Page 5 of Prognosis Baby Daddy

‘A popular man,’ she mused.

‘My family has had a home here for many generations.’ He shrugged.

Katya turned back to the window, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the scenery. How would that be? To have grown up here? For the baby to grow up here? She thought back to her dreary upbringing in Moscow. State housing, sketchy services, going hungry on too many nights, going cold even more and a pervading climate of fear that even as a child she had been aware of.

No neighbours greeting you as a long-lost friend — just keep your head down and stay the hell out of trouble.

She wanted more than that for this baby.

‘Here we are,’ he said, slowing the vehicle.

Katya could just make out a whitewashed villa through the mesh wire of a very high fence. Ben removed a remote control from the centre console and a heavy-duty security gate swung open. He drove into the narrow space, just big enough for two small cars, and turned the engine off.

‘Welcome to Positano.’

Katya looked over at the imposing villa. Inside the fence it looked even grander, dominating the cliff face perched over the sea below. Its grandeur scared the hell out of her. She suddenly felt like Cinderella at the ball and hoped she didn’t trip or say something stupid or eat with the wrong utensil.

She pictured Ben’s mother, a plump old lady with a mole on her chin and a twinkle in her eye, slaving over a hot oven for her.

For her.

Cooking a feast, Ben had said. The last thing she wanted to do was show how very little breeding she had. Not because she cared necessarily but, hey, a girl had her pride.

She climbed out of the car and allowed Ben to get her case for her then lead her to the front door. The side wall that faced them was stark white, two rows of arched windows breaking up the line of the house. Terracotta window boxes overflowed with red geraniums.

They walked up a short flight of stone steps. Pretty tiles inlaid along the tread of each stair were beautifully decorative. A large wooden door was an impressive barrier to the outside world.

Ben inserted his key into the lock and pushed the heavy door open, gesturing for Katya to precede him. She stepped in nervously, the white walls, towering ceilings and large blue floor tiles, the exact tone of the sea, dazzling to the eye.

‘Mamma,’ he called.

He strode through the house and Katya followed close behind, awed by the expensive-looking furniture, rugs and artwork that decorated the Medici villa. She had the urge to huddle into the broad strength of his back, feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland. It was only her pride that kept her frame erect and her hands firmly by her sides.

They entered the kitchen, which smelt amazing. A blend of garlic, basil and onions tickled Katya’s nose and emphasised how long it had been since she had eaten.

‘Benedetto? Benedetto?’

One of the most elegant-looking women Katya had ever seen entered the room from stairs to their right. She was tall and regal, her silver hair swept back into a glamorous chignon. So much for round and soft with a mole on her chin! She threw her arms in the air and broke into enthusiastic Italian as she embraced her son.

Katya stood back and watched their easy affection. She felt a pang of envy as his mother grabbed his cheeks and planted an enthusiastic kiss on each. Their closeness was a stark contrast to the strained relationship she shared with her own mother and Katya felt even more out of her depth.

The similarities between the two were striking. He had his mother’s high cheekbones and her strong patrician nose. And as the older woman opened her eyes and smiled at her, Katya realised that this would be her baby’s grandmother. There was so much love in this room, in this homey Italian kitchen, that Katya felt tears well in her eyes.

She blinked them away quickly but not before she saw a faint narrowing of the older woman’s eyes. Ben’s mother had seen her tears.

‘Mamma, this is Katya Petrova,’ Ben said, pulling out of his mother’s embrace. ‘Katya, this is my mother, Contessa Lucia Medici.’

Katya held out her hand tentatively, not sure how to greet a Contessa. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Contessa,’ Katya said.

The Contessa smiled and came forward, her arm outstretched, too, firing rapid Italian.

‘English, Mamma,’ Ben broke in, reminding her gently.

‘Of course, I’m sorry.’ The Contessa smiled at Katya, slipping easily into near perfect English. ‘Forgive my manners. Please, call me Lucia.’

The Contessa swept Katya into a hug as enthusiastic as the one she’d given to her own flesh and blood. Katya felt awkward in her embrace, completely unused to displays of motherly affection. But the Lucia’s eyes were kind and again she felt absurdly close to tears.

‘Shall we adjourn outdoors?’ she suggested as she pulled away. ‘Benedetto.’ She turned to her son. ‘Bring the wine,’ she commanded.

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