‘Up, Mummy. Party time.’
‘Not yet, piccola,’ said Dante, laughing. ‘First we have breakfast. So let us leave Mummy to her bath and you and I shall walk in the garden until she is ready.’
Rose blinked in surprise at her daughter, who was wearing fresh jeans and T-shirt, her face shining and curls brushed. ‘Good morning, darling. Did you get dressed all by yourself?’
Bea beamed up at Dante. ‘Daddy helped me. But I washed and did teeth by myself.’
Rose eyed Dante with unwilling respect. He was diving into the deep end of fatherhood with enthusiasm. ‘Then I’d better get a move on and do mine, hadn’t I?’
‘You are tired, cara?’ said Dante softly, his eyes gleaming.
‘Travelling always affects me that way,’ she said, and thrust her hair back from her flushed face. ‘Now, give me ten minutes and I’ll join you for breakfast—I’m hungry.’
After a swift shower, Rose wrapped her wet hair in a towel to style later, slapped on some moisturiser and pulled on jeans and sweater. Something more elegant could be achieved later on before they left for Fortino. She felt a pang of apprehension again at the thought of meeting the rest of Dante’s family. But his mother had been kind and Rose already knew Harriet, so she would have support from a fellow Brit among the alien corn. As she hurried downstairs she could hear Bea chattering away to Dante as they came in from the garden and felt a shamed little pang of jealousy of the man who was making her little girl so happy.
Silvia came hurrying through the hall with a tray as Rose went down, and smiled and wished her good morning, but in a different accent from Dante’s.
‘Buongiorno,’ echoed Rose, hoping it sounded right, and received such a beaming smile in response assumed it did.
‘There you are,’ said Dante, getting up as she went outside on the loggia. ‘Are you dressed warmly enough to eat outside?’
‘I asked Daddy if we could,’ said Bea.
‘And Daddy said yes, of course,’ said Rose, smiling.
He shrugged, grinning. ‘Naturalmente.’ He pulled out a chair for her.
‘That means a’course,’ Bea told her, and smiled at Silvia as the woman poured orange juice into her glass. ‘Grazie,’ she said proudly, in exact imitation of Dante. ‘Was that right, Daddy?’
‘Perfect.’ He nodded in agreement as Silvia, smiling fondly at the child, spoke rapidly to him. ‘Silvia says you are a clever girl.’
Eating a leisurely breakfast outside in the cool sunlit morning was such a contrast to the normal routine in the Palmer household. Rose suppressed all uneasy thoughts of Dante’s threat the night before and smiled as she described their usual morning chaos. ‘It takes more effort some days than others, but I always manage to get Bea to nursery school on time.’
‘Do you like school, Bea?’ Dante asked.
She nodded. ‘The teacher reads stories. And we do painting and make things.’
‘Did you tell her you were coming to Italy for a holiday?’
‘Yes. To Daddy’s house.’
Rose eyed her daughter wryly. ‘And what did she say?’