‘Can you say that?’ asked his mother gently.
Bea nodded. ‘Course. Down, please, Daddy.’
A look of wonder crossed his mother’s handsome face as Dante set his daughter on her feet. She touched the fair curls gently and smiled down into the blue, unmistakable eyes. ‘I would so much like a kiss, Beatrice.’
Rose crossed mental fingers, praying that Bea would cooperate, and let out the breath she was holding when her daughter held up her face for the kiss her grandmother placed on both cheeks.
‘Grazie, Beatrice.’
Since her name sounded even more unfamiliar pronounced Italian style, Bea shook her head. ‘I’m Bea.’
Maria smiled lovingly. ‘That is a very small name for a big girl like you!’
Wonderful, thought Rose, as Bea accepted her grandmother’s hand to go inside.
‘Come,’ said Dante. ‘Let us follow. You would like tea?’
‘I would, please. What a lovely house, Dante.’
‘I am glad you like it.’ He looked up with a smile as a beaming woman came hurrying across the marble-floored hall to greet them. ‘I inherited Silvia with the house,’ he muttered in English, and in Italian introduced Rose to the woman, who greeted her with a flood of what were obviously good wishes. But she threw up her hands in delight as she saw the child and came out with another flood of Italian, most of which seemed to consist of bella, bella, repeated several times.
‘This is my son’s house,’ said Maria Fortinari, slanting a smile at Dante, ‘so I must not give orders—’
‘Which means I am neglecting you, Rose!’ He gave his mother a kiss. ‘Just for today, give your orders, Mamma, per favore.’
She nodded briskly. ‘Rose, what do you desire most? Tea, coffee or to go to your room?’
‘Both of us need a visit to a bathroom, signora,’ said Rose gratefully, and took Bea’s shiny pink bag from Dante. ‘But, after a freshen-up, some tea would be wonderful.’
‘I will take you up,’ said Dante firmly, ‘while Mamma arranges it.’
‘Subito, caro,’ said his mother, and brushed her hand over Bea’s curls as she smiled warmly at Rose. ‘It is very good to have you here.’
‘It’s good to be here, signora,’ Rose assured her, and to her surprise found she meant it.
‘Come,’ said Dante. ‘Do you need anything from your luggage now, cara?’
‘No, thanks—’ Rose eyed her daughter, who was beginning to fidget. ‘Just get us to a bathroom, please.’
The room Dante showed them into was bright with sunshine, held a large bed and, most vital at that particular moment, an adjoining bathroom. Rose hurried Bea inside and a few minutes later mother and daughter, both clean of face and hands, emerged to find Dante pacing impatiently.
‘Do you like the room, Rose?’ he demanded.
She liked it a lot now she had time to look at the carved furniture and filmy white curtains moving lazily at the open windows. ‘It’s lovely.’