Czytaj książkę: «Dante's Unexpected Legacy»

CHAPTER ONE

ROSE SAT RIGIDLY, every nerve on edge as the plane took off. No turning back now. For years she’d been turning down invitations to Florence, flatly refusing to be parted from her little daughter, or to take her child with her. But this time refusal had been impossible.

‘Please, please come,’ Charlotte had begged. ‘Just you and me in a luxury hotel for a couple of days. God knows you can do with a break, and I’ll pay for everything and send you a plane ticket, so absolutely no expenses on your part. You know Bea will be fine with your mother, so don’t say no this time. I really need you, Rose. So come. Please!’ she’d added, and because Charlotte was her oldest and closest friend and she loved her like a sister, Rose had finally given in.

‘Oh, all right. If it means that much to you I will. But why a hotel and not your place?’

‘I want you all to myself.’

‘Fabio can’t be cool about this. It’s your wedding anniversary, isn’t it?’

‘He’ll be away for it on some business trip,’ said Charlotte miserably. ‘Besides, he doesn’t know about the hotel yet. But I’ve already booked, so there’s nothing he can do about it—not that he would, of course.’

Rose wasn’t so sure. A possessive husband like Fabio Vilari would surely be anything but cool if his wife took a hotel break in Florence without him, even if it was with her lifelong friend and the bridesmaid at their wedding. But from the moment Rose had said a reluctant yes to the trip Charlotte rang every day to make sure that she hadn’t changed her mind, and in her final call sprang a surprise with instructions to take a taxi from Santa Maria Novella railway station to the hotel. ‘I’ll meet you there later in time for dinner, Rose. I can’t wait!’

Money, if the hotel brochure was anything to go by, was obviously not part of Charlotte’s problem, but if something was going wrong with her marriage Rose couldn’t see what earthly help a single parent like herself could give her friend, other than to provide a sympathetic ear. Still, the note of tearful desperation in her friend’s voice had been so worrying that Rose had enlisted her mother’s willing help, covered her child’s face with kisses and made for Heathrow with her shoulder ready for Charlotte to cry on.

On terra firma in Pisa Airport, Rose concentrated on collecting her luggage and finding the train for Florence, but once she’d boarded it the Tuscan scenery passed her by almost unnoticed in her worry about possible problems left behind and the all-too-probable ones awaiting her at journey’s end. Her daughter was used to spending time with her beloved gramma while Rose went out to work, but Mummy had always been home before bedtime. Rose blinked hard. The thought of her darling Bea crying for her in the night was unbearable. Yet Charlotte had been there for Rose through thick and thin in the past, and now her friend was the one needing help and support for once Rose had no option but to get to her as quickly as possible to provide it.

Rose came to with a start as the train pulled into Santa Maria Novella and was soon wheeling her suitcase through the heat and bustle of the crowds streaming from the lofty station into the late afternoon Florentine sunshine, so very different from the cool mists left behind. The taxi driver who eventually picked her up took a look at her hotel brochure and whisked her on a fast, chaotic drive past tall old buildings in narrow streets filled with honking cars and scooters en route to the banks of the River Arno. Rose stared, impressed, when they reached the hotel. Charlotte was certainly pushing the boat out for her. A flight of stone steps with a red carpet runner led up to an arched doorway crowned by a fabulous Venetian glass fanlight. Rose paid the driver, wishing she’d worn something more elegant than denim jeans and jacket for her red carpet entrance as she trailed her suitcase past marble statues and urns of flowers in the vaulted foyer. She approached the man behind the reception desk at the foot of a sweeping staircase and gave him her name.

‘Buonasera,’ he said courteously, but to her relief continued in English. ‘Welcome to Florence, Miss Palmer. If you will just sign the register? I am to inform you that Signora Vilari has ordered dinner for two in the hotel restaurant this evening.’

Rose smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

‘Prego. If you require anything at all, please ring. Enjoy your stay.’

