hall to present her with it, so everyone who had been involved could be present. ‘You don’t think she’ll be offended?’ asked Daisy, worried suddenly that she wouldn’t like everyone discussing her failing memory.
‘I don’t think she’ll be offended at all,’ said Dennis with certainty. ‘I know my Goldie. She’ll appreciate the thought. I’m sure of it.’
Daisy hadn’t thought about Luca in months. Until he turned up at her door a couple of weeks before Christmas.
Daisy stared at him in astonishment. In a heavy coat, felt hat and olive-green scarf, he looked ruggedly handsome. His face was unshaven and his greying hair curled about his ears. He smiled and his chestnut-brown eyes took her in with the intensity of a man who suddenly appreciates the errors of his ways and the value of the woman now standing before him. ‘Luca? What are you doing here?’ she gasped.
‘Getting cold,’ he replied. ‘Can I come in?’
Daisy opened the door and watched him walk past her into the kitchen. Nan was sitting at the table, playing solitaire. When she saw Luca her jaw dropped. ‘Good God,’ she said. ‘It’s Lazarus, risen from the dead!’
‘Hello, Nan,’ he said, and bent down to kiss her as if he being there, in that kitchen, was the most natural thing in the world.
Marigold, who had been in the sitting room, watching old episodes of Frasier, hurried into the kitchen. ‘Luca?’ she gasped. She hadn’t forgotten who he was.
‘Marigold!’ Luca embraced her, nearly lifting her off the ground. ‘It’s so good to see you!’
Marigold was confused. Were he and Daisy married? She couldn’t remember. She decided to say nothing until she was sure.
Daisy walked slowly into the room. She folded her arms. ‘Why didn’t you call?’ she demanded.
‘Because you changed your number,’ he replied, giving her a hard stare.
Marigold sensed the tension and went straight for the kettle. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea,’ she said cheerfully.
‘No,’ Daisy replied. ‘Luca and I are going to go to the pub, aren’t we, Luca? We’ve got lots to talk about and we don’t want to disturb you.’
‘Oh, you’re not disturbing me,’ said Nan quickly. ‘You can say anything in front of us. Marigold won’t remember what you say anyway, and I’m really not interested. Put the kettle on, Marigold. I might lace mine with a little brandy.’ When Daisy looked at her in bewilderment, she added with a grin, ‘Celia does it, so why shouldn’t I?’
Chapter 27
Daisy and Luca sat opposite each other at a table in the corner of the pub. Daisy ordered a glass of wine, Luca a Peroni. How strange, she thought, watching him watching her with those brown eyes into which she had gazed more times than she could count, that, after a year apart, it was as if they had seen each other only yesterday. It was as if the last twelve months had never happened. As if it had all been a dream.
‘What do you want, Luca?’ she asked in Italian, taking a fortifying gulp of wine.
‘I haven’t come all this way to just say hello. I want you back,’ he said resolutely. When she tried to protest, he interrupted her. ‘I know I hurt you, Margherita. I’m sorry for that. I didn’t realize how much you meant to me.’ He sighed and his mouth twisted with emotion. ‘I didn’t realize that I loved you quite so much. We’d been together for such a long time, I suppose I took you for granted. But now I’ve had almost a year to think about it and to try other relationships. And I’ve discovered that no one comes close to you. There is no one else out there for me but you. You can have whatever you want. You don’t have to compromise. You can have it all. I shouldn’t have denied you a child. That was selfish.’ He smiled bashfully. ‘I’ve got over myself, Margherita.’
Daisy felt a surge of fury rise up from the pit of her chest. ‘It took you a year to realize how much I meant to you? And now you’re willing to give me what I want? Don’t you think you’re a little late, Luca? Do you think I’ve been doing nothing but waiting for you all these months?’
‘I hoped you’d feel the same as I do,’ he said quietly, looking genuinely shocked by her angry response.
‘Why do you think I changed my number?’
He shrugged in the way Italians do. ‘I just wanted to talk.’