‘Have I got a room, Daddy?’ asked Bea.
‘Of course, carina, but we shall look at it after we have tea with Nonna on the loggia.’
‘What’s a loggia?’
‘The veranda outside, so you must wear your beautiful blue jacket—yes, Mummy?’
Rose nodded. ‘I’ll wear mine, too.’ She hesitated. ‘It was kind of your mother to come here to welcome us, Dante.’
‘She could not wait to do so,’ he assured her wryly, zipping Bea’s jacket.
Maria Fortinari was waiting at a table set for tea when they went outside. ‘Come sit by Nonna, tesoro,’ she said, patting the chair beside her. ‘You like orange juice?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Bea, remembering her manners, to her mother’s relief.
Maria smiled in fond approval. ‘There is English tea for you, Rose, and coffee for Dante, of course.’
Rose took the chair Dante held out for her next to his mother. ‘What a heavenly garden,’ she commented.
‘We’ve got a garden, too,’ Bea told her new grandmother. ‘Tom helps Mummy in it.’
‘Tom,’ Dante explained, ‘is Charlotte Vilari’s father.’
‘Gramma lives with him in his house,’ said Bea, and began on her juice.
‘She will miss you, piccola.’ Maria turned to Rose. ‘Forgive my English; it is not so good as my son’s.’
‘It sounds perfect to me,’ Rose assured her. ‘I can only claim some schoolgirl French, I’m afraid. I wanted to learn Italian when I was younger, but I never had the time.’
‘As I told you, Mamma, Rose was too busy qualifying as an accountant,’ Dante reminded her. ‘And when she had her degree she studied for more qualifications to run a bookkeeping business from her own home.’ He met Rose’s eyes. ‘So that she could stay with Bea while she earned money to provide for her.’
‘After such hard work, Rose, you must rest now you are here.’ Maria Fortinari smiled down at Bea. ‘Would you like one of the trammezini, Bea?’
‘That is a sandwich, carina,’ said her father. ‘You like ham and cheese?’
‘Yes, please.’ Bea took one of the dainty sandwiches eagerly.
Rose sat sipping her tea, amazed that this was actually happening. Here she was in Italy with Dante, in his beautiful house and, strangest of all, taking tea with his mother. In the past, when she was facing up to life as a single parent, working hard to provide for her child, this scenario had never entered even the wildest of her dreams.
‘Please eat, Rose,’ urged Dante. ‘You had nothing on the plane.’
‘Thank you. The little cakes look delicious.’
‘Silvia made them especially for you and your mamma, Bea,’ said Maria.
‘I make cakes with Gramma,’ Bea informed her.
‘Che bello! Your mother lives near you, Rose?’ asked Maria.