A porter took charge of the luggage to escort Rose to a lift rather like an ornate brass birdcage. It took them up two floors at such a leisurely rate she could have walked up faster, but she was utterly delighted when she reached her room. She tipped the porter and went straight out onto a balcony looking down on the River Arno, her feelings a heady mix of trepidation and excitement as she recognised the sun-gilded bridge farther upstream as the famous Ponte Vecchio. She was actually, unbelievably, here in Florence at last. She sent a text to Charlotte to confirm her arrival, and then rang her mother.

‘No problems, darling; Bea’s as happy as a lark,’ Grace Palmer assured her. ‘She’s playing with Tom in the garden before her bath. Do you want to speak to her?’

‘I just long to, Mum, but I won’t in case it upsets her. If she’s happy let’s keep her that way.’

‘She’ll be fine. You know we’ll take good care of her, so for heaven’s sake, relax and enjoy yourself.’

Rose promised to try, said there was no news from Charlotte yet, but would report tomorrow. She chose a tonic from the minibar and sat back on one of the reclining chairs on the balcony to breathe in the scents and sounds of Florence as she watched the traffic stream past across the river. For the first time in for ever at this time of day she had absolutely nothing to do—but missed her child too much to enjoy it. Stop it, she told herself irritably. Now she was here it was only sensible to make the most of her short break in this beautiful city. But what on earth was going on with Charlotte and Fabio? Could Fabio be cheating on her? Rose glowered. In the unlikely event that she ever acquired a husband herself her gut reaction would be grievous bodily harm if the man started playing away. She checked her silent phone again, took a last look at the sparkling waters of the Arno and went inside to soak in the bath for as long as she liked for once.

With still no word from Charlotte, the uneasiness grew as Rose got ready for the evening. To keep occupied, she took longer over her appearance than she ever had time for normally and even coaxed her newly washed hair into an intricate up-do. She nodded at her reflection in approval. Not bad. Her long-serving little black dress looked pretty good now she’d lost a pound or two. Charlotte’s clothes were always wonderful, courtesy of a wealthy, besotted husband—Rose bit her lip, wondering if there lay the problem. Maybe Fabio Vilari was no longer so besotted. Or, worst scenario of all, was now besotted with someone else.

She leapt away from the mirror as the phone rang. At last!

‘Hello,’ she said eagerly, but her face fell at the news that a letter had arrived for her.

A letter?

‘Thank you. I’ll come down for it right away.’ And wait for Charlotte downstairs with a drink.

Too impatient to wait for the lift, Rose hurried down the imposing staircase as fast as she could in her kept-for-best heels and crossed the foyer to the reception desk. The bulky envelope, addressed in Charlotte’s unmistakable scrawl, was handed to her, along with the information that the gentleman who’d delivered it wished to speak with her.

‘Buonasera, Rose,’ said a voice behind her. ‘Welcome to Firenze.’

Her heart, which had taken a nosedive at the sight of Charlotte’s handwriting, flew up to hammer Rose in the ribs. To hide her horrified reaction, she turned very slowly to confront a tall, slim man with dark curling hair and a face that could be straight out of a Raphael portrait. A face she had never forgotten, though heaven knew she had tried. Here in the handsome, irresistible flesh was her reason for refusing all invitations to Tuscany—to avoid meeting up with her daughter’s father again.

‘Good heavens—Dante Fortinari,’ she said lightly when she could trust her voice. ‘What a surprise!’

‘A pleasant one, I hope?’ He took her hand, a light in his blue eyes that made her want to turn tail and run. ‘I am so very happy to see you again, Rose. Will you have a drink while you read your letter?’

Her first reaction was to refuse point-blank and tell him to get lost, but after a pause she nodded warily. ‘Thank you.’

‘Come.’ He led her to a table in the hushed sophistication of the lounge bar. ‘You would like wine?’

