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Claudia Morosini drew herself up to her full five foot ten inches, her slim, perfect body held ramrod-straight, and contemplated the slender English girl who had remained standing in front of her rather than taking the seat she had indicated. ‘And I am his grandmother, as I am sure you are aware,’ she said icily. ‘My daughter’s unfortunate death has meant that I have been obliged to take a close interest in my grandson’s welfare; you understand this?’
Daisy allowed herself a brief nod but didn’t speak.
‘I do not wish Francesco’s well-being to be left fully in the hands of servants,’ the imperious voice went on with an insolence that was meant to subjugate, ‘as I am sure you can appreciate.’ The grey eyes held all the warmth of an arctic sky.
Still Daisy said nothing; there was nothing to say after all.
‘Therefore I plan my time accordingly. I shall be taking my grandson to my home for a few days and your services will not be required. Angelica will accompany us of course.’
‘I’m sorry, Signora Morosini.’ Daisy kept her voice level and polite even though her cheeks were fiery. ‘Mr Eastwood told me he had made it perfectly clear that Francesco will be keeping to strict hours of study now he is getting older. If you would care to wait until the weekend I’m sure Francesco would love to come.’
There was a moment of stunned silence and then, ‘No, I would not care to wait until the weekend,’ Claudia bit out frostily, ‘and I think you forget to whom you are speaking.’
‘I’m sorry, Signora Morosini, but Mr Eastwood was very clear on this matter.’ Daisy prayed the shaking in her stomach would not communicate itself to her voice. ‘Perhaps you would like to discuss it further with him when he returns, but for the time being I have to insist Francesco’s school hours are adhered to.’
‘You insist?’ The grey eyes became chips of granite. ‘You impertinent girl!’
‘I am not a girl, Signora, I am a grown woman,’ Daisy stated grimly, her tone adding—even if the words themselves remained unspoken—that she would not be bullied.
‘I see.’ There was a malevolence in the other woman’s face that was frightening. ‘And I take it you have encouraged Angelica and Francesco’s tutor to defy me too?’ she bit out savagely.
‘It is not a question of defying you,’ Daisy said evenly, ‘merely of carrying out Mr Eastwood’s instructions regarding his son. Francesco’s schooling is important, as I’m sure you’ll agree.’
‘And that is your last word?’ Slade’s mother-in-law didn’t wait for affirmation before she continued. ‘You will regret this day, Miss Summers. You will regret it very much. I will make sure of this personally.’
She swept from the room in an icy swirl of expensive perfume and cool blue silk, leaving Daisy pale and shaking. But she did not come back.
When Slade telephoned Festina Lente that night Daisy related the incident word for word, and after receiving his unqualified approval of her handling of Francesco’s grandmother Daisy determined to put the whole distasteful episode out of her mind. It had had to be said and that was the end of it.
Claudia Morosini sent her chauffeur and maid for her grandson the following Saturday—a procedure which was repeated each week—but Francesco was delivered back to Festina Lente before nightfall. The time which followed until the little boy was tucked up and asleep in his bed was never easy, but gradually Francesco came to understand that any awkwardness and fits of ill humour would not be tolerated by Daisy, and, being the intelligent child he was, adjusted his conduct accordingly.
But now it was the first week of June; Daisy had passed the check-up with Slade’s doctor with flying colours a few days before, Angelica was doing less and less and she was doing more and more…and Slade was expected home for a full month, his business affairs having stabilised.
Daisy stood at her bedroom window gazing out at the immaculate grounds and the huge swimming pool glittering in the heat of the Italian afternoon. Another ten minutes and Francesco’s lessons for the day would be over, and then she had promised him an hour in the pool where she was teaching him to swim. She had been quite horrified in her first week at the villa when she had learnt Francesco couldn’t swim and, more than that, that he was frightened of the water.
According to Angelica and Isabella the household had tried everything to counteract what was virtually a phobia, and Slade himself had spent hours trying to persuade his small son into the water. But all to no avail.
Daisy had listened intently and then made a whole host of telephone calls. One week later, and with the help of Mario, she had prepared the pool while Francesco was busy with Signor de Sica, and then once the lessons were over for the day she had suggested to Francesco that they have their biscuits and milk outside in the fresh air.
Francesco’s face, when he had first seen the colourful playground the pool had been transformed into, had been a picture. Along with small, large and jumbo-size inflatable plastic toys ranging from merry-faced dinosaurs and sea creatures to tyres, a small raft and a rainbow-coloured dinghy, Daisy had organised three children’s slides at the shallow end of the pool—one which curled round and round, being Francesco’s favourite—and a child-size table with four chairs and a parasol at the edge of the pool.
Francesco had been hooked. It had still taken him over an hour just to venture into the water that first day but Daisy hadn’t rushed him, sitting on the edge with him and just chatting about this and that as they had dangled their feet in the silky depths and laughed together.
And then she had made him laugh still further as she’d swum, pretending to dodge all the toys and having a fight with a huge sea serpent with a long tail and dopey face.
He was a dear little boy. The smile on her face faded as a dart of disquiet made her frown. She couldn’t put a name to the feeling which had suddenly assailed her, but she felt uneasy, disturbed, as though her brain was trying to give her some kind of warning. Oh, for goodness’ sake! She shrugged the feeling away, irritable with herself. Everything was fine—it was—and this was just a job after all. She could walk away from it if she needed to. Of course she could.
Once in the pool she and Francesco had a wonderful time in the cool, clean water. Now the swimming lessons were serious business Francesco was making exceptional progress, and Daisy had just promised the small boy he could try without his armbands the next day when she caught sight of a tall, dark figure striding across the lawns leading
down from the house.
Her breath caught tightly in her throat, her heart raced and she inadvertently swallowed a mouthful of water which caused her to cough and splutter, but mercifully her confusion was obscured by Francesco’s scream of excitement as he caught sight of his father.
‘What is this?’ Slade’s bronzed face was smiling, and the black eyes were like warm velvet as he came to stand by the edge of the pool just as Francesco clambered up the steps. The little boy flung himself into his father’s arms and Slade—careless of the expensive suit and silk shirt—gathered the small wet body against his chest and hugged his son tight.
‘I can swim, I can!’ Francesco was beside himself with delight. ‘And I can try without my armbands tomorrow. Daisy says so. I am not frightened any more, Papà.’
‘This is good, Francesco, very good.’
