Page 23 of The Dolce Vita Divas
‘Raimondo is my—’ She looked up at him. ‘What are you? I can’t remember.’
‘Sono il tuo figlioccio– your godson,’ he replied with a charming smile. ‘Your favourite godson.’
Ceci made a dismissive noise. ‘He can’t be my favourite until he gets married again. It’s ten years since his wife died. A man shouldn’t be on his own. No one should. I don’t know what Freddy would have done if I hadn’t found him.’
‘I would have thrown myself into a ditch and died of despair,’ Freddy said dramatically.
‘Yes, you probably would.’
Ceci tottered away, Freddy a few paces behind her, and then turned just before she went back under the archway.
‘You may call on me tomorrow morning. At ten thirty. No, at eleven o’clock. I will see you then.’
‘Flipping heck,’ I said as we watched her slow progress, ‘I feel like I’ve had an audience with the Queen. Or Bette Davis.’
Susie gasped. ‘Oooh, I saw that only recently.Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. She was terrifying. Ceci doesn’t look like that. She’s rather gorgeous, isn’t she?’
‘I bet she was an absolute beauty in her youth,’ I said. ‘I’d love to see the photographs.’
Susie chuckled. ‘Can you imagine Simon’s reaction if I’d tried that with him?Simon, to me, if you please.He would have thought I’d lost my mind.’
Another waiter appeared with a silver platter filled with gorgeous-looking little treats.
‘Compliments of Signor de Massimo,’ he said, sliding it onto the table.
‘What a way to live,’ Susie said. ‘I could get used to this. And what is it about Italian men? They are so incredibly attractive. Raimondo, for a start. What a hunk. You don’t see many men like that in Somerset.’
‘And from the way he looked at you, the feeling was mutual,’ I said.
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ Susie said, blushing a little.
Suddenly a small boy came cannoning through the archway and skidded to a halt at our table.
‘I’m hungry,’ he said accusingly, a distinctive Texan drawl in his voice.
He was a lovely looking child, decked out in a Ralph Lauren shirt and shorts, but his expression was dark with anger. From my years of experience dealing with primary school children, I knew he was on the edge of a full-blown tantrum, something I had always wanted to avoid, and still did.
‘Would you like something from here?’ I said, trying to deflect him.
Actually, I didn’t think there was much on the table that would appeal to a child. Kids seemed to have a whole new segment of the food industry devoted to them – cartoon characters and crazy shapes and packaging. Headache-inducing television ads and wild colours. I’d often wondered why they couldn’t be encouraged to eat actual food? Oh well, perhaps it was just me who thought like that.
He looked at my plate, picked up a miniature blini topped with smoked salmon and shoved it into his mouth. After a moment he spat it out into his hands, wiping the cream cheese onto his shirt and throwing me an accusing look.
‘What’s that? And where’s Andrea?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. Is she your mummy?’
The boy evidently found this so funny that he laughed, doubling up so his head almost touched his knees.
‘No, she’s not mymommy. Andrea is my nanny.’
‘Lucky Andrea,’ Susie murmured.
I picked up a paper napkin and tried to wipe his hands with it, marvelling not for the first time how a small child’s fingers could be so bendy.
A harassed-looking woman, who I recognised from the reception desk earlier, hurried towards us.
‘There you are,’ she said, her voice heavily accented. ‘Where have you been? So sorry, ladies.’
