‘Thank you, kind sir. You look pretty good yourself. Nice threads.’
‘Cosa?’
‘Great suit.’
‘Grazie. I like your dress also.’
‘Thank you.’
Rose had expected Dante to treat her to dinner at the Chesterton, the best hotel in town, but she stiffened as she realised he was driving out into the country to a venue they eventually approached down a long tree-lined drive. The Hermitage was so well-known for luxurious comfort combined with the warmth of a family-owned hotel that Charlotte had chosen it for her wedding.
Before Rose could ask why Dante had brought her there, a large, vaguely familiar man came out to greet them, hand outstretched to clap Dante on the shoulder.
‘Introduce me, then.’
‘This lovely lady is Miss Rose Palmer, Tony.’ Dante turned to Rose. ‘Rose, allow me to present my cousin, Anthony Mostyn, owner of the Hermitage—also of the Chesterton in town.’
Rose smiled as Tony Mostyn shook her hand. ‘How do you do?’
‘A pleasure to meet you, Miss Palmer. A shame my wife’s taken the children to her mother’s for a couple of days. We could have made a foursome for dinner.’
‘Give Allegra a kiss from me and tell her we look forward to seeing her next time. What is good on the menu tonight, Tony?’ asked Dante.
‘Everything,’ said Tony promptly, ‘including your usual choice. So enjoy the meal. I’ll catch up with you later.’
‘What is wrong, Rose?’ asked Dante when they were seated in the bar.
‘This is where we met at Charlotte’s wedding,’ she said tonelessly, and looked him in the eye. ‘I remember seeing Tony Mostyn at the time, and thinking he looked young to run the Hermitage. You didn’t tell me you were related.’
‘It is not the dark secret. My aunt, Anna Fortinari, married Huw Mostyn, Tony’s father, but tragically they were killed in an air crash a few years ago. Tony is now managing director of the company that runs both hotels. His sister used to work in the business with him, but she married a Frenchman and lives in Paris now.’ Dante surveyed the crowd in the bar. ‘Tony does well.’ His eyes were sombre as he turned back to her. ‘I thought you would like to come here again, Rose, to the place where we first met. But this is another mistake, yes?’
‘Yes,’ she said bluntly, her eyes narrowing as a waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne.
‘Mr Mostyn’s compliments, sir,’ he said, and filled their glasses.
Dante told him to convey their thanks and turned to Rose with a frown. ‘Why did you look at me so?’
‘I thought you were reminding me that I drank too much champagne last time I was here.’
His mouth tightened. ‘Dio, you find it very easy to think badly of me. For which you have good reason.’ He lifted a shoulder, his eyes taking on the cold, hard look she’d seen before. The silence lengthened between them. ‘This evening is a bad idea, yes?’ he said at last.
‘No.’ Rose felt sudden remorse. ‘It’s lovely here, Dante, and a great treat for me.’ Oh, God, that sounded so pathetic. ‘But if you prefer to drive me home right now I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve been utterly petty and graceless—’
‘Because I brought you here, where we first met?’ Dante moved closer. ‘I hoped it would bring back pleasant memories. But perhaps all you remember is the way I left you so suddenly—’
‘And then went on to marry the fiancée you forgot to mention to me.’ To her angry dismay, her eyes filled with tears.
‘For which I felt great guilt afterwards.’ Dante gave her a pristine white handkerchief and then filled their glasses. ‘Do not cry, bella. We must drink some of this champagne or Tony will ask questions.’
Rose dabbed at her eyes, thankful they were seated in a corner where no one would notice. She managed a smile and picked up her glass. ‘Has my mascara run?’
Dante checked them out. ‘No, Rose. Those beautiful dark eyes are still perfect.’
She raised her glass. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘To more evenings together like this, but without the tears!’ Dante drained his glass and signalled to a waiter that they were ready to order.
‘You know, Dante,’ said Rose, thinking about it, ‘I’ve eaten more meals with you recently than with anyone other than Bea.’
