‘Very much. Did you tell her to say it?’
‘No—her idea entirely.’
He let out a deep breath. ‘I wanted to buy her many toys, but I did not.’
Rose nodded. ‘You need her to like you for yourself.’
‘Esattamente. You think she does?’
‘Oh, yes. Apparently, you’re much nicer than Holly’s daddy.’
Dante laughed and reached out a hand to touch hers but put it back on the wheel at the look on her face. ‘Do not worry, Rose. I will drive safely with such precious cargo on board.’
Judging by the speed of other traffic whizzing past them on the Autostrada, Rose found he meant what he said. Even so, she was relieved when they left the motorway at last to take a winding road lined in places with groups of tall cypress trees like exclamation marks which emphasised the breathtaking views of the rolling Tuscan landscape.
‘Are we there yet?’ came a voice from the back. ‘Pinocchio and Bear want to get out.’
‘Very soon,’ said Dante, smiling at Rose, and after a while turned off on a narrow road which wound up a steep hill in corkscrew curves he negotiated with care she was sure must be very different from his normal approach to his home. As if reading her mind, he slowed down to a crawl to drive through an entrance flanked by stone pillars and on through tiered gardens to park at the foot of steps leading to a terrace edged with small timeworn statues and stone urns full of flowers.
‘Welcome to the Villa Castiglione,’ said Dante and turned to smile at the wide-eyed child in the back seat.
Rose was as silent as her daughter as she gazed at the weathered golden stone of a lovely old house fronted by an arcaded loggia.
Dante opened the passenger door to help Rose out. ‘Do you like my home?’
She nodded dumbly. ‘It’s beautiful, Dante.’
‘Come out!’ demanded an imperious voice and Dante laughed and hurried to release his daughter from her seat. But as he set her on her feet she reached her arms up to him in sudden alarm as someone emerged from the house.
Rose would have given much to do the same as a regal woman with silver-streaked dark hair came out to meet them.
‘Mamma!’ Dante laughed affectionately as he kissed her. ‘You could not wait.’
‘No, caro.’ Maria Fortinari turned to Rose. ‘Welcome to my son’s home. Dante said I must wait, but I could not let you arrive with no one to greet you.’
Rose smiled shyly. ‘How very kind. Thank you.’
‘Will you introduce me to my granddaughter, cara?’
Bea had recovered from her attack of shyness. From her place of safety in Dante’s arms, she eyed his mother with interest.
‘This is Beatrice Grace, signora,’ said Rose, and smiled at Bea. ‘This lovely lady is your other grandmother, darling.’
‘Another Gramma?’ said Bea, surprised.
‘No, piccola,’ said Dante. ‘This is my mamma, so she has an Italian name. She is your nonna.’