Rose checked on her sleeping child, longing to kiss the rosy cheek but too tired to risk waking her up. Yawning, she went next door to her own room, glad to crawl into bed. It had been an odd sort of holiday. The stay in Florence had been too short, the air travel too tiring and her taste of the dolce vita with Dante too unsettling. It would take effort to knuckle down to routine again. Not that she had a choice. And though most people, like Dante, thought her job boring, her travels to meet with clients made it far less so than being confined to an office all day. As she reached to turn out the light her phone rang.
‘Rose?’ said a husky, unmistakable voice.
She sat bolt upright. ‘Dante!’
‘Did all go well on your journey?’
‘It did, and now I’m back where I belong.’
‘I do not agree with that,’ he said, surprising her. ‘In Firenze you belonged there. I shall be in London soon and will drive to see you.’
Rose was about to veto the idea when Dante went on without pausing.
‘Now I know you are safe I will let you sleep. Buonanotte, Rose.’
‘Good night. Thanks for ringing,’ she said politely.
His chuckle sent tremors down her spine. ‘You knew that I would. Ciao.’
Rose switched off the light and slid down in the bed, but thanks to Dante’s call she was no longer tired. The mere sound of his voice had conjured up not only his goodbye kiss but all her doubts and fears about keeping his daughter secret from him. But he had no legal right to claim Bea as his daughter, she reassured herself with a resurgence of the old resentment. His sole contribution to her existence was a fleeting episode of sexual pleasure before he’d returned to the fiancée he’d neglected to mention.
* * *
When Bea had been dropped off at nursery school the next morning Rose got down to work right away to make up for lost time. Usually she did some household chores before settling at her desk, but Grace had left the house in remarkably immaculate condition for someone in charge of a lively child. Rose sighed. In the beginning, after Bea was born, she had tried hard to transform herself from slapdash student into perfect mother, housekeeper and eventual wage earner. She’d learned the hard way to get her priorities right. As long as Bea was happy, clean and well fed Rose took her mother’s advice and kept her brief spells of spare time for taking the baby for walks, or resting while Bea napped. The chores could wait until Rose had time and energy to spare for them. Or, said Grace, she could accept money to pay for a little help in the house.
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,
