Now she’d made her decision to tell Dante the truth Rose wished she could have done so right away instead of having to wait a week. None of her usual travelling was necessary for the time being, which enabled her to get through a lot of work at home and spend more time with Bea, who was delighted by the arrangement.
‘But you like it when Gramma looks after you?’
Bea nodded vigorously. ‘And Tom,’ she assured her mother, and then gave Rose the smile exactly like her father’s. ‘But I love you best, Mummy.’
‘I love you best, too,’ said Rose, clearing her throat.
She was reading to Bea on the sitting room sofa later when the doorbell rang.
‘Gramma!’ cried the child, sliding down.
‘I don’t think so. She’s gone shopping with Tom. Hold my hand while we see who it is.’
Rose opened the front door to find a vividly attractive brunette smiling at them.
‘Rose Palmer? I’m Harriet Fortinari. Sorry to take you by surprise like this, but I’m on a fleeting visit to my mother so Dante suggested I look you up.’ She leaned down to the child. ‘You are Bea, of course. I’ve heard all about you.’ She smiled so warmly she received one of Bea’s sunniest smiles in response.
‘How lovely to meet you. Do come in.’ Rose ushered her guest inside. ‘Dante said you were English, but I didn’t realise you came from Pennington.’
Bea looked up at the visitor with far more welcome than she’d given Dante. ‘Want a cuppa tea?’ she asked hospitably.
‘I’d love one, darling.’ Harriet grinned at Rose. ‘If that’s all right with Mummy?’
Rose laughed. ‘You’re honoured. Bea doesn’t offer tea to everyone.’
‘So I gather from Dante!’
‘Come into the sitting room; I won’t be a minute.’
‘I’d rather watch while you make it. Bea will show me where.’
‘Let’s take our guest to the kitchen, then, pet,’ said Rose, surprised to see her daughter take Harriet’s hand.
‘We had to come home from the park,’ Bea informed their visitor. ‘It rained. Want to see my paintings?’
Harriet assured her she’d like nothing better, and inspected the artwork in the kitchen with due respect while Rose made tea and took a cake from a tin.
‘You’re a very good artist, Bea—’ a verdict which won another smile ‘—shall we sit here at the table?’
Bea nodded proudly. ‘I don’t need a high chair now.’
‘Of course not. You’re a big girl.’
Rose smiled warmly into Harriet’s beautiful dark eyes. ‘You’ve been speaking to Dante!’
‘Have you got a little girl?’ asked Bea.
‘Yes, though she’s a big girl, too. A bit bigger than you. Her name’s Chiara. And I have a son, too; his name’s Luca. I couldn’t bring them with me because they’re in school.’
‘I go to school,’ said Bea proudly.
‘Would you like some cake, Harriet?’ said Rose.
‘Gramma and me made it,’ confided Bea.
‘I’d love some,’ said Harriet, and sipped her tea with pleasure. ‘Wonderful. I can never get tea to taste the same in Fortino.’
Rose loaded a tray. ‘Shall we go back to the other room?’
‘Let’s make it easy and stay here. OK with you, Bea?’
The child nodded happily.
‘It’s kind of you to spare the time to visit us,’ said Rose warmly.
‘Charlotte Vilari suggested it first, seconded by Dante, who gave me your number,’ said Harriet, and grinned. ‘After which, nothing would have kept me away, of course. I should have rung you first, but I’m on a very short flying visit, so I seized the moment. I hope I’m not interrupting your work?’
‘You’re not, but it wouldn’t matter if you were.’ Rose smiled eagerly. ‘You’ve seen Charlotte recently? How was she?’
‘Blooming! But she told me to say you’ll have to fly there to see her because Fabio refuses to let her travel right now.’ Harriet looked at her expectantly. ‘Will you go?’
‘As soon as I can, yes.’ Rose smiled at her daughter. ‘You can get down now if you like, Bea.’
‘Get Pinocchio.’
‘Off you go then.’
