Читать книгу English Rose for the Sicilian Doc - Annie Claydon - Страница 11

CHAPTER ONE

THE BUILDING SHONE white in the sunshine, a line of tall palm trees announcing that this was a place of some importance. Rose Palmer gripped her son’s hand, walking through the wide entrance doors and into a spacious reception area, refreshingly cool after the heat of the afternoon.

A building like this showed intent. Any archaeologist would tell you that buildings gave an insight into what a community thought was important, and Rose was no exception. The high ceilings and clean lines were a clear statement that the work that went on here was both vital and serious.

She hung on tight to William’s hand, for fear of losing him in amongst the melee of people who criss-crossed the space. She couldn’t see a reception desk, and she supposed the best thing to do was to ask someone. Easier said than done. Everyone seemed too intent on getting wherever they were going to stop and give directions.

‘Scusi...’ A woman in a white top that bore the insignia of the hospital stopped, and smilingly asked her something in Italian. Hopefully she wasn’t in need of directions too.

‘Inglese.’ Rose proffered the piece of paper that her friend Elena had given her, with details of William’s appointment, written in Italian.

‘Ah. Sì...’ The woman scanned the paper and shot a brilliant smile at William. Rose was getting used to the way that Sicilians always reserved their brightest smiles for young children, and so was her son. William reached up, and the woman took his small hand in hers.

‘Terzo piano...’ The woman gestured towards the lift and then thought better of it. Taking a pen from her pocket, she walked over to a water dispenser, leaning on the side of it to draw on the paper, smiling at William as she did so. Then she proffered the hand-drawn map, holding up her thumb and two fingers and pointing to the lift to indicate that Rose should go to the third floor.

Third floor, turn right and then the second on the left. She got it. Rose nodded and smiled and thanked the woman falteringly in Italian. William waved goodbye, and the woman responded cheerily, watching her all the way to the lift.

Upstairs, the corridors were less grand and more utilitarian. Rose followed her map, and found herself in a small, comfortable waiting room. A receptionist scanned her written directions and waved her towards the rows of chairs, before picking up her phone.

Rose made her way to the far corner, and sat down. She would rather have flown back to England to do this, but Elena and her husband would have none of it. All of the visiting archaeologists working at the dig were covered by private health insurance and this hospital was one of the best in the world. They would make the appointment for her and request a translator, and William would be in good hands. She was a guest on the island and anything less would be considered as a lapse in hospitality.

And the one thing that Rose had learned very quickly was that you faulted Sicilian hospitality at your peril. So she’d accepted the offer and driven here, privately deciding that if the language barrier turned out to be more than she or William could cope with, she’d find an excuse to be on the first plane back home for a couple of days.

Someone laughed, and Rose looked up to see a man chatting with the receptionist. Her face was animated, smiling up at him in the way that women did when someone they liked also happened to be breath-catchingly handsome.

And even by the rigorous standards of the island this man was handsome. Straight, dark hair, grazing his collar. Smooth olive skin, high cheekbones and lips that were meant to smile. Rose couldn’t see his eyes, but she imagined them chocolate brown.

Only a man so immaculate could have got away with that jacket. Dark cream, obviously linen—on anyone less perfect it would have looked rumpled. But on him it seemed as if every crease had been carefully chosen and styled, to make the most of his broad shoulders and the slim lines of his hips.

Suddenly he turned, looking straight at her. His eyes were brown. Dark, seventy per cent cocoa, with a hint of bite. Rose dropped her gaze, embarrassed to be caught staring.

‘Mrs Palmer?’ He’d walked over and dropped into a chair opposite her. His voice was like chocolate, too.

‘Ms Palmer.’ It was a convenient halfway house for a single woman with a child. ‘Um... Parla Inglese?’

He grinned and Rose felt her ears start to burn. ‘Yes, I speak English. I’m Matteo Di Salvo, and I’m here to translate for Dr Garfagnini. He’s the paediatric specialist who’ll be seeing William today.’

Perfect. His English was clear and almost unaccented, although the slight difference in tempo made it sound seductive. Or perhaps that was just the way he spoke. Seductive just about summed him up.

Rose took a breath, trying to concentrate on the practicalities. ‘Thank you. You’re the interpreter here?’

