‘Then I shall take you to a trattoria near the bar where you had your gelato. It is basic and traditional, and so popular it is always crowded.’
‘Sounds good. Lead on.’
After her hot, furtive dash earlier on it was dangerously pleasant to stroll with Dante through the balmy warmth of the Florence evening. For one night like this she would pretend he was just a friend she was enjoying an evening with, rather than the man who’d once broken her heart and turned her life upside down. The trattoria was packed, as he had forecast, but a place was found for them in a long red-walled dining room filled with laughing, talking, gesticulating diners sitting elbow to elbow, in total contrast to the formality of the night before, and Rose loved it.
After discussion with the waiter who brought their menus Dante ordered wine and mineral water and sat back, amused to see Rose so obviously enjoying the proximity with her fellow diners.
‘This is more like it,’ she said with satisfaction, sneaking a look at the dishes set down at the next table. ‘Will you help me choose, Dante?’
He leaned close to translate the names of the dishes, and after much discussion about the various delights on offer Rose settled on a mixed grill of fish with spinach. ‘I don’t cook fish much at home, so this is a treat for me. What are you having?’
‘I like your choice. I will have the same.’ Dante nodded in approval as he studied the bottle of wine a waiter offered for his inspection. ‘Grazie. Try the wine, cara, and give me your opinion.’
‘Mmm,’ she said with relish. ‘Gorgeous. What is it?’
‘A Fortinari Classico,’ he said with pride. ‘I am impressed that they keep this range here.’
‘Which means it’s very pricey.’ Rose drank a little more. ‘I can see why.’ She raised embarrassed eyes to his. ‘I’m putting you to so much expense, Dante. Please let—’
‘No!’ he said flatly. ‘To see you enjoy your dinner is reward enough.’
‘I’m enjoying everything.’ She looked round the packed, noisy dining room with pleasure. ‘I love it here.’ Her eyes sparkled as plates were set in front of them. ‘Grazie,’ she said to the waiter.
Dante laughed indulgently as she sniffed in rapture. ‘Enjoy, carina.’
‘I will! It’s a long time since that gelato.’
‘So tell me about this house you live in,’ Dante said later, after Rose had refused a dolce in favour of coffee.
‘It’s my own family home. Mum signed it over to me when she moved in with Tom. He wants them to get married,’ she added, ‘but Mum is happy the way things are, afraid that formalising the arrangement might change it. She believes in the saying “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it”.’
Dante’s eyes darkened. ‘She is wise.’
Rose looked at him questioningly. ‘Were you heartbroken when your wife left you?’
He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Dio, no! My brother, as always, was right. I had a fortunate escape—forgive me, Rose. You cannot want to hear this.’
How wrong could a man be? ‘Is Elsa still with the new man she left you for?’
‘Yes, though new is not the right word.’ Dante’s expressive mouth turned down. ‘Enrico Calvi is old enough to be her father, but so wealthy Elsa is now enjoying a life of idle luxury.’