Harriet smiled as Bea ran off. ‘She’s lovely. Enjoy her at this stage while you can. They grow up too fast.’ She turned, suddenly serious. ‘Look, Rose, while we’re alone, I just want you to know that Dante had a really rough deal with his marriage. The family was delighted when Elsa the Witch left him but, although he hid it well, the rejection must have been a blow to his pride. Up to the death of his grandmother, whom we all adored, life had been kind to Dante. Then Nonna died, and he married Elsa. She had chased him mercilessly, desperate to marry a Fortinari, but once she had the ring on her finger she refused to have children. Soon afterwards, thank God, she met a man as old as the hills, but so filthy rich the delightful Elsa left Dante flat and took off with her sugar daddy.’
Rose nodded. ‘He told me this when I was in Florence. But why are you telling me, Harriet?’
‘Because I think Dante’s lonely. He’s no playboy. He works hard and loves his family. My children adore him. So do I. And he cares for you, Rose. Otherwise he wouldn’t have asked me to call in on you. How do you feel about him?’
Rose flushed. ‘I like him very much. We met years ago, actually, at Charlotte’s wedding.’
‘So she told me—’ Harriet broke off, smiling as Bea ran into the room brandishing Pinocchio. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’
From then on Harriet Fortinari concentrated on Bea, and a few minutes later got up to leave. ‘I must go. It’s been lovely to meet you both. May I have a kiss, Bea?’
The child promptly held up her face, beaming as Harriet caught her in a hug and gave her a smacking kiss on both cheeks.
‘Thank you so much for coming,’ said Rose as they made for the door.
‘And for the lecture?’
‘Is that what it was?’
‘I hope it didn’t come across that way. I was just putting in a good word. When you come to visit Charlotte we must get together again. It was good to meet you, Rose.’ Harriet dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and smiled down at Bea. ‘It was lovely to meet you, too, darling. Goodbye.’
‘Bye-bye,’ said Bea, so sadly that Rose picked her up and cuddled her as they waved their visitor off.
When Dante rang that night Rose thanked him for sending his sister-in-law to see her. ‘Bea was very taken with her. So was I.’
‘Bene. I thought you might like to meet her.’
‘She’s very attractive.’
‘And the light of my brother’s life. It was fascinating to watch Leo falling in love with her when they first met. Before that it was the women who fell for him.’
‘Is he as good-looking as you?’
Dante laughed. ‘However I answer will be wrong. But Leo is an attractive man, yes.’
‘So are you.’
‘Grazie, Rose, I am glad you think so.’ He breathed in deeply. ‘I am very impatient to see you again, and not just to hold you in my arms again, but because you have invited me to supper.’
‘You haven’t tasted my cooking yet.’
‘The food will not matter if I am with you, tesoro.’
‘I bet you say that to all the girls.’
‘You are wrong. The only ladies who cook for me are my mother, Mirella and Harriet.’
‘And I’m sure they’re experts. You’re making me nervous. It’s just a casual kitchen supper. Don’t expect haute cuisine, Dante.’
‘I will enjoy whatever you choose to give me, carina,’ he said in a tone which curled her toes.
* * *
Rose would have been nervous enough about merely
cooking a meal for Dante, but with the thoughts of their lovemaking fresh in her mind and the spectre of confession lurking to round off the meal she lived in a state of tension which gradually increased until on the day of the dinner she was wound so tight that Grace took Bea off to the park with Tom so Rose could make her preparations uninterrupted.
‘We’ll give Bea her supper, too,’ said Grace as they left. ‘And for heaven’s sake give yourself time to get ready, and then sit down for five minutes doing nothing. Try to relax, love.’
‘And don’t forget,’ added Tom with emphasis, ‘we’re just minutes away if you need us.’
Rose smiled sheepishly. ‘I know. I let my inner drama queen take over for a minute, but I’m all right now. After all, he can’t eat me, can he?’
But when she opened the door to Dante later, for a moment he gave every indication of wanting to do just that. He said nothing for a moment, his eyes gleaming with a look which brought colour to the face which had been pale with tension most of the day. ‘Buonasera, Rose,’ he said huskily, and took her by the shoulders to kiss her very thoroughly. ‘You look lovelier every time I see you.’
Since Rose had deliberately dressed down in jeans and a by no means new Cambridge-blue sweater she was pleased to hear it. ‘Charmer! Shall I take your jacket?’
