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Daisy forced her mouth to respond with a bright, ‘Yes, please,’ and even managed a fairly believable smile through the humiliation and shame. This would teach her, she thought fiercely as waves of hot chagrin crashed in over her head. If she wasn’t very careful she was going to grow into a crabby, awkward old woman and then Ronald really would have ruined her life.
And that mustn’t be allowed to happen. She almost nodded at the thought and stopped herself just in time, although the emphasis of the reaction stayed with her. Ronald was the past now. Not Jenny—Jenny would always be with her whatever the future held, secure in a special corner of her heart where she would stay forever beautiful and forever precious—but she had to go on and try and do more than merely exist.
‘Here.’ Slade handed her the brimming glass with a warm smile and the clean, sharp scent of his aftershave teased her senses for a second as he leant towards her.
‘Thank you.’ She took it quickly, too quickly—causing the liquid to spill over on to her dress.
‘Relax, Daisy.’ Slade’s voice was soft now, very soft and deep. ‘You must learn to relax, you know this?’
‘I…I’m all right.’ Her heart was pounding alarmingly in repudiation of her words.
‘No, you are not, not yet, but you will be,’ Slade murmured quietly. ‘Here at Festina Lente you will learn to hurry slowly, to take things easily, yes?’
Maybe. If he wasn’t around too much. Daisy nodded brightly. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘And you might even find you like Italy…and Italians.’
She knew exactly what he meant and there was absolutely no answer she could make but her face must have said it all, because in the next moment he smiled—a dry, cynical twist of a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all—and added coolly, ‘But I won’t hold my breath, eh?’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE next four weeks went far more smoothly than Daisy could ever have envisaged that first night.
The main reason for this was a catastrophic problem with Slade’s parent company in England which in turn affected his subsidiaries in the States and Canada, and the seriousness of the disaster had meant Slade’s presence was essential. He telephoned Festina Lente each evening, but other than preparing herself for the sound of that deep voice the days were tranquil.
The second reason for the harmonious and peaceful atmosphere which pervaded Festina Lente from May onwards was due to an incident which happened in the middle of Daisy’s first week, and just twenty-four hours after Slade had left for England.
Signor de Sica, Francesco’s young and enthusiastic tutor whom Daisy had liked on sight, was working with the child in the schoolroom—a room designated for the little boy’s lessons which was sandwiched between Slade’s massive study and the kitchens on the ground floor—and Angelica and Daisy had just returned from a pleasant excursion into the heart of Merano.
They had ostensibly been looking for ideas for gifts for Francesco’s birthday at the end of June, but the two women had spent half the morning chatting in one of the café terraces on the promenade bordered by the fast flowing Passiria river. Daisy had found Angelica far more relaxed away from the house, and the younger girl had been quite frank about her fear of Francesco’s grandmother and the pressure the other woman constantly brought to bear.
‘She is what you English call the…the dragon, sì?’ Angelica had confided quietly. ‘An’ my madre—my mother—she is anxious Signora Morosini not be upset. It make it very hard for me, an’ Signor Eastwood, he not understand.’
Daisy had nodded sympathetically. The devil and the de
ep blue sea! She could just imagine.
‘When Roberto ask me to marry him he say it good time for me to leave, sì? He no like me upset an’ my madre, she understand when Roberto talk to her. An’ now you here.’ Angelica had smiled happily.
Daisy had smiled back but now, as an imperious voice echoed from the hall into the kitchens where Angelica and Daisy had been having a coffee with Isabella before the other woman had hurried to answer the doorbell, she didn’t feel like smiling. Italian was a beautiful, soft-flowing language but there was something in this voice that was cutting, and she didn’t need Angelica’s, ‘It her, Signora Morosini,’ to tell her Slade’s mother-in-law had arrived.
Isabella came panting back to the kitchen a minute or two later. ‘She taking the bambino out,’ she announced in an undertone to the two other women. ‘She want you ready in five minutes, Angelica, and she want to see Daisy in the drawing room, sì?’
No. Daisy straightened her shoulders. Slade had already been eloquent on this very point. Apparently once she knew he was away, and in spite of all his orders to the contrary, Claudia Morosini would sweep into the house at any time of the day or night and take over, often dismissing Francesco’s tutor for the day—even a week wasn’t unheard of—and generally creating havoc. It unsettled Francesco and interrupted his schooling, and once the child was at his grandmother’s home he was spoilt outrageously, which usually resulted in tantrum after tantrum once he was home again and couldn’t have all his own way.
‘Francesco is not going out today.’ Daisy motioned to Angelica, who had been on the point of leaving the kitchen, to wait before she continued, her voice firm, ‘His father does not want his schooling interrupted and has told Signora Morosini she can see her grandson at weekends. Perhaps you will go and inform Signor de Sica his services are still required, Angelica, and I’ll explain to Signora Morosini.’
The two women were staring at Daisy open-mouthed, and then, at her gentle prodding of, ‘Angelica?’ the younger girl blinked and nodded quickly, darting a nervous glance at Isabella before she left the room.
Daisy waited a full sixty seconds before leaving the kitchen and outwardly she appeared very calm and composed as she walked to the drawing room. Inside her stomach churned and she felt sick at the prospect of the coming confrontation with Francesco’s grandmother.
As she opened the door and walked into the room Signora Morosini turned from her contemplation of the massive family portrait above the ornate fireplace—this showed Slade, his wife—who had been very small, slight and pretty—and a six-month-old Francesco—and allowed some ten seconds to elapse before she responded to Daisy’s greeting of, ‘Good morning, Signora Morosini.’ Then she gave a coolly gracious inclination of her perfectly coiffured head and waved her hand at the sofa in front of her. ‘Please be seated, Miss Summers.’
Her voice was almost accentless, crisp and very, very cold, and as Daisy met the hard grey eyes set in a face that was still quite strikingly beautiful she had never felt so intimidated in all her life. But she didn’t let it show by so much as the flicker of an eyelash.
‘I understand my son-in-law has taken it upon himself to offer you employment?’ It was not congratulatory, and the piercing eyes continued to dissect Daisy inch by inch.
‘I am Francesco’s new nanny, yes.’ Daisy spoke quietly and without hesitation, and the icy gaze narrowed slightly at her tone. It clearly wasn’t subservient enough.
