‘Where’s he going?’ asked Bea.
‘To take a taxi back to work.’
‘What does he do?’ asked Rose as Dante helped her into the passenger seat.
‘He works for me. He is good at the selling, too.’
‘But not as good as you!’
‘He soon will be. He is eager to learn. And as an advantage with the selling he is an attractive young man, yes?’
‘Very attractive!’ Rose turned round to smile at her daughter, who was cuddling Pinocchio. ‘Are you comfortable, darling?’
Bea nodded happily.
‘Allora,’ said Dante and switched on the powerful engine, ‘let us go home.’
‘Not fast!’ ordered Bea in alarm. ‘I don’t like fast.’
‘Welcome to fatherhood,’ murmured Rose. ‘Soon she’ll ask if we’re there yet.’
Dante laughed and drove with care as they left the airport. He touched Rose’s hand fleetingly. ‘Did you hear what she said?’
‘She called you Daddy. You obviously liked that.’
‘Very much. Did you tell her to say it?’
‘No—her idea entirely.’
He let out a deep breath. ‘I wanted to buy her many toys, but I did not.’
Rose nodded. ‘You need her to like you for yourself.’
‘Esattamente. You think she does?’
‘Oh, yes. Apparently, you’re much nicer than Holly’s daddy.’
Dante laughed and reached out a hand to touch hers but put it back on the wheel at the look on her face. ‘Do not worry, Rose. I will drive safely with such precious cargo on board.’
Judging by the speed of other traffic whizzing past them on the Autostrada, Rose found he meant what he said. Even so, she was relieved when they left the motorway at last to take a winding road lined in places with groups of tall cypress trees like exclamation marks which emphasised the breathtaking views of the rolling Tuscan landscape.
‘Are we there yet?’ came a voice from the back. ‘Pinocchio and Bear want to get out.’
‘Very soon,’ said Dante, smiling at Rose, and after a while turned off on a narrow road which wound up a steep hill in corkscrew curves he negotiated with care she was sure must be very different from his normal approach to his home. As if reading her mind, he slowed down to a crawl to drive through an entrance flanked by stone pillars and on through tiered gardens to park at the foot of steps leading to a terrace edged with small timeworn statues and stone urns full of flowers.
‘Welcome to the Villa Castiglione,’ said Dante and turned to smile at the wide-eyed child in the back seat.
Rose was as silent as her daughter as she gazed at the weathered golden stone of a lovely old house fronted by an arcaded loggia.
Dante opened the passenger door to help Rose out. ‘Do you like my home?’
She nodded dumbly. ‘It’s beautiful, Dante.’
‘Come out!’ demanded an imperious voice and Dante laughed and hurried to release his daughter from her seat. But as he set her on her feet she reached her arms up to him in sudden alarm as someone emerged from the house.
Rose would have given much to do the same as a regal woman with silver-streaked dark hair came out to meet them.
‘Mamma!’ Dante laughed affectionately as he kissed her. ‘You could not wait.’
‘No, caro.’ Maria Fortinari turned to Rose. ‘Welcome to my son’s home. Dante said I must wait, but I could not let you arrive with no one to greet you.’
Rose smiled shyly. ‘How very kind. Thank you.’
‘Will you introduce me to my granddaughter, cara?’
Bea had recovered from her attack of shyness. From her place of safety in Dante’s arms, she eyed his mother with interest.
‘This is Beatrice Grace, signora,’ said Rose, and smiled at Bea. ‘This lovely lady is your other grandmother, darling.’
‘Another Gramma?’ said Bea, surprised.
‘No, piccola,’ said Dante. ‘This is my mamma, so she has an Italian name. She is your nonna.’
‘Can you say that?’ asked his mother gently.
Bea nodded. ‘Course. Down, please, Daddy.’
A look of wonder crossed his mother’s handsome face as Dante set his daughter on her feet. She touched the fair curls gently and smiled down into the blue, unmistakable eyes. ‘I would so much like a kiss, Beatrice.’
Rose crossed mental fingers, praying that Bea would cooperate, and let out the breath she was holding when her daughter held up her face for the kiss her grandmother placed on both cheeks.