Dante shrugged out of the butter-soft leather and handed it to her. ‘Grazie. Where is little Bea?’
‘Having tea with my mother and Tom. They’ll bring her back shortly. In the meantime, come into the kitchen, where I can keep an eye on dinner while I give you a drink.’
‘Something smells very good, Rose!’
‘It’s my signature dish,’ she said, handing him a bottle and an opener. ‘Will you do the honours?’
Dante inspected the label and laughed. ‘A Fortinari Classico! Grazie tante, Rose.’
‘When he knew I was feeding you, Tom gave it to me.’
‘A man of taste!’
‘I hope it’s suitable as a partner to chicken.’
He smiled at her as he removed the cork. ‘You can drink it with anything you wish, cara. Will you drink some now?’
‘Just half a glass. I must put Bea to bed before we eat.’ Rose tensed as the doorbell rang, and then smiled brightly. ‘There she is now.’
Dante was the only one at ease when Grace came in with Tom following behind with Bea in his arms. Once the greetings were over, Tom put Bea down and stood tall and formidable as he looked from the child to Dante.
‘Over to you now, love,’ he said to Rose.
Bea smiled up at Dante. ‘Mummy made chicken for you.’
He smiled back. ‘I am very lucky, yes?’
She nodded, eyeing him curiously. ‘You talk funny.’
‘Bea!’ exclaimed Grace. ‘That’s not very polite.’
‘But true,’ said Dante, chuckling. ‘I talk this way because I am Italian, not English like you, piccola.’
‘Please don’t translate,’ said Rose swiftly. ‘Bea’s a big girl, remember.’ She looked at Grace. ‘Would you two like a glass of wine?’
‘No, thanks,’ said her mother hastily. ‘I put a casserole in the oven so we must get back to it. Nice to meet you, Dante.’
‘My pleasure, signora.’ He turned to Tom. ‘I saw your daughter yesterday, and she looks very well. You are thrilled to have a grandchild, yes?’
‘I am indeed.’ Tom bent to brush a kiss over Bea’s curls. ‘Though I look on this one as my own, too.’
Grace gave her grandchild a kiss, then blew one to Rose and Dante and hurried Tom away.
‘Signor Morley does not approve of me?’ said Dante, frowning.
‘Of course he does.’ Rose looked down to see Bea eyeing Dante in speculation.
‘Bath time,’ she announced.
He smiled. ‘Then perhaps I shall see you later when you are ready for bed.’
Bea looked at her mother. ‘I want to show him my ducks.’
‘Are you up for that, Dante?’ asked Rose.
‘I am honoured,’ he assured her and smiled down at Bea. ‘You have many ducks?’
She nodded importantly. ‘Lots and lots.’ She held up her arms to him. ‘Up,’ she ordered, then intercepted a look from her mother and dazzled Dante with her most winning smile. ‘Please?’
He lifted her in the practised way of a man used to small children. ‘So tell me where to go, per favore—that is how I say please,’ he informed her.
Rose checked that all was well in the oven and then followed Bea and Dante upstairs to the small bathroom, which felt even smaller with the three of them inside it.
‘Down now,’ said Bea as her mother turned on the taps. She took a jar from the side of the bath and shook it. ‘Bubbles,’ she informed Dante. ‘You do it.’
Dante smiled, entranced, as he obeyed, then widened his eyes in mock awe when Bea showed him a basket piled with rubber ducks. ‘You were right, piccola, you have many, many ducks.’
‘Right then,’ said Rose briskly. ‘Clothes off, Bea.’
Dante backed away. ‘I will leave now.’
‘No!’ ordered Bea. ‘Play with me.’
‘She likes races with the ducks,’ said Rose, ‘but be careful or you’ll be soaked.’
He smiled. ‘Non importa. I have been wet many times bathing Leo’s children; Mirella’s also.’
After a spirited session with a chortling Bea and a flotilla of ducks, Dante’s hair was wet and his sweater so damp Rose took it away to put it in the dryer, and returned with an old sweatshirt acquired from one of her rugby-playing friends in college. ‘This will have to do for a while, I’m afraid,’ she said, averting her eyes from his muscular bronzed chest. ‘Time to come out, Bea.’