‘No, I’m a doctor. Our interpreter is busy with some English tourists in the emergency department...’ He gave a shrug, which indicated that the matter shouldn’t be given a second thought. ‘Dr Garfagnini is running a few minutes late, and I wondered if I might take the opportunity to get to know William a little.’

Handsome and kind. And he spoke English. This man was a bit too good to be true.

‘Thank you so much, Dr Di Salvo. I appreciate it.’ Rose remembered that a handshake was usual in these circumstances and held out her hand.

‘Matteo, please...’ The caress of his fingers was just as alluring as the rest of him.

‘Rose.’ She snatched her hand from his, feeling her cheeks burn, and curled her arm around her son.

‘Ciao.’ William had learned a few words of Italian in the last three weeks, and had also learned that they were usually greeted with approval. Matteo was no exception to the rule.

‘Ciao, William.’ He held out his hand, and William took it, staring up at him. ‘Your Italian is very good. Molto bene.’

‘Molto bene...’ William parroted the words and then decided to return the compliment. ‘Your English is very good.’

Rose quirked her lips, ready to apologise for William, but it seemed it wasn’t necessary. Matteo smiled and nodded.

‘Thank you. I used to live in London.’

‘I live in London!’ William crowed with delight.

‘Do you? What football team do you support?’

‘Tufnell Park Cheetahs. They’re the best.’

No one had heard of the Tufnell Park Cheetahs other than the handful of supporters who turned up on a Sunday morning to watch them play in the local park, but all the same Matteo nodded as if he approved wholeheartedly of the choice.

‘And how old are you?’ It was impossible to tell whether Matteo’s questions were just to pass the time, or whether he was testing her son in some way. Rose suspected it was a bit of both.

William counted on his fingers. ‘Uno, due, tre...four. And four days.’

Matteo nodded. ‘Quattro. E quattro giorni.’

He listened while William repeated the words and smiled. ‘Molto bene. What does that mean, William?’

‘It means very good.’

There was nothing wrong with William’s memory, or his use of language. He was a bright child, and had none of Rose’s inhibitions about speaking Italian whenever he got the chance. It was the way he’d been behaving in the three weeks since they’d come here that worried Rose.

The last of the other families had been ushered out of the reception area, and the receptionist came out from behind her desk, picking up the toys that lay scattered around the room and tidying them away into a box in the corner.

‘You can choose something from the box if you’d like.’ Matteo pointed towards the toy box. Rose wondered if this was another test, but if it was, it was done deftly enough to make it seem like a game to William, who ran over to the box, stopping short a couple of feet away from it. The receptionist smiled, reaching in and offering a toy car, and William took it from her.

‘Why have you brought him here today?’ Matteo turned to her.

Rose reached for her bag. ‘My friend wrote it down for me in Italian. It’s not easy to quantify...’

‘Thank you. But I’d rather hear it in your own words first.’ He took the paper that she handed him but didn’t look at it. ‘Your instincts, as a mother, are something we take seriously.’

Another hurdle that seemed to have just melted away in the heat of his dark gaze. ‘He can see, but doesn’t seem to understand what he sees sometimes. Which is odd, because he’s so bright usually.’

‘And this has started happening recently?’

‘I’ve noticed it over the last three weeks, since we’ve been here in Sicily. I’m worried that he might have hit his head without my knowing, or even that it’s something to do with the flight.’

Matteo flipped his gaze to the paper, scanning it. ‘And his behaviour?’

‘He gets very frustrated when he makes silly mistakes about things, but in general he seems happy.’

‘And this is something new? Or could it be that being in an unfamiliar environment has made a long-standing difficulty more apparent?’

‘I can’t really say. I’ve only just noticed it.’ Rose tried to ignore the familiar tug of guilt. It wasn’t helpful and Matteo was just exploring all the possibilities.

‘Where are you staying? Are you working here, or on holiday?’ Matteo seemed to be watching William out of the corner of his eye. He was playing happily with the receptionist, racing toy cars across her desk.

‘I’m an archaeologist, and I’m here to work on a project. One of my Italian colleagues has rented a large house here in Palermo and I share it with him and his family. His wife, Elena, looks after William and her own children while I’m at work.’

‘You’re a single parent?’

