Dante's Unexpected Legacy

by Catherine George

  Rose switched on her computer, smiling at the memory of her indignation at the suggestion. She’d been so determined to be the most efficient single parent it was possible to be. And if she was sometimes desperate for a good night’s sleep, or to be out clubbing or shopping with girlfriends again, or even just taking a walk without pushing a buggy, she never admitted it to a soul. She sighed irritably and settled down to work in the brief window of time before she collected her daughter.

  Bea’s face lit up when she saw her mother waiting for her. ‘Mummy! You came today.’

  ‘Of course I did.’ Rose took her leave of the young teacher and held Bea’s hand. ‘I told you I would.’

  ‘You didn’t come yesterday.’

  ‘I was away, so I asked Gramma and Tom to fetch you.’

  Bea nodded as she was buckled into her car seat. ‘They fetched me lots of times.’

  ‘Only two times, darling.’

  Bea looked unconvinced by the maths. ‘Are you going to work today?’

  ‘Yes, but only for a little while this afternoon. Gramma will stay with you and I’ll be home in time for tea. And tomorrow it’s Saturday and we can go to the park.’

  * * *

  Rose was soon so firmly entrenched in her usual routine again it was hard to believe the trip to Florence had ever happened until Charlotte rang to grovel with apologies and demand every detail of Rose’s taste of la dolce vita.

  Rose brushed that aside. ‘Did you ask Dante Fortinari to show me round, Charlotte?’

  ‘Certainly not. I just asked him to deliver your letter by hand because there was cash in it.’ Charlotte paused. ‘Though Dante seemed pretty keen on meeting up with you again.’

  ‘He was very kind,’ said Rose colourlessly. ‘And,’ she added with more bite, ‘I would have been a bit lost in Florence if he hadn’t turned up.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Charlotte remorsefully. ‘But if Dante looked after you it all worked out in the end.’

  ‘As did your problem,’ Rose pointed out. ‘You were mad to think Fabio would cheat on you!’

  ‘Hormonal, not mad.’ Charlotte drew in an audible breath. ‘I behaved like a total idiot because—wait for the roll of drums—I’m pregnant at last.’

  Rose gave a screech of delight. ‘Oh, Charlotte, how wonderful. I’m so happy for you. Have you told your father?’

  ‘No. I’ll ring him right away now I’ve told you. I waited until I was absolutely sure before spreading the glad news. I didn’t even tell Fabio until we were in New York.’

  ‘But surely he was wondering?’

  ‘Of course he was, but I’ve been late before so he was afraid to say a word, especially because I’d been a bit standoffish with him due to my crazy suspicions. But now I’m so happy I don’t even mind the morning sickness part—at least not too much.’ Charlotte came to a halt. ‘So, Rose, are you still mad at me?’

  ‘For giving me a luxury, all-expenses-paid holiday in one of the most beautiful cities in the world? No, Signora Vilari, I’m not. Now, hurry up and ring Tom so I can share the glad news with Mum.’

  * * *

  Once the excitement about Charlotte’s news had died down Rose was soon back in her usual dual role of mother and businesswoman, until Dante rang one morning to say he would be with her the next day to take her out to dinner. She stiffened her resolve and told him that she was working and wouldn’t be available.

  ‘Is this true, Rose, or do you mean you have no wish to see me?’

  She sighed. ‘All right, I’m not working, but I think it’s best we don’t see each other again.’

  There was silence on the line for a moment. ‘I frightened you with my kiss?’

  ‘Of course not. The thing is, Dante, I’m grateful for the time you took to show me round Florence, but it was just a one-off kind of thing.’

  ‘You are refusing to see me any more?’ he demanded, his voice hard.

  ‘Yes. I am. You live in Italy and I live here, so it would be pointless, anyway.’

  ‘Allora, you have not forgiven me.’

  ‘For what, exactly?’ she snapped.

  ‘For making love to you and then leaving you so suddenly that night.’

  ‘Oh, that. No forgiveness necessary. These things happen.’

  ‘If not that, then I demand to know what is wrong, Rose.’

