‘You make the pasta?’
‘Alas, no. I buy the fresh kind from a supermarket. But I do make my own sauces.’ Rose smiled at him as she went on with her meal. ‘I see why you always order this here, Dante. It’s superb.’
‘Yet I think you enjoyed our meals in Firenze also, yes?’
‘I certainly did.’ Her eyes met his. ‘You made my little holiday there very special, Dante.’
He smiled warmly. ‘Grazie. It was special for me, too. You must come again soon. And this time, perhaps, you will bring your daughter?’
Rose suppressed a shiver at the thought as Dante leaned nearer, the warmth of his breath on her cheek. ‘I hope very much that you will come. You have forgiven me at last, Rose?’
‘For coming to see me today?’
His eyes held hers. ‘No. For leaving you here so suddenly all those years ago, when I wanted so much to stay.’
‘Oh, that,’ she said airily. ‘Of course I have. Forgiven and forgotten years ago.’
Dante’s smile was wry. ‘You put me in my place, I think.’
Her eyes fell. ‘Let’s not talk about it any more, Dante. It was a long time ago and we’re two different people now.’
‘Certo,’ he agreed. ‘You are the successful one with your own business and your beautiful daughter—’
‘While you help run the exalted Fortinari vineyards.’
‘But I made a bad marriage,’ he said bitterly.
She shrugged. ‘My record’s hardly faultless in one instance.’
‘You speak of Bea’s father?’ He frowned. ‘Are you sure you will not search out this man and tell him about her?’
‘Absolutely sure. Can we talk about something else, please?’
‘I shall do whatever you wish, carina.’
Tony Mostyn joined them shortly afterwards for coffee. He showed them the latest photographs of his children and received the news that Rose was a single parent with much interest when Dante told him she ran her own business.
‘When you take a day off you must bring your little girl over to meet Allegra and my two,’ he told her. ‘My wife would like that very much.’
Rose thanked him and looked at her watch. ‘And now I’m afraid I must be getting home. It was a wonderful meal, Tony. My sincere compliments to the chef.’
‘I’ll pass them on.’ Tony grinned at his cousin. ‘Though next time try something different. Dante here always goes for the same thing.’
‘Why not? I eat it nowhere else. Also it is your national dish and your man does it to perfection,’ said Dante, unmoved. ‘I shall see you in the morning, Tony, but now I must drive Rose home.’
To Rose’s surprise, Tony Mostyn asked for her telephone number as they left, so he could get in touch when his wife came home.
‘I like your cousin,’ she said on the way to the car park.