She felt in crying need of something even stronger than wine after the shock of seeing him again, but to keep her wits about her opted for water. ‘Sparkling water, please. Will you excuse me while I read this?’

Dante Fortinari gave the order to a waiter then sat watching intently while she read her letter. Rose Palmer had changed in the years since their last meeting at Charlotte Vilari’s wedding over four years ago. Then she had been an innocent just past her twenty-first birthday, but now she was very much a woman. Hair still the colour of caramello was swept up in a precarious knot that made his fingers yearn to bring it tumbling down. Combined with the severe dress, it gave her a look of sophistication very different from his memory of her. His mouth twisted. She had been so irresistible in her happiness for her friend that day, but the carefree young bridesmaid had now matured into a poised, self-contained adult who was very obviously not pleased to see him. This was no surprise. He had half expected her to snatch her letter and walk away, refusing to talk to him at all.

Rose, in the meantime, was reading Charlotte’s note in dismay.

You’ll want to hit me, love, when you read this—I don’t blame you one bit. Fabio woke me up yesterday morning with flowers, a gorgeous gold bracelet, plus tickets for a surprise trip to New York for today of all days.

God, Rose, the relief was enormous. I came across the tickets and hotel reservation by accident a while ago and immediately pole-vaulted to the wrong conclusion—that Fabio was taking someone else and pretending it was a business trip. And on our wedding anniversary! That was why I needed you so badly.

Sorry to be such a drama queen—I’ve been a total idiot. I was about to ring you to grovel and cancel your trip when Fabio insisted a little holiday would be very good for you after all your efforts to get away. I agreed wholeheartedly, so take it easy, Rose, and enjoy a taste of la dolce vita before you fly back. Lord knows you deserve it.

Enclosed is some spending money for meals and shopping—and Fabio says don’t dare refuse it or he’ll be very hurt. Buy presents, if nothing else. I’ll fly over to catch up very soon.

Love always, Charlotte.

‘Bad news?’ asked Dante.

Rose gave him a dazed look. ‘I flew here to meet Charlotte for a little holiday, but Fabio’s taken her on a surprise trip to New York today instead.’ She smiled valiantly to mask her crushing disappointment. ‘Never mind. I’ve always wanted to visit Florence.’

‘But in company with your friend, not alone.’ Sympathy gleamed in the vivid blue eyes that had haunted her dreams and given her many a disturbed night in the past. Not that she was ever short of those in the present.

Rose shrugged philosophically. ‘I’d prefer that, of course, but I certainly won’t lack something to do in a city like Florence. I’ll explore as many museums and galleries as possible, enjoy glorious meals and gaze into shop windows as much as I like.’ And even swallow her pride and spend some of the money sent with the letter.

‘But all that is for tomorrow. Tonight, it is time to dine. Charlotte has made a dinner reservation for two here tonight.’ Dante reached across to touch her hand. ‘Allora, since she cannot join you, it would give me much pleasure to take her place.’

Rose snatched her hand away. ‘Will you bring your wife along, too?’

‘Cosa?’ He sat back, his eyes suddenly arctic. ‘You forget. I no longer have a wife.’

Rose winced. Had his wife died? ‘I...I apologise. I didn’t know.’

He raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Charlotte did not tell you that Elsa left me?’

‘No.’

‘You surprise me! In Fortino it was such a hot topic of conversation I was grateful when my travels took me to the vineyards of California for a while.’ He drained his glass. ‘But now you know I am solo again, and have been for years, may I have the honour of your company at dinner tonight, Miss Palmer?’

She studied him in silence. Her first instinct was to refuse. But she was secretly daunted by the thought of dining alone in such opulent and formal surroundings. Even so, after refusing for years to come to Italy in case she ran into Dante Fortinari again, it would be wiser to have some food sent to her room rather than accept the company of the man who’d caused total upheaval in her life after their first and only meeting. Her brain, which was still furious with him, ordered her to refuse point-blank, but her heart, the unruly organ which had got her into trouble in the first place, was urging her to forget wisdom for once. And, idiot that she was, that was what she was going to do. She would never come here again, so what harm in making use of him?

