddenly. ‘With your—or rather our looks—there must surely be men in your life?’
‘None at the moment,’ said Harriet lightly. ‘How about you?’
Rosa’s eyes lit up like lamps. ‘I’ve actually met a man who couldn’t care less about my money, for a change. After an early disaster I swore I’d leave the falling in love bit to the other sex. Then I met Pascal a few weeks ago and wham. Flat on my face. Can’t eat, can’t sleep. Hilarious, isn’t it?’
‘Does he feel the same way?’
Rosa sighed. ‘I wish I knew. I met him when he was at the Hermitage covering a conference for a few days, but since then our encounters are few and far between. He’s a foreign correspondent with a French newspaper.’
‘Ah. Is that why the date fell through tonight?’
‘Yes. He had to take off to cover some story half a world away, and couldn’t make it. If not,’ said Rosa with brutal honesty, ‘I wouldn’t be here in a roomful of squawking women. Present company excepted,’ she added, grinning. ‘You never squawked—too frighteningly composed, always.’
Harriet grimaced. ‘Moody, you mean. I was a hugely difficult teenager. My family must have heaved a sigh of relief when I went away to college. After I qualified I got a teaching job in Birmingham. But my mother hasn’t been well lately, so I’ve come back home for a while. And we’re both enjoying the arrangement.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Sorry, Rosa, but I promised the Head I’d do some networking—convince all the young marrieds that Roedale is the school for their daughters present and future.’
Rosa pulled a face. ‘Rather you than me.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy having supper with me somewhere afterwards?’
Taken aback for a moment, Harriet found she rather liked the idea. ‘Why not? Give me half an hour.’
Which had been the beginning of it all. Harriet sighed heavily enough to attract a quizzical look from Leo Fortinari.
‘Am I going too fast, Rosa? Are you nervous?’
Harriet smiled brightly. ‘Yes. But not about your driving. I’m just wondering how Nonna will react to the sight of me.’ Which was the truth as far as it went. Though sitting at close quarters with this self-assured Italian male was no help to relaxation, either. But Leo Fortinari would expect that. According to Rosa their parting years ago had been anything but cordial.
He turned his attention back to the road. ‘You are different now, Rosa. At one time you had no nerves at all. But have no fear, Nonna forgave you long ago. We shall be with her in half an hour.’
Half an hour!
The supper with Rosa after the school reunion had been surprisingly enjoyable for Harriet. As schoolgirls they’d had nothing in common, but as adults they found a rapport totally unexpected to both of them. After that first night they began going out together regularly, and when Rosa was even more blue than usual over Pascal’s continued absence she would appear on the Foster doorstep, in need of sympathy both Harriet and her mother found easy to provide.
‘Quite extraordinary,’ said Claire Foster, the first time Harriet brought Rosa to the house. ‘I saw you in school once or twice, of course. But the likeness is even more marked now you’re older.’
‘Only Harriet’s smaller, and her hair curls,’ said Rosa enviously, and coaxed Claire Foster to go out for a meal with them.
And when Claire protested she was too tired after a day of caring for her bedridden mother, Rosa, dressed to the nines, went off in her Alfa Romeo and bought fish and chips they ate straight from the packages at the kitchen table, the three of them giggling together like schoolgirls.
Before long all three of them were on close terms. Childhood friends had married and moved away, and Harriet’s college friends were London based and she rarely saw any of them other than at a party or a wedding. Rosa filled a void Harriet hadn’t even realised was there until the night of the reunion. And it was a relief to confess her worries to someone sympathetic. Claire Foster was on a hospital waiting list for a minor operation, and the rambling old family house was in desperate need of repairs Harriet’s earnings as a translator couldn’t begin to cover.
‘Mother’s forced to sell the house,’ said Harriet one evening, over a meal in a wine bar.
‘What a hassle for her, especially if she’s not feeling well,’ said Rosa, frowning. ‘Does she mind?’
‘Yes. Desperately.