‘Grazie, Beatrice.’
Since her name sounded even more unfamiliar pronounced Italian style, Bea shook her head. ‘I’m Bea.’
Maria smiled lovingly. ‘That is a very small name for a big girl like you!’
Wonderful, thought Rose, as Bea accepted her grandmother’s hand to go inside.
‘Come,’ said Dante. ‘Let us follow. You would like tea?’
‘I would, please. What a lovely house, Dante.’
‘I am glad you like it.’ He looked up with a smile as a beaming woman came hurrying across the marble-floored hall to greet them. ‘I inherited Silvia with the house,’ he muttered in English, and in Italian introduced Rose to the woman, who greeted her with a flood of what were obviously good wishes. But she threw up her hands in delight as she saw the child and came out with another flood of Italian, most of which seemed to consist of bella, bella, repeated several times.
‘This is my son’s house,’ said Maria Fortinari, slanting a smile at Dante, ‘so I must not give orders—’
‘Which means I am neglecting you, Rose!’ He gave his mother a kiss. ‘Just for today, give your orders, Mamma, per favore.’
She nodded briskly. ‘Rose, what do you desire most? Tea, coffee or to go to your room?’
‘Both of us need a visit to a bathroom, signora,’ said Rose gratefully, and took Bea’s shiny pink bag from Dante. ‘But, after a freshen-up, some tea would be wonderful.’
‘I will take you up,’ said Dante firmly, ‘while Mamma arranges it.’
‘Subito, caro,’ said his mother, and brushed her hand over Bea’s curls as she smiled warmly at Rose. ‘It is very good to have you here.’
‘It’s good to be here, signora,’ Rose assured her, and to her surprise found she meant it.
‘Come,’ said Dante. ‘Do you need anything from your luggage now, cara?’
‘No, thanks—’ Rose eyed her daughter, who was beginning to fidget. ‘Just get us to a bathroom, please.’
The room Dante showed them into was bright with sunshine, held a large bed and, most vital at that particular moment, an adjoining bathroom. Rose hurried Bea inside and a few minutes later mother and daughter, both clean of face and hands, emerged to find Dante pacing impatiently.
‘Do you like the room, Rose?’ he demanded.
She liked it a lot now she had time to look at the carved furniture and filmy white curtains moving lazily at the open windows. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Have I got a room, Daddy?’ asked Bea.
‘Of course, carina, but we shall look at it after we have tea with Nonna on the loggia.’
‘What’s a loggia?’
‘The veranda outside, so you must wear your beautiful blue jacket—yes, Mummy?’
Rose nodded. ‘I’ll wear mine, too.’ She hesitated. ‘It was kind of your mother to come here to welcome us, Dante.’
‘She could not wait to do so,’ he assured her wryly, zipping Bea’s jacket.
Maria Fortinari was waiting at a table set for tea when they went outside. ‘Come sit by Nonna, tesoro,’ she said, patting the chair beside her. ‘You like orange juice?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Bea, remembering her manners, to her mother’s relief.
Maria smiled in fond approval. ‘There is English tea for you, Rose, and coffee for Dante, of course.’
Rose took the chair Dante held out for her next to his mother. ‘What a heavenly garden,’ she commented.
‘We’ve got a garden, too,’ Bea told her new grandmother. ‘Tom helps Mummy in it.’
‘Tom,’ Dante explained, ‘is Charlotte Vilari’s father.’
‘Gramma lives with him in his house,’ said Bea, and began on her juice.
‘She will miss you, piccola.’ Maria turned to Rose. ‘Forgive my English; it is not so good as my son’s.’
‘It sounds perfect to me,’ Rose assured her. ‘I can only claim some schoolgirl French, I’m afraid. I wanted to learn Italian when I was younger, but I never had the time.’
‘As I told you, Mamma, Rose was too busy qualifying as an accountant,’ Dante reminded her. ‘And when she had her degree she studied for more qualifications to run a bookkeeping business from her own home.’ He met Rose’s eyes. ‘So that she could stay with Bea while she earned money to provide for her.’