‘You are taking much time to decide, Rose,’ Dante pointed out. ‘Do you wish for my company or not?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘How did you get involved in acting as delivery boy for Charlotte?’

He shrugged. ‘Fabio offered to deliver a package to a friend of mine in New York and Charlotte requested a favour in return. I was most happy to do this because it meant meeting you again, Rose.’ He signalled to a waiter for some menus.

‘But do you have a place here in Florence these days? I vaguely remember that you lived in the family home at the Fortinari vineyards.’

‘I did at one time, but now I own a house a few kilometres from our vineyards at Fortino. Now my father is retired I help run the business with my brother, Leo. He is maestro of production; I am good at the selling,’ Dante said without conceit.

No need to tell her that. ‘You came a long way just to deliver a letter.’

‘A trip to Firenze is always a pleasure,’ he assured her, and held her eyes very deliberately. ‘Also, I wanted very much to see you again.’

‘I’m surprised you even remembered me after all this time,’ she said tartly.

‘I have never forgotten you, Rose,’ he assured her, and for the first time gave her the bone-melting smile that had caused all the trouble in the first place. ‘Allora, what do you like to eat?’

‘Practically anything I don’t have to cook myself!’

He eyed her over the top of his menu. ‘You live alone?’

‘No. I share a house not far from my mother.’

‘I remember her well—a very lovely lady who looks much too young to be your mother.’

‘That she does.’ Rose returned to her menu. ‘What do you recommend?’

‘If you like fish the salmon will be good here. Or there is the bistecca alla Fiorentina, the famous steak of the region. You have travelled a long way today, Rose; you must be hungry.’

‘I am, but not enough to attempt a steak. I’ll have the salmon.’ Her stomach was in such knots that she was sure she’d only be able to manage a bite or two at the most.

Rose listened as he gave the order to the waiter, wishing she could understand the rapid, melodious interchange. She had once fancied learning Italian to add to her schoolgirl French, but studies of a different kind had taken up all her time.

Later, experiencing the effortless service Charlotte had described, Rose was glad of Dante’s company among the elegantly dressed diners. She would have felt uncomfortable dining alone. Instead, now she was over the first shock of meeting up with him again, she enjoyed the ravioli in sage-fragrant butter sauce Dante insisted she try for a first course, and ate her share of the exquisite little vegetables served with their main course. But she kept firmly to water instead of the wine he offered.

‘You drank champagne the first time we met,’ Dante reminded her. ‘You were such a delight in that charming dress.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ she said coolly.

‘You do not remember the occasion with pleasure?’

Her eyes clashed with his. ‘Of course I do. It was Charlotte’s wedding day. She was on cloud nine and I had just left university with a respectable degree. Euphoria all round.’

He held the look in silence for a moment then got up to escort her to the bar. ‘Will you take a little cognac with your coffee?’

‘Since I abstained over dinner, I will, please.’ Rose needed some kind of stimulant for once. A sip of the fiery spirit helped her to relax a little as she looked across at her companion. Now she could study him objectively without wanting to hit him, he looked a lot older and harder-edged than the effervescent charmer who’d made Charlotte’s wedding so memorable for the bridesmaid. There had been other young Italian men among Fabio’s relatives and friends at the wedding, but Dante had monopolised Rose so completely she’d had no eyes for anyone else.

‘You are very quiet,’ he observed.

‘It’s been a very eventful day.’

‘So tell me all about your life, Rose.’

‘I run a bookkeeping business from home.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘You did not take up your career in accountancy?’

‘No, though the qualifications come in very handy in my line of business.’ She changed the subject. ‘Dante, I know it’s a bit late to say this, but I was very sorry about your grandmother.’

‘Grazie. I miss her very much.’

‘Do you miss your wife, too?’