‘Yes.’ Rose squeezed her hands together. She tried her best, but she knew that she couldn’t give William all the attention he needed. Being found lacking in this man’s eyes was unexpectedly difficult.

‘How is he with his food? I imagine he’s come across some new things here.’

‘Yes. He’s always been cautious about his food, but now he won’t eat anything unless he’s smelled it and dipped his fingers in it. I get him to try something and he likes it, but then the next time he doesn’t seem to recognise it, and he does the same thing all over again.’

Matteo was nodding slowly, as if some of this made sense to him. But he didn’t seem inclined to share any of his thoughts with Rose just yet. He excused himself and strolled over to the receptionist’s desk, joining in the game with the toy cars. Not content with just driving them across the desk, he and William lined them up in rows, and started on what looked like a fair representation of a demolition derby.

One of the cars spun up into the air, and Matteo caught it deftly, just before it smashed into the receptionist’s coffee cup. The woman rolled her eyes in Rose’s direction, her meaning clear, and Matteo gave her a sheepish look. A laughing retort in Italian made it quite clear that the gorgeous Dr Di Salvo could do no wrong around here.

‘Your conclusions...?’ Matteo had sauntered back over, but there was no doubt in Rose’s mind that he must have some.

He shrugged. ‘Just passing the time. Until Dr Garfagnini is ready to see William.’

Okay. If that was the way he wanted it. Rose supposed that diagnosing another doctor’s patient in the waiting room was probably frowned on wherever you happened to be in the world. ‘Okay. I’ll wait. In the meantime, could you say the doctor’s name a little slower for me, please? I don’t want to mispronounce it.’

* * *

Whatever her name, she was a rose. Smooth, creamy skin and brilliant blue eyes. Fair, shoulder-length hair, which slid out from behind her ear every now and then before she tucked it back. Matteo wanted to touch her, to feel the silky texture of her skin and her hair.

And she was clearly worried about her son. She was working hard to give the impression that she was telling him everything, but the tremor behind her polite smile told Matteo that she was leaving something out. Maybe that something was relevant, and maybe not.

And maybe he wasn’t being fair. She didn’t speak any more than a couple of words of Italian, and anyone would be stressed, bringing a child to the hospital in these circumstances. Child psychology, or parent psychology for that matter, wasn’t his speciality, and he should leave that to Dr Garfagnini.

‘Where are you working?’ He sat down, leaving an empty chair between the two of them.

‘It’s a joint project between three universities, my own in London, one in Rome and one here. We’re excavating a site up in the hills.’

She looked altogether too fragrant to be tramping around in the hills, digging for artefacts. Her skin seemed untouched by the sun, her hands small and soft. Maybe she was in the habit of wearing a hat and gloves.

‘What’s your speciality?’

‘I’m an osteologist.’

‘So our interests overlap.’ It was pleasing to find a point of connection with her.

She nodded. ‘I tend to deal with older bones that you would generally come across, although I have done some forensic osteology.’

‘That’s difficult work.’ Forensic osteologists worked with more recent history, war graves and crime scenes.

‘Yes. It can be.’ She took a breath, as if she was about to say more, but lapsed into silence. Matteo decided not to push it.

‘You must be very good at what you do.’ Sicily’s rich history, and the many archaeological sites on the island, meant that it was unusual for any particular expertise to be needed from elsewhere.

She smiled suddenly. A real smile, one that betrayed a bit of fire. ‘Yes. I am.’

‘And you teach mainly?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Your hands.’

She smiled again. This time a touch of sensuality, all the more heady since it seemed to be kept strictly under wraps most of the time.

‘You’re very observant. I wear gloves when I dig. And, yes, I also teach.’ William had been running back and forth as they talked, depositing toy cars in her lap, and she started to gather them up.

Matteo watched her as she walked to the toy box, stacking the cars carefully back in their proper place. He might not be responsible for William’s diagnosis but he’d already made a few observations that might be of assistance to Dr Garfagnini.

Admittedly, watching the way her skirt swirled around her legs, noting the smooth curve of the fabric around the bust and tracing his gaze along her bare arms wasn’t the kind of observation that was necessary for a diagnosis of anything other than his own appreciation of a beautiful woman. But thinking that she was beautiful was about as far as Matteo was prepared to go.