‘After such hard work, Rose, you must rest now you are here.’ Maria Fortinari smiled down at Bea. ‘Would you like one of the trammezini, Bea?’
‘That is a sandwich, carina,’ said her father. ‘You like ham and cheese?’
‘Yes, please.’ Bea took one of the dainty sandwiches eagerly.
Rose sat sipping her tea, amazed that this was actually happening. Here she was in Italy with Dante, in his beautiful house and, strangest of all, taking tea with his mother. In the past, when she was facing up to life as a single parent, working hard to provide for her child, this scenario had never entered even the wildest of her dreams.
‘Please eat, Rose,’ urged Dante. ‘You had nothing on the plane.’
‘Thank you. The little cakes look delicious.’
‘Silvia made them especially for you and your mamma, Bea,’ said Maria.
‘I make cakes with Gramma,’ Bea informed her.
‘Che bello! Your mother lives near you, Rose?’ asked Maria.
‘Yes. It’s a wonderful arrangement for Bea and me.’
‘For your mother, also, I think, yes?’ She turned to Dante. ‘Bea has finished. Would you take her for a little walk in the garden, caro?’
Bea looked at Rose in appeal. ‘Can I go, Mummy?’
‘Of course. Wipe your hands on your napkin first, please—mouth, too.’
Bea obeyed with alacrity then took the hand Dante held out. ‘You got lots of flowers, Daddy.’
‘Allora, shall we go and count them?’
Maria cleared her throat as she watched her son walk off, hand in hand with his child. ‘She is so sweet, Rose. Grazie tante for allowing Dante to share her. This is hard for you?’
‘In some ways, yes,’ said Rose honestly. ‘Until a short time ago no one—not even my mother—knew that your son is Bea’s father.’
Maria shook her elegantly coiffed head. ‘So if you had not met Dante again in Firenze he would never know he has a child.’
‘No.’ Rose flushed painfully. ‘By the time I knew I was pregnant Dante was already married.’
‘My heart was heavy the day he married Elsa Marino,’ said the other woman forcefully. ‘Then one day my prayers were answered and she left him for that wealthy old fool, Enrico Calvi.’
‘But until I met Dante again in Florence I didn’t know that,’ Rose said, and looked Maria Fortinari in the eye. ‘It wasn’t easy for me to come here, signora. I was afraid you’d think I was trying to trap a rich father for my child.’
Maria smiled ruefully. ‘I confess I wondered. But then Dante described how you work so hard to make a good life for the little one. I think you are very brave. But now,’ she added, suddenly brisk, ‘what will you do? Dante says you refuse to marry him.’
Rose felt her colour rise. ‘I’m used to running my own life, signora. And even though we have Bea as a common factor, Dante and I don’t really know each other very well.’
‘Yet you were drawn to him in the past, yes? Or Bea would not be here.’
Rose nodded ruefully. ‘I fell madly in love with your son the moment I met him, and believed he felt the same about me. I was devastated when I found he had a fiancée, but my world really fell apart later when I found I was expecting his child.’
Maria winced. ‘Did you curse him at the hour of Beatrice’s birth?’
Rose shook her head sadly. ‘No. I wanted him there with me so much I cried. But I still didn’t say who I was crying for.’
Maria sighed. ‘Your mother must feel much anger at my son, I think.’
‘No, signora. I’ve made it very plain that what happened between Dante and me was mutual.’
Rose was glad to change the subject when Bea came running towards them with Dante in hot pursuit. ‘Mummy, Mummy, there’s a little pool!’ Bea launched herself onto Rose’s lap, her eyes bright with excitement.
‘We shall take Mummy to see it later,’ Dante promised.
‘And tomorrow,’ said his mother, ‘you will come to Fortino to meet the rest of the family. We will have a party, yes?’
Bea slid off Rose’s lap to look hopefully at her grandmother. ‘With balloons?’
‘Yes, carissima. With balloons!’ Maria laughed and kissed the pink cheeks. ‘But now I must go home. A domani—until tomorrow.’
Once they’d waved his mother off Dante suggested they go indoors to show Bea her room.
‘It’s not bedtime yet!’ objected Bea as they went upstairs.