‘No. Not at all.’ His eyes hardened. ‘The marriage was a bad mistake. When Elsa soon left me for another man my brother said I should thank God for such good fortune. Leo was right.’

Rose looked him in the eye. ‘Odd you forgot to mention Elsa when we first met.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I did not forget. I refused to let thoughts of her spoil my time with you. I was very angry because she refused to cancel a fashion shoot to accompany me to Fabio’s wedding.’

‘So you made do with me.’

‘No! This is not true, Rose. I took great delight in your company.’ His eyes held hers. ‘Am I too late to apologise for leaving you so suddenly?’

‘I completely understood when I heard that your grandmother had died.’ She held the brilliant blue gaze steadily. ‘Not so much when I was told about Elsa.’

His jaw clenched as he beckoned to a waiter. ‘I need more cognac. Will you join me?’

‘No, thanks.’ She got up. ‘I’m a bit tired, Dante, so—’

‘No!’ He sprang up. ‘It is early yet. Stay a little longer with me, Rose, per favore.’

Since only sheer pride had forced her to make the first move, she nodded graciously and sat down again, eyeing Dante’s glass. ‘Should you be drinking that before a long drive?’

‘I am not driving. I have reserved a room here at the hotel tonight so that I can be your guide to the city tomorrow.’

Rose stiffened. ‘Charlotte asked you to do this?’

‘No, she did not. It was my idea.’ He lifted a shoulder, his eyes cold again. ‘Non importa, if you do not desire my company I will leave in the morning.’

That would be the best move all round, as Rose knew only too well. But she was a stranger in a city foreign to her and didn’t speak a word of Italian, so it was only practical to take advantage of someone native to the place. After all the trouble he’d caused her, he might as well make himself useful.

‘I’d appreciate your services as guide, Dante. Thank you.’

‘It is my great pleasure, Rose!’ He reached across the table to touch her hand, eyes warm again. ‘I will try to make your stay memorable.’

He wouldn’t have to try hard. In spite of her initial rage at the sight of him, it had taken only a minute in Dante’s company again to remember how easy it had been to fall in love with him all those years ago. He’d been a charming, attentive companion who’d shown unmistakable signs of returning her feelings on Charlotte’s wedding day, which had made it all the more devastating when she’d learned about his missing fiancée after he’d gone. In sick, outraged reaction to the blow, she had immediately blanked him out of her mind and pretended she’d never met him. And because she’d flatly refused to listen whenever his name came up, Charlotte had eventually given up mentioning him. Yet Charlotte had sent Dante to the hotel with her letter. Rose made a note to have words with Signora Vilari on the subject next time they spoke.

She took her hand away. ‘Won’t it be boring for you, Dante, showing me round a city you know so well?’

He shook his head. ‘Firenze will seem new to me, seen through your eyes. But why have you not been here before, Rose? I had hoped so much to see you again when you visited Charlotte, but you never came.’

‘Too much work to get away. And I see her regularly when she comes to visit her father.’

‘She told me Signor Morley shares his life with your mother. You are happy with this?’

Rose nodded. ‘It’s a happy arrangement all round.’

‘It was plain that you were all close at the wedding. I am fortunate to possess both my parents, but no longer, alas, my grandmother. I adored her and miss her still.’ Dante’s eyes lit with sudden heat. ‘Only the message telling me she was dying could have torn me away from you so suddenly that night, you understand? But, grazie a Dio, because I left immediately I arrived at the Villa Castiglione in good time to say goodbye to Nonna and hold her hand in mine before she...she left us.’

‘I’m glad of that,’ said Rose quietly. Though at the time she hadn’t believed a word of it, convinced the call had been from some girlfriend—a theory which had seemed proved beyond all doubt next morning when she found out about Elsa.

‘Nonna left her house to me.’ Dante’s eyes darkened. ‘At first I did not want the Villa Castiglione, afraid I would miss her there too much. But because it was Nonna’s greatest wish my parents persuaded me to live there.’