Her son was a patient at the hospital where he was a doctor. That might change, but it would make no difference. Matteo had loved a woman with children once before. There was no changing the damage he’d caused then and no woman, however beautiful, could change the way he felt about it now. If he wanted to be able to sleep at night, he wouldn’t lay one finger on Rose’s perfect, porcelain skin.

* * *

Dr Garfagnini was a small, middle-aged man with a kind face. He appeared in the entrance to the reception area, beckoning to Matteo, and Rose caught William’s hand, her heart beating a little faster. Maybe this was some long-standing issue that had somehow escaped her notice. That verdict on her failings as a mother would be a lot easier to take coming from the older man’s lips, and Rose almost wished she didn’t need Matteo to translate.

Introductions were made and they were seated in easy chairs set around a large, low table in Dr Garfagnini’s bright, airy consulting room. William was given crayons and paper, and Dr Garfagnini pushed an upholstered stool up next to the table for him. Coffee was brought in, and Matteo waved it away, prompting a laugh and a joking observation from Dr Garfagnini.

‘He says I’m a coffee snob. That takes some dedication on this island.’ Matteo seemed to be trying to put her at ease. ‘Now, I’m going to fill Dr Garfagnini in on what you’ve already said to me, and then I’m sure he’ll have some questions...’

There were many questions, and at times it seemed that Matteo’s translations of her answers were a little longer than the original. Rose battled against the rising anxiety, and finally she snapped.

‘Please. Will you tell me what you just said to him? I need to know what’s going on.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry. I was mentioning what happened in the waiting room.’

‘What did happen in the waiting room?’ Rose pressed her lips together, aware that William had looked up from the blue and brown smudges that he was drawing. It would be a little more to the point if Matteo directed his colleague’s attention to those.

‘We played with cars.’ William provided the answer, and Matteo nodded, grinning broadly at him. His relaxed attitude seemed to reassure William that all was well, and he went back to his drawing.

Matteo turned to Rose. ‘Dr Garfagnini would like to test him for colour-blindness.’

‘Colour-blindness?’ How could she not have noticed something like that? Rose reached for her coffee and realised she’d already finished it. The empty cup rattled in the saucer as she put it back onto the table. The game had been a test after all.

‘It’s not going to distress him in any way.’ Matteo’s brown eyes were melting with concern.

‘No. I’m sorry, please, go ahead.’ She wanted to grab William and hug him. Tell him she was sorry that she hadn’t thought of this. That she’d allowed him to be confused by the world around him, without it even occurring to her that he might not see it as she did.

She watched numbly as Dr Garfagnini produced a set of Ishihara plates. These were obviously made for children, the blotches forming squares, triangles and circles, rather than numbers. Matteo explained what he wanted William to do, making it all seem like a game to him. Rose watched in horror as her son failed to pick out the shapes in almost a third of the pictures.

Then there were more games, all centred around colour. Matteo was pretending to make mistakes, some of which William gleefully corrected, and others that he didn’t notice. Then an examination of William’s eyes, and finally Dr Garfagnini nodded and spoke to Matteo in Italian.

‘What did he say?’ Rose tried to keep the tremor from her voice, for William’s sake.

‘In his opinion, your son is colour-blind. It’s an inherited condition, and there’s no cure or medication for it. It’s just the way he perceives the world...’ Matteo broke off as a tear rolled down Rose’s cheek and she swiped it away. Why couldn’t he just have pretended he hadn’t noticed?

‘Your son is healthy.’ His dark eyes searched her face, as if looking for some clue as to the source of the tear.

‘Yes. Thank you.’ She turned to Dr Garfagnini, ‘Grazie.’

She had to pull herself together. It was unforgivable to react like this in front of William and the doctors who had been so kind. She could do the guilt and the soul-searching later, in private. Rose straightened her shoulders, blinking back any further tears that might be thinking about betraying her.

An exchange in Italian, and Matteo nodded, turning to Rose. ‘Dr Garfagnini has an evening appointment and needs to leave soon, but he’s suggested that I might be able to give you some practical insights, if you have some time to stay and talk.’

‘But...what kind of doctor are you?’ Maybe Matteo’s speciality had something to do with her son’s condition.

Matteo gave her that relaxed, seductive smile that seemed to burn through everything else. ‘I’m an interventional radiologist. And red-green colour-blind, like your son.’