He laughed. ‘No, piccola, it is not. But we must show Pinocchio and Bear where to sleep, yes? Your room is here, between your mamma’s and mine.’ He threw open the door and waited as Bea ran inside then stopped dead as she saw the doll propped up on the bed.
She looked up at Dante, wide-eyed. ‘Whose dolly is that?’
‘She is yours.’ He caught Rose’s eye and shrugged impenitently.
The doll had fair curls and blue eyes and wore jeans and a T-shirt. ‘She’s got clothes like me,’ Bea crowed, picking the toy up to hug her.
‘What do you say?’ prompted Rose.
‘Thank you, Daddy! You get kisses for presents,’ she informed him as he picked her up.
‘Davvero? Then you must kiss me twice because there is another present. Your dolly has a bag.’
Bea obliged with the kisses and wriggled to get down. ‘What’s in it?’
‘Open it and see.’
The holdall, much to Bea’s delight, was full of dolls’ clothes.
‘How lovely, darling,’ said Rose, and smiled wryly at Dante. ‘You couldn’t resist, then?’
He shook his head. ‘No. You disapprove?’
‘How could I?’ Rose smiled as Bea laid out every piece of miniature clothing on the bed, her eyes shining as she showed them to the doll. ‘I’m only surprised you had the restraint to wait until now.’
‘So am I.’ His eyelids lowered. ‘Allora, now I know that presents are rewarded with kisses I shall buy something special for you, Rose, also.’
She shook her head, flushing. ‘No need.’
‘You mean,’ he whispered, moving closer, ‘that no gift is necessary for you to kiss me?’
Rose turned away hastily. ‘What name shall we give her, Bea?’
Her daughter turned in surprise. ‘Dolly, a’course.’
Dante threw back his head and laughed, then seized Bea and spun her round. ‘So tell me, piccola, do you like your room?’
Bea nodded, giggling as he set her down. She frowned suddenly. ‘Is it my room for always?’
Dante exchanged a look with Rose. ‘Always,’ he said emphatically.
* * *
Later that evening, Bea, tired out with all the exciteme
nt of the day, made no protest about going to bed in her new room with her growing collection of companions. Once she was asleep, Rose showered and changed into a dress in honour of her first dinner with Dante in the formal dining room, and felt glad she’d made the effort when she found he was wearing a lightweight suit. Dark curls gleaming in the light from the chandelier above a face alight with a smile at the sight of her, he took her breath away.
‘You look very beautiful, Rose,’ said Dante.
‘Thank you.’
‘Because this is a special occasion, Silvia has stayed to serve dinner.’
‘She doesn’t live in?’ said Rose, surprised.
‘She did in my grandmother’s day, but after Nonna died Silvia surprised everyone by marrying a man she’d known in her youth. So now she comes here for an hour or two in the day, and then goes home to Mario.’ Dante eyed her warily. ‘She assured me that if we wish to go out any evening she will stay with Bea, but I did not think you would allow that.’
‘No, indeed. Not,’ added Rose hastily, ‘that I don’t think she’s trustworthy, but—’
‘You could not leave your child with a stranger who speaks no English.’
‘Put like that, it sounds very cold, but yes, I suppose I do mean that.’ She sighed. ‘It was a big step for me to bring Bea here at all, Dante.’
‘I know this. And now you are here, how do you feel?’ The blue eyes lit with heat as they locked on hers. ‘For me, it feels so natural, so right, to see you sitting here with me. As we should have done long ago if Elsa had not lied to me,’ he said bitterly.
Rose held up a hand. ‘Let’s not talk about the past.’
He nodded. ‘Va bene. We shall discuss the future instead.’
‘No, not tonight, Dante. Let’s just sit here and enjoy Silvia’s dinner together.’
His eyes softened. ‘Does this mean you are enjoying your time here with me, Rose?’
She grinned. ‘It beats an evening spent with my computer.’
Having eaten very little all day, Rose was more than ready for the soup Silvia served, and for the chicken roasted with herbs and vegetables that followed. She thanked the beaming woman when she came to clear away, and assured her, via Dante, that the meal had been delicious.
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