  ‘Do you, indeed! Goodbye, Dante.’ Rose switched off her phone and slumped down on the sofa, determined not to cry. She’d done enough crying over Dante Fortinari in the past. But no matter how hard she tried to control them, the tears came pouring down her face just the same and she had to do some hasty face scrubbing in case Bea saw Mummy crying.

  Grace popped in later for coffee and frowned when she saw Rose’s swollen eyes. ‘Darling, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Dante rang. He wanted to take me out to dinner tomorrow.’

  ‘But that’s good, surely, not something to cry about?’

  Rose sniffed inelegantly. ‘I turned him down.’

  Grace stared at her blankly. ‘Why?’ Her eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘This is about Bea, isn’t it?’

  ‘What...what do you mean?’

  ‘You don’t want him to know about her. Bea’s not a dark secret, darling—it’s time you got that idea out of your system.’

  Rose’s heart settled back into place again. ‘You’re right. Lord knows, my situation is hardly unusual. I saw the percentages of single parent families in the headlines on my computer only this morning.’

  ‘And, as one of them, you do brilliantly, darling.’

  ‘Ah, but I wouldn’t be without help from you and Tom. And,’ Rose added with sudden passion, ‘don’t ever think I forget that, not for a minute.’

  ‘I don’t. So why not ring Dante back and say you’ve changed your mind? We’ll have Bea for a sleepover and keep her out of the way if that would make things easier for you?’

  Rose shook her head obstinately. ‘I’m not going to see him again.’

  ‘Why not? How often will you have a date with someone like Dante Fortinari?’ Grace gave a wicked grin as she straightened. ‘Your old pal Stuart Porter is very nice, but gorgeous and Italian he isn’t.’

  Rose laughed ruefully. Her mother had hit the nail on the head. Quite apart from Dante as escort, expensive dinners were not part of her social life. A night out with Stuart meant a trip to the cinema and sometimes coffee or a drink afterwards, all of which she enjoyed occasionally. But dinner with Dante would have been in a different league.

  ‘Look, darling, why don’t we have Bea for a sleepover tomorrow anyway, and you have a whole evening to yourself and a good night’s sleep afterwards? You look as though you could do with it.’

  ‘I know that.’ Rose eyed her mother doubtfully. ‘I love my daughter, but a night to myself does sound tempting.’

  ‘Right. We’ll come for her about four. She can eat with us as a special treat and we’ll take her to school next morning, too, so you can make the most of your special treat.’

  Bea was wildly excited the next day when she learned about the sleepover with Gramma and Tom. She loved the bedroom they had created for her there, so useful if Rose was ever travelling away overnight for work.

  ‘Are you going out with Stuart?’ asked Bea suspiciously as they packed her shiny pink holdall.

  ‘No, not tonight. Why? Don’t you like him?’ On the odd occasions that she’d run into Stuart while out with Bea his embarrassment had been so plain her bright little daughter had picked up on it.

  Bea shook her curly head in disdain. ‘He calls me little girl.’

  ‘Ah. His mistake, because you’re a big girl! Shall I put Pinocchio in here with Bear or will you carry him?’

  ‘Carry him.’ Bea hugged the toy to her chest possessively, and then be
amed as the doorbell rang. ‘Gramma! Can I open the door?’

  ‘Go down slowly,’ called Rose. She collected a couple of books and followed with the bag, suddenly aware that it was very quiet below instead of Bea’s usual joyful reunion with Grace. She flew down to the hall to find her daughter scowling at the man smiling down at her.

  ‘Buonasera, Rose,’ said Dante. ‘Will you introduce me to this beautiful young lady?’

  Struck dumb for a moment, Rose’s first reaction was fury because all her cloak and dagger efforts had been useless. Dante was face to face with her child and, as a second strike against him, Mummy looked a mess while he, as always, looked wonderful. ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded.

  His smile faded. ‘I hope to change your mind about dining with me. But I make a mistake, yes?’

