Dante insisted on waiting at Galileo Galilei Airport with Rose until she was ready to board the plane, and took note of her telephone numbers and her address while passengers surged around them as constant announcements filled the air. ‘I will be in London next month to meet an old friend of mine, Luke Armytage,’ he told her. ‘He is a master of wine and owner of a chain of wine stores which retail our best vintages. I shall come to see you then, Rose, but I will consult you first to make sure you are free.’
‘Goodbye then, Dante.’ Rose smiled at him brightly as her flight was called. ‘And thank you yet again.’
‘Prego.’ Without warning, he seized her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. He raised his head to stare down into her startled eyes and then kissed her again at such length they were both breathless when he released her. ‘Arrivederci, Rose.’
Afraid to trust her voice, she managed a shaky smile and hurried away after the other passengers.
Dante stood watching as his heartbeat slowed, his smile wry when it became obvious that Rose had no intention of looking back.
* * *
The flight home was tiring. Rose spent most of it convincing herself that there was no danger of falling in love with Dante Fortinari again, even after the electrifying effect of his goodbye kiss, which, from the look on his face, had affected Dante in pretty much the same way. She was human and female enough to find this deeply gratifying, but she would make sure it never happened again. No way could she let him back into her life. She would have to tell him about Bea, and then she would be forced to tell her mother the truth at last, that Dante Fortinari was her child’s father. And then Tom would know, and so would Charlotte, and Fabio, and everyone else involved once she started the ball rolling. By the time Rose boarded the Pennington coach at Birmingham Airport, she had decided against any such dramatic upheaval in her tidy little life. If Dante did ring to ask to see her again she would take the coward’s way out and refuse to see him.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN THE CAB stopped outside Willow House the front door flew open while Rose was paying the driver, and a little girl dressed in jeans and T-shirt hurtled down the garden path with the tall figure of Tom Morley in hot pursuit. Rose abandoned her suitcase and swept her child up in her arms, kissing her all over her rosy, indignant face.
‘Where you been, Mummy?’ demanded Bea, struggling to get down. ‘You didn’t sleep in your bed for lots of nights!’
‘Only two nights, darling. Have you been a good girl?’
Beatrice Grace Palmer nodded happily. ‘Lots of times.’ She tugged on her mother’s hand. ‘Come on. Me and Gramma did baking.’
‘The cakes smell delicious, too,’ said Tom, taking charge of the suitcase. He kissed Rose’s cheek. ‘You look tired, pet.’
‘Only from travelling.’ Rose smiled as Grace Palmer appeared in the doorway, looking too youthful in jeans and jersey to be anyone’s grandmother. ‘Talking of tired, how’s Gramma?’
Grace hugged her daughter. ‘I’m just fine.’ She grinned triumphantly at Tom. ‘We coped very well, if I do say so myself.’
Rose allowed herself to be towed straight to the kitchen, where little iced cakes sat on a wire tray. ‘Look, Mummy,’ said Bea, bouncing in her little pink sneakers. ‘Fairy cakes!’
‘They look gorgeous. Let’s have them for pudding after our lunch, which is something delicious from the yummy smell coming from the oven.’