‘That pleases me very much.’ He smiled at her over one of the huge menus. ‘What would you like tonight? I always choose roast beef with the Yorkshire pudding when I am here.’ He laughed as she looked at him in astonishment. ‘Davvero!’
Now she’d recovered from their disturbing little exchange Rose found her appetite had recovered with it. ‘Actually, that sounds really good. Make it two.’
Dante gave the order to the waiter then sat back. ‘Perhaps next time we can take your little Bea out for a meal. Would she like that?’
‘She would.’ Though Rose had no intention of letting it happen.
He smiled and refilled her glass. ‘I also. I often take my nephews and nieces out, though not all of them at once! You must bring little Bea to meet them next time you come.’
Rose sighed. ‘That won’t be any time soon.’
‘Because of your work?’
‘Partly, yes.’
He eyed her questioningly. ‘If the expense is also a problem I would be happy—’
‘Certainly not!’ she said, so sharply people nearby looked round. ‘Sorry,’ muttered Rose, crimsoning. ‘But I can’t take money from you, Dante. I feel beholden enough already because you paid for so much in Florence.’
‘Is it so hard to accept things from me?’ he demanded in a fierce undertone. ‘I ask for nothing in return, if that is your fear.’
‘I know that.’ She bit her lip. ‘The thing is, Dante, ever since Bea was born I’ve tried very hard to live on what I earn from my business. I refuse hand outs, even from my mother. Though she paid for what I’m wearing today by calling it a Christmas present.’
‘She is a clever lady.’ Dante relaxed slightly. ‘Also I doubt that Charlotte keeps to such rules.’
‘No. She comes laden with presents every visit, including the suede jacket you gave to someone to put away.’
‘You cannot hurt your dearest friend by refusing her as you refuse me.’ Dante got up, holding out a hand to Rose as a waiter informed him their table was ready.
She was thoughtful as she accompanied him to a small, intimate dining room very different from the large one used for Charlotte’s wedding breakfast. Had her refusal actually hurt Dante?
The room was full, the atmosphere lively with the buzz of conversation, and though not as loud as at the trattoria in Santa Croce a great improvement on the hushed elegance of her first dinner in Florence.
Dante nodded when Rose mentioned it. ‘I was surprised that Charlotte chose that particular hotel for your stay. You liked it there?’
‘I was a bit intimidated when I first walked through the doors. But at the time I was so worried about Charlotte—’ She halted, biting her lip.
‘Fabio told me why,’ Dante assured her quickly. ‘Charlotte suspected him of taking some other woman to New York on their wedding anniversary. Incredibile!’ He shook his head. ‘There are many men who do such things, of course, but Fabio Vilari, never. And now Charlotte is about to give him a child he is the happiest man alive. What will you drink, Rose?’
‘No more wine for me, thanks. I’ll have some lovely Welsh water.’
‘Because I will drive you home I will drink the same.’
‘If you send me back in a taxi you won’t have to.’
Dante glared at her. ‘You think I would do that so I could drink another glass of wine?’
‘Just a thought,’ she murmured as they were served with miniature Welsh rarebits.
From then on Rose
made sure she was as good company as possible as they ate their appetisers and then watched, impressed, as a huge roast of beef was carved on a trolley at the table and perfect high-rise Yorkshire puddings served to them with locally grown vegetables.
‘Do you cook roast beef like this, Rose?’ asked Dante as they began eating.
‘I’ve never tried,’ she confessed. ‘Mum does it on Sundays sometimes, but usually goes for roast chicken, Bea’s favourite. At home I cook pasta a lot—and, of course, the inevitable fish fingers, which my daughter would eat every day if allowed.’
‘You make the pasta?’
‘Alas, no. I buy the fresh kind from a supermarket. But I do make my own sauces.’ Rose smiled at him as she went on with her meal. ‘I see why you always order this here, Dante. It’s superb.’
‘Yet I think you enjoyed our meals in Firenze also, yes?’
‘I certainly did.’ Her eyes met his. ‘You made my little holiday there very special, Dante.’