  Dante’s English was usually so good it was obvious she’d thrown him off balance.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Rose coolly. ‘Do come in.’

  Bea clutched Pinocchio to her chest, glaring balefully at the visitor.

  ‘My name is Dante Fortinari,’ he told her. ‘What is yours, bella?’

  ‘Beatrice Grace Palmer,’ she announced militantly.

  ‘My daughter,’ said Rose, in case he was in any doubt.

  ‘You are very fortunate,’ said Dante, looking up from the fair curls to meet Rose’s eyes. ‘Perhaps we could dine early and take Beatrice with us?’

  ‘No!’ wailed Bea, incensed. ‘I want to go to Gramma’s.’

  To Rose’s relief, the doorbell rang again. ‘Go and open the door again then, darling. This time it is Gramma; Tom, too, I expect.’

  ‘Mrs Palmer, Mr Morley, I am delighted to see you again,’ said Dante, shaking hands with the surprised pair in turn as they exchanged greetings. He smiled wryly. ‘I came with hope to change Rose’s mind about dining with me.’

  ‘I’m sure she’d be delighted to do that,’ said Grace, narrowing her eyes at her daughter as Bea swarmed up into Tom’s arms and sat there, secure and hostile, scowling at Dante.

  ‘Are you packed and ready, Honey Bea?’ asked Tom. ‘If so, we’ll take you home to supper.’

  ‘Yes, come along, darling,’ said Grace, manfully ignoring the undercurrents simmering in the hall of Willow House. ‘It was lovely to meet you again, Dante.’

  ‘My pleasure, signora.’ He smiled at the little girl in Tom’s arms. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, too, bella.’

  Another scowl was the only response.

  ‘Bea,’ said Rose in a tone the child knew well.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said and then, to everyone’s surprise, gave Dante her most irresistible smile. ‘Not Bella. I’m Bea.’

  He returned the smile in delight. ‘I apologise!’

  ‘Bye-bye,’ she said firmly, hugging Pinocchio closer.

  ‘Be a good girl for Gramma and Tom,’ Rose reminded her.

  ‘She always is,’ said Tom, bending the truth a little.

  * * *

  Rose waved as the trio went down the garden path then closed the door and turned to face her visitor.

  ‘Why did you not tell me you had a daughter?’ Dante demanded before she could say a word.

  Rose’s chin lifted. ‘If you’re inferring that I’m in any way ashamed of her, I assure you I’m not!’

  He held up a hand. ‘Pace, pace. How could you be ashamed of such a beautiful child? Yet if I had not ignored your refusal to see me I would not have met her. You did not want me to?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Because her father objects?’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ Rose sighed. ‘Oh, well, now you’re here, come into the kitchen. I’ll make coffee.’

  Dante shrugged off his suede jacket as he followed her. ‘Permesso?’

  ‘Of course. Do sit down.’

  He took a chair at the table, his eyes on the artwork adorning the walls. ‘These are by Beatrice?’

  Rose nodded. ‘Yes. As you can see, she’s heavily into red and orange. And, as she informed you, we call her Bea.’ She made coffee, then laid a tray and brought it all over to the table. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

  ‘Nothing, grazie.’ Dante’s eyes met hers. ‘You are angry with me for intruding, Rose?’

  ‘Only because I would have preferred to tell you about Bea before you met her.’

  ‘But since you refused to see me again, when would you have done that?’ he demanded, looking down his nose with hauteur. ‘You are obviously uneasy because I have come here against your wish. Is there a jealous lover or, worse, a husband, who would object to my presence here?’

  ‘Neither.’ She sat down wearily. ‘I suppose you may as well know the truth. Bea is the result of a one-night stand with someone who has no idea he’s a father. I’m not ashamed of my child, only of the circumstances that brought her into the world.’

  Dante sat down abruptly, colour draining from his olive skin. He leaned forward and grasped her hand. ‘You were—forced, cara?’

  ‘No, nothing like that! I just drank one glass of wine too many one night to celebrate my results.’

  ‘And you did not tell this man what happened?’