‘Mummy reads stories now,’ the child told Dante as Rose enveloped her in a bath towel.
‘You are a lucky girl,’ he told her. ‘No one reads stories to me.’
She chuckled, shaking her damp curls. ‘You’re too big.’
‘True.’ He glanced down at Rose, who was rubbing so hard her child protested. ‘Do you think Mummy will let me listen while she reads to you?’
‘A’course,’ said Bea firmly.
‘Then I will wait downstairs until you are ready,’ said Dante.
‘I’ll call down when we are,’ Rose told him, willing her stomach to stop churning.
Bea was so impatient to get the drying session over that Rose was feeling even more twitchy by the time her child was propped up in bed with Pinocchio and Bear.
‘Call the man now,’ said Bea imperiously, but then bit her lip at her mother’s raised eyebrows. ‘Please,’ she muttered.
‘I should think so. And our visitor’s name is Dante. Can you say that?’
‘A’course,’ was the scornful answer.
Rose went out on the landing to call down. ‘You can come up now, Dante.’
‘Grazie.’ He ran up the stairs two at a time and planted a kiss on her lips on the way into Bea’s bedroom.
Bea had a story-book waiting open on the bed and waved a gracious hand at the basket chair drawn up close by. ‘There, Dante—please.’
Dante’s eyes, which had widened at his name, were luminous as they rested on the child, who looked like a Botticelli angel with the lamplight haloing her bright curls. ‘You are most kind, piccola. Which story have you chosen?’
‘Goldilocks.’ Bea wriggled more comfortably against her pillows and smiled as Rose perched on the bed beside her. ‘Ready, Mummy.’
Rose was proud of her steady voice as she read the story with the animation her daughter always demanded, with a different voice for each bear and a special one for Goldilocks. As she read, careful not to miss out a single word, it occurred to her that, though none of this had been planned, it was a good warm-up to her big anno
uncement. Dante was obviously delighting in the interlude as he sat perfectly still, more handsome than a man had a right to be, even in the incongruous old sweatshirt. His eyes remained on Bea’s face as she drank in every word. Towards the end her eyelids began to droop and when Rose finally closed the book the child made no protest when her mother kissed her good-night.
Dante got up very quietly, a look on his face which told Rose he would have liked to kiss the child, too, but he merely said a very quiet good night and left the room as Rose dimmed the lamp.
Before going down to join him, Rose took a detour to her room to tidy her hair and touch up her face, then ran down to open the dryer. ‘I hope you’re not sorry I asked you here to dinner now,’ she said lightly as she handed his sweater to him. ‘Bath time can be an exhausting experience.’
He stripped off the sweatshirt and pulled on the jersey. ‘Grazie, Rose. For you, bath time with Bea comes at the end of your working day, when you are already tired. For me, tonight, it was pure pleasure. Thank you for letting me share it.’
‘You’re welcome. Will you pour the wine now while I check on our dinner?’
Dante sniffed in appreciation as Rose opened the oven. ‘It smells good.’ He filled two glasses and with a sigh of satisfaction sat down at the table she’d made festive with a bright green cloth and yellow candles in pottery holders. ‘This is much better than a restaurant.’
‘Even one as good as your cousin’s?’
‘Yes.’ Dante eyed her flushed face with pleasure as she set a casserole dish on the table. ‘Here we are alone with no waiters to intrude. But I can help if you allow.’
Rose shook her head and took a dish of roasted vegetables from the oven. ‘No, thanks. All done.’ She took the lid from the main dish. ‘This is chicken and broccoli in a creamy sauce, finished off with a Parmesan cheese gratin in honour of my guest. Please help yourself.’
‘First we make a toast,’ said Dante and held up his glass to touch hers. ‘To many more evenings like this.’ He paid Rose’s cooking the best compliment of all by rolling his eyes in ecstasy at the first bite, then clearing his plate and accepting seconds. ‘I hope you were not expecting there to be leftovers.’
‘No, indeed; I’m glad you enjoyed it. But no pudding, I’m afraid, though I can offer you cheese instead.’
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