He smiled warmly. ‘Grazie. It was special for me, too. You must come again soon. And this time, perhaps, you will bring your daughter?’
Rose suppressed a shiver at the thought as Dante leaned nearer, the warmth of his breath on her cheek. ‘I hope very much that you will come. You have forgiven me at last, Rose?’
‘For coming to see me today?’
His eyes held hers. ‘No. For leaving you here so suddenly all those years ago, when I wanted so much to stay.’
‘Oh, that,’ she said airily. ‘Of course I have. Forgiven and forgotten years ago.’
Dante’s smile was wry. ‘You put me in my place, I think.’
Her eyes fell. ‘Let’s not talk about it any more, Dante. It was a long time ago and we’re two different people now.’
‘Certo,’ he agreed. ‘You are the successful one with your own business and your beautiful daughter—’
‘While you help run the exalted Fortinari vineyards.’
‘But I made a bad marriage,’ he said bitterly.
She shrugged. ‘My record’s hardly faultless in one instance.’
‘You speak of Bea’s father?’ He frowned. ‘Are you sure you will not search out this man and tell him about her?’
‘Absolutely sure. Can we talk about something else, please?’
‘I shall do whatever you wish, carina.’
Tony Mostyn joined them shortly afterwards for coffee. He showed them the latest photographs of his children and received the news that Rose was a single parent with much interest when Dante told him she ran her own business.
‘When you take a day off you must bring your little girl over to meet Allegra and my two,’ he told her. ‘My wife would like that very much.’
Rose thanked him and looked at her watch. ‘And now I’m afraid I must be getting home. It was a wonderful meal, Tony. My sincere compliments to the chef.’
‘I’ll pass them on.’ Tony grinned at his cousin. ‘Though next time try something different. Dante here always goes for the same thing.’
‘Why not? I eat it nowhere else. Also it is your national dish and your man does it to perfection,’ said Dante, unmoved. ‘I shall see you in the morning, Tony, but now I must drive Rose home.’
To Rose’s surprise, Tony Mostyn asked for her telephone number as they left, so he could get in touch when his wife came home.
‘I like your cousin,’ she said on the way to the car park.
‘He is a great guy,’ Dante agreed. ‘You will like Allegra also.’ He gave her a searching look as he helped her into the car. ‘Will you visit her, Rose?’
‘If she asks me to, yes, I will.’ Rose found she liked the idea a lot. She’d lost touch with most of the friends she’d made in college, mainly because they were now pursuing high-profile careers, or if they had children they also had a husband. And Charlotte, her closest friend of all, lived in Italy.
‘You enjoyed the evening, Rose?’ asked Dante as he drove off.
‘Very much. Thank you for taking me there.’
‘Even though it was where we first met?’
‘Even so.’
When they arrived at Willow House, Dante switched off the ignition and gave Rose a wry sidelong glance. ‘This is where we say goodbye, unless you will invite me in to talk for a while before we part.’
Rose nodded. It was relatively early, and who knew when she would have another evening like this? ‘I could make more coffee—’
‘I have no wish for more coffee,’ he said and smiled. ‘But I would very much like more of your company.’
CHAPTER FOUR
ROSE UNLOCKED HER front door and led Dante into the small sitting room, which was unusually tidy, partly due to Bea’s absence, and partly because Rose had whirled round it like a dervish in case Dante came in when they arrived home. She took off her jacket and laid it on the back of a chair.
‘Are you sure you won’t have coffee?’ she said, suddenly awkward now they were alone together in the silent house.
He shook his head and took her hand to draw her down on the comfortable velvet sofa that dated from Rose’s childhood. ‘This is a very warm, welcoming room,’ said Dante, surveying it appreciatively.
‘All my mother’s work,’ she assured him. ‘I’m lucky. Not many single parents own a fully furnished home, complete with willing babysitters close at hand.’
‘Davvero!’ Dante smoothed a hand over the upholstery. ‘There is a sofa a little like this in my house also, Rose. My grandmother was fond of velvet.’