  ‘No.’ Rose felt her face heat. ‘At the time I was working as a waitress while I applied for jobs, and put my lack of energy—and other things—down to being on my feet so much. It was a couple of months before it even dawned on me that I could be pregnant.’

  Dante’s grasp tightened. ‘What happened then?’

  Rose drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I told my mother and gave her the glad news that I had no intention of contacting the father. Tom, of course, was ready to hunt him down and force him to take responsibility. Fabio and Charlotte too.’

  ‘Naturalmente,’ said Dante harshly. ‘Did they find him?’

  ‘No. I refused to give his name.’

  ‘Dio!’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Your mother found this hard, yes?’

  Rose nodded. ‘So did Charlotte. But she was hugely supportive, flew over to see me a lot during the pregnancy and even insisted on being present at the actual birth.’

  ‘She is a good friend,’ said Dante, nodding. ‘She was very unhappy about deserting you in Firenze, Rose.’

  ‘Is that why you volunteered to look after me?’

  ‘No. I was most delighted to do so.’ He eyed her narrowly. ‘I so much enjoyed our brief time together there, but you think it is a mistake to meet again, yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry I was so rude, but finding you talking to my daughter was a shock.’ She sighed. ‘When I first found out I was pregnant I was in such a state I begged Charlotte and Fabio to keep it secret from the wedding guests I’d met because there’s no father in the picture.’

  ‘Yet there is one somewhere who has no idea he has a daughter.’ Dante shook his head. ‘Having met your child, I feel sympathy for him.’

  ‘Too late to tell him now; he’d never believe me,’ said Rose flatly.

  Dante looked at her in silence for a moment, his eyes intent on hers. ‘You are going out tonight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yet your child has gone to stay overnight with your mother and Signor Morley, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rose coloured. ‘Mum thought I could do with some time to myself.’

  ‘So what will you do? Read, watch television?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘While I go back to my hotel for a lonely dinner.’ He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘Change your mind. Dine with me, Rose.’

  Now he was here, with the touch of his hand sending heat rushing through her, Rose found it hard to imagine why she’d ever said no to him in the first place. ‘All right.’ She ignored the warning bells going off in her head. ‘But you’ll have to wait whi
le I made myself more presentable.’

  His smile took her breath away. ‘Bene! I will go back to the hotel to make myself more presentable also and return for you later.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rose, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake. At least her mother and Tom would be pleased. They worried about her lack of social life.

  ‘And this time I will be more welcome, yes?’

  Her eyes softened. ‘Sorry I was so hostile, Dante.’

  ‘Non importa,’ he assured her, and smiled as he collected his jacket. ‘Your daughter was even more hostile, no?’

  ‘It was a new experience for her.’

  ‘The friends who take you out do not call for you here?’

  ‘No. I meet them in town.’

  Dante nodded. ‘And drive yourself home afterwards so you can leave when you wish?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I shall return at seven-thirty—and not a minute sooner. D’accordo?’

  Rose nodded. ‘I’ll be ready.’ She opened her front door and smiled when she saw the sleek hire car. ‘Nice wheels again, Dante.’

  ‘Not as nice as my own, though,’ he said with regret and returned the smile, his eyes warm again. ‘I look forward to our evening, Rose. Ciao.’

  ‘Ciao,’ she echoed as he drove off, and shook her head. Her efforts to keep her life private had been a total waste of time.

  Rose hurried upstairs to shower and give herself a makeover. She couldn’t compete with Dante’s faithless Elsa, but she could look pretty good when she made the effort. When she was ready she eyed her reflection critically and took heart in the fact that even in the clinging caramel jersey of her Christmas present dress her baby bulge was hardly noticeable now, due to constant boring exercises.

  She went downstairs, wondering why she was doing this. After the delight Dante had taken in Bea earlier, she should have sent him packing right then to avoid any future danger. But she’d silenced her head and given in to the heart which urged her to make the most of an opportunity that would probably never happen again.

  When she opened the door to Dante later the heated look he gave her was worth all her hard work. ‘Rose, you are ravishing!’