‘Alone? You’ve found no replacement for Elsa yet?’

‘No.’ He arched a wry black eyebrow. ‘You think such a thing is easy for me?’

‘I don’t think about you at all.’ She shrugged. ‘After all, I only met you once.’

His eyes narrowed to an unsettling gleam. ‘And you did not look back with pleasure on that meeting!’

‘Oh, yes, most of it. I had a great time with you all day. But once I knew you were spoken for I never gave you another thought.’ She smiled sweetly and got to her feet. ‘Now I really must go to bed.’

He walked with her to the ornate lift. ‘I shall take much pleasure in our tour of Firenze, Rose.’

‘You must tell me what to see.’

‘When do you fly home?’

‘Thursday morning.’

‘So soon!’ He frowned. ‘But that gives you only one day for the sightseeing. We must meet early for breakfast.’

‘I thought I’d have it sent up—’

‘No, no.’ Dante shook his head imperiously. ‘I will take you to breakfast in the Piazza della Signora to begin on the sightseeing as we eat. We shall meet down here at nine, d’accordo?’

Rose nodded. ‘I’ll enjoy the luxury of a lie-in for once.’

‘You rise early for your work?’

‘Much too early.’ She smiled politely as the lift glided to a halt and pressed the button for her floor. ‘Which one for you?’

‘The same.’ He showed her his room number. ‘So if you are nervous in the night you can call me and I will come.’

Rose shot him an arctic look. ‘Not going to happen, Dante.’

‘Che peccato!’ When they reached her room, Dante opened the door and stood aside with a bow. ‘Now lock your door to show me you are safe.’

Rose nodded formally. ‘Thank you for your company this evening, Dante.’

His lips twitched. ‘Because it was better than none?’

Rose let her silence speak for her as she closed and locked the door.

Dante made for his room and went out onto his balcony, deep in thought as he stared down at the Arno. Rose Palmer was very different now from the girl he’d fallen more and more in love with as the hours passed during that memorable day. Even in the rush to reach his grandmother’s side, and the searing grief that followed, it had been impossible to stop thinking of the girl he’d been forced to abandon so suddenly that night. He had made a vow to apologise to Rose in person when she first visited the Vilaris. But she never came and the apologies were never made.

It was no surprise that she had been hostile at first tonight. Whereas he had felt a great leap of his heart at the first sight of her, and an urgent need to offer comfort when she found Charlotte wasn’t joining her. He had seized the chance to propose his own company instead. He smiled sardonically, well aware that Rose had accepted the offer only because it was marginally preferable to spending her brief time in Florence alone. Tomorrow, therefore, he must do everything in his power to make her stay pleasurable before she went back to her bookkeeping. He shook his head in wonder. Could she not do something more interesting with her life?

* * *

Convinced, for a variety of reasons, that she’d lie awake all night, Rose fell asleep the instant she closed her eyes. When she opened them again the room was bright with early sunshine, and with a gasp she shot upright to grab her phone, and smiled in relief when she saw a message from her mother. Grace Palmer had come late to the skills of texting, and the message was brief:

Everything fine. Have lovely day.

Reassured, Rose sent off a grateful response and then stretched out in the comfortable bed, feeling rested after the surprise of the best night’s sleep she’d had for ages. Eventually, she wrapped herself in the hotel robe and went out on the balcony, face uplifted to the sunshine. Since she was here at last, doing the last thing she’d expected to do, pride urged her to make herself as presentable as possible now Dante Fortinari was to be her guide.

In the years since she’d last seen him she’d persuaded herself he couldn’t possibly be as gorgeous as she remembered. And she was right. Now Dante was in his early thirties maturity had added an extra dimension to his dark good looks—something her wilful hormones responded to even while the rest of her disapproved. So since a capricious fate—or Charlotte—had brought them together again, she would make use of his escort for a day and then tomorrow, back home in the real world, erase him from her life. Once again.