‘Have you kept all her furniture?’
‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘At first I thought this was a mistake. I kept waiting for Nonna to walk through the door to join me. But now, every time I go home I feel her warmth and love welcoming me.’
‘Your wife didn’t feel the same about it, obviously,’ Rose said, and wished she hadn’t as his face hardened into a mask.
‘I do not like to discuss her,’ he said, looking down his nose.
She nodded coldly. ‘How true. You certainly made no mention of her the first time we met.’
‘I have apologised for this already, more than once,’ he said wearily and got up. ‘I think it is best I leave.’
Rose jumped to her feet, chin lifted. ‘So leave.’
For a moment she was sure that Dante, his eyes blazing blue flames, was about to storm out of the house there and then, but with a choked sound he pulled her into his arms and kissed her fiercely. ‘Arrivederci, tesoro.’
By supreme effort of will Rose detached herself, her eyes glittering hotly. ‘That’s what you said last time.’
He frowned. ‘At the airport in Pisa?’
‘No. When you left my bed after the wedding.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Goodbye, Dante. Thank you for dinner.’
‘Tell me, Rose,’ he demanded angrily, ‘why did you accept my invitation tonight? At one moment I think we are friends, but then in the blink of the eye I am enemy again.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘It amazes me that you agreed to my company in Firenze.’
It had amazed Rose at the time. ‘I was alone in a foreign country, remember?’ She eyed him narrowly. ‘If it comes to that, why did you offer? Did Charlotte ask you to take pity on me?’
Dante looked down his nose again. ‘I felt pity without being asked.’
Rose glared at him, incensed. ‘So Saint Dante escorted Charlotte’s little friend out of the goodness of his heart!’
He raised a shoulder. ‘You could say that, yes. Though I am no saint.’
‘No. Neither am I. As you have discovered for yourself since meeting up with me again, my disposition has deteriorated.’ She felt sudden shame. ‘So have my manners.’
Dante’s smile stopped short of his eyes. ‘You have reason. You work hard with no husband to provide for your daughter, and you
do well. She is a credit to you.’
‘But Bea has a temper, too, which is definitely down to me, because her father—’ She stopped dead at the sharp look Dante gave her.
‘Her father is of better disposition?’
She nodded, flushing.
‘You know this from just one night?’ he demanded. ‘Rose, I think you know much more than that, so why do you not contact him? He deserves to know the truth.’
She took a leaf from Dante’s book and stared down her nose at him. ‘It’s absolutely none of your business, Dante Fortinari.’
He stiffened, and inclined his head with hauteur. ‘You are right. It is not. Goodbye, Rose.’
He strode from the room and straight out of the house. Rose gave a choked sob as she heard the outer door close, and then began to cry in earnest as Dante drove away. She curled up in a heap on the sofa, and for the first time in years gave way to engulfing, bitter tears that only died down at last when she remembered the dress. Head thumping, stomach suddenly unhappy after the rich dinner, she trudged upstairs, hung up her dress and pulled on her bathrobe. She took off her make-up and pressed a wet cloth to her swollen eyes then stiffened, heart hammering, at the sound of the doorbell. Rose raced down the stairs, almost falling in her haste to wrench open the door, and found Dante holding out something that caught the light.
‘Your earring, Rose. It came off in the car, I think.’
‘Oh. Thank you.’ She swallowed convulsively, trying to blink away the black spots dancing in front of her eyes. ‘Dante I’m...I’m so sorry, but—’ She uttered a sick little moan and would have crumpled in a heap if he hadn’t sprung to catch her.
Rose came round on the sofa with Dante leaning over her, an expression of desperate anxiety on his face as he bombarded her with a flood of questions she couldn’t understand.
‘English,’ she croaked, and his eyes lit with a smile so brilliant she closed her own in defence.
‘Forgive me, bella, in my panic my English deserted me. What is wrong?’
‘I passed out.’
‘Certo! But why?’
Dante's Unexpected Legacy Page 6
