‘We’ll give Bea her supper, too,’ said Grace as they left. ‘And for heaven’s sake give yourself time to get ready, and then sit down for five minutes doing nothing. Try to relax, love.’
‘And don’t forget,’ added Tom with emphasis, ‘we’re just minutes away if you need us.’
Rose smiled sheepishly. ‘I know. I let my inner drama queen take over for a minute, but I’m all right now. After all, he can’t eat me, can he?’
But when she opened the door to Dante later, for a moment he gave every indication of wanting to do just that. He said nothing for a moment, his eyes gleaming with a look which brought colour to the face which had been pale with tension most of the day. ‘Buonasera, Rose,’ he said huskily, and took her by the shoulders to kiss her very thoroughly. ‘You look lovelier every time I see you.’
Since Rose had deliberately dressed down in jeans and a by no means new Cambridge-blue sweater she was pleased to hear it. ‘Charmer! Shall I take your jacket?’
Dante shrugged out of the butter-soft leather and handed it to her. ‘Grazie. Where is little Bea?’
‘Having tea with my mother and Tom. They’ll bring her back shortly. In the meantime, come into the kitchen, where I can keep an eye on dinner while I give you a drink.’
‘Something smells very good, Rose!’
‘It’s my signature dish,’ she said, handing him a bottle and an opener. ‘Will you do the honours?’
Dante inspected the label and laughed. ‘A Fortinari Classico! Grazie tante, Rose.’
‘When he knew I was feeding you, Tom gave it to me.’
‘A man of taste!’
‘I hope it’s suitable as a partner to chicken.’
He smiled at her as he removed the cork. ‘You can drink it with anything you wish, cara. Will you drink some now?’
‘Just half a glass. I must put Bea to bed before we eat.’ Rose tensed as the doorbell rang, and then smiled brightly. ‘There she is now.’
Dante was the only one at ease when Grace came in with Tom following behind with Bea in his arms. Once the greetings were over, Tom put Bea down and stood tall and formidable as he looked from the child to Dante.
‘Over to you now, love,’ he said to Rose.
Bea smiled up at Dante. ‘Mummy made chicken for you.’
He smiled back. ‘I am very lucky, yes?’
She nodded, eyeing him curiously. ‘You talk funny.’
‘Bea!’ exclaimed Grace. ‘That’s not very polite.’
‘But true,’ said Dante, chuckling. ‘I talk this way because I am Italian, not English like you, piccola.’
‘Please don’t translate,’ said Rose swiftly. ‘Bea’s a big girl, remember.’ She looked at Grace. ‘Would you two like a glass of wine?’
‘No, thanks,’ said her mother hastily. ‘I put a casserole in the oven so we must get back to it. Nice to meet you, Dante.’