her to stew a moment longer in a very uncomfortable silence. ‘Alex seemed very…upset; so I’m sure that dinner is the last thing you need tonight.’
‘Alex is often upset,’ Dante responded in a matter-of-fact voice, which did nothing to reassure her. ‘And given it is already after eight and I haven’t stopped all day, dinner is exactly what I need now.’ He snapped his fingers for the waiter and barked his short order. ‘My usual.’
‘Certainly, and, madam…?’
Matilda faltered, desperate to go yet wanting to stay all the same.
‘Madam?’ Dante smiled tightly, making her feel like one.
‘The salmon for me. Please,’ she added pointedly as the waiter took her menu. Then, remembering that as uncomfortable as she might feel, this was, in fact, a business dinner, Matilda attempted an apology. ‘I’m sorry if I was rude before,’ she said once the waiter had left. ‘It’s just I got the impression from Hugh that this meeting tonight was the last thing you wanted.’
‘Funny, that.’ Dante took a long sip of his drink before continuing, ‘I got the same impression from Hugh, too…’ He smiled at her obvious confusion.
‘Why would you think that?’ Matilda asked.
‘Hugh gave me strict orders not to upset you.’ He flashed a very bewitching grin and Matilda found herself smiling back, not so much in response to his smile, more at the mental picture of anyone giving this man strict orders about anything. ‘He told me that you were booked up months ahead, and that you’d agree to come in and do this job during your annual leave.’
‘Yes…’ Matilda admitted, ‘but—’
‘He also told me that you were doing this as a favour because he’d backed your tender, that you felt obliged—’
‘Not all obligations are bad,’ Matilda broke in, rather more forcibly this time. ‘I did agree to work on your garden during my holiday and, yes, I did feel a certain obligation to Hugh because of the faith he showed in my proposal for the hospital garden, but I can assure you that I was more than happy to do the work.’
‘Happy?’ Dante gave a disbelieving smile.
‘Yes, happy.’ Matilda nodded. ‘I happen to like my work, Dante. I just want to make sure that you’re fine with me being there.’
‘I’m fine with it.’ Dante gave a short nod.
‘Because Hugh’s sick?’
‘Does it really matter?’
Matilda thought for a moment before answering. ‘It does to me,’ she said finally. ‘And whether it’s ego or neurosis, I’d like to think that when I pour my heart and soul into a job at least my efforts will be appreciated. If you and your wife are only doing this to pacify Hugh, then you’re doing it for the wrong reasons. To make it effective, I’m going to need a lot of input as to your daughter’s likes and dislikes. It needs to be a reflection of her and I’d like to think that it’s going to be a place the whole family can enjoy.’
‘Fair enough.’ Dante gave a tight shrug. ‘I admit I do not believe that a garden, however special, can help my daughter, but I am willing to give it a try—I’ve tried everything else after all…’
‘I clearly explained to Hugh that this garden isn’t going to be a magical cure for your daughter’s problems—it might bring her some peace, some respite, a safe place that could help soothe her…’
‘If that were the case…’ Dante said slowly and for the first time since she had met him his voice wasn’t superior or scathing but distant. Matilda felt a shiver run through her as she heard the pain behind his carefully chosen words. ‘It would be more than worth it.’
‘Look.’ Her voice was softer now. ‘Why don’t I take the plans and have a look? Then maybe on Sunday I could speak with your wife about Alex…’
‘My wife is dead.’
He didn’t elaborate, didn’t soften it with anything. His voice was clipped and measured, his expression devoid of emotion as he explained his situation, the pain she had witnessed just a second before when he’d spoken about his daughter gone now, as if a safety switch had been pushed, emotion switched off, plunging his features into unreadable darkness as she faltered an apology.
‘I had no idea,’ Matilda breathed. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
He didn’t shake his head, didn’t wave his hand and say that she couldn’t have known…just let her stew in her own embarrassment as their food arrived, raining salt and pepper on his gnocchi until Matilda could take it no more. Excusing herself, she fled to the loo and leaned over the basin, screwing her eyes closed as she relived the conversation.
‘Damn, damn damn!’ Cursing herself, she relived every insensitive word she’d uttered, then peeped her eyes open and closed them again as a loo flushed and she was forced to fiddle with her lipstick as a fellow diner gave her a curious glace as she washed her hands. Alone again, Matilda stared at her glittering eyes and flushed reflection in the massive gilt-edged mirror and willed her heart to slow down.
She’d apologise again, Matilda decided. She’d march straight out of the bathroom and say that she was sorry. No, she’d leave well alone—after all, she’d done nothing wrong. Of course she’d assumed his wife was alive. He had a child, he wore his wedding ring. She had nothing to apologise for.
So why had she fled? Why didn’t she want to go back out there?
‘Everything OK?’ Dante checked as she slid back into her seat.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Matilda attempted, then gave up on her false bravado and let out a long-held sigh. ‘I’m just not very good at this type of thing.’
‘What type of thing?’
‘Business dinners.’ Matilda gave a tight smile. ‘Though I should be, given the number that I’ve been to.’
‘I thought that your business was new.’
‘It is.’ Matilda nodded, taking a drink of her wine before elaborating. ‘But my ex-fiancé was a real estate agent…’
‘Ouch,’ Dante said, and Matilda felt a rather disloyal smile to Edward twitch on her lips.
‘He was very good,’ Matilda said defensively. ‘Incredibly good, actually. He has a real eye for what’s needed to make a house sell well. It’s thanks to Edward that I got started. If he was selling a deceased estate often it would be neglected, the gardens especially, and I’d come in…’
‘And add several zeros to the asking price!’ Dante said with a very dry edge, taking the positive spin out of Matilda’s speech. She gave a rather glum nod.
‘But it wasn’t like that at first.’
Dante gave a tight smile. ‘It never is.’
‘So what do you do?’ Matilda asked, chasing her rice with a fork as Dante shredded his bread and dipped it in a side dish of oil and balsamic vinegar, wishing as she always did when she was out that she’d had what he’d
