The First Mistake(46)

I smiled, knowing he was probably right. There weren’t many girls who got a pony for their seventh birthday, and a boat named after them. I can still remember the gasps of schoolfriends as they arrived at my house for birthday parties. If it wasn’t the long drive that stumped them, it was the swimming pool and extensive gardens. Every year, the celebrations were more outlandishly themed, from animals to Disney and circus acts, to my personal favourite, the actual Chitty Chitty Bang Bang taking us all for a ride.

Mum would look on, quietly embarrassed, whilst Dad, the Italian showman, took centre stage, making all his daughter’s dreams come true. The very next day though, it became tradition for him to take me around all his restaurants and into the kitchens, where the hard work really happened.

‘No matter how lucky we are, we must never lose sight of what it took to get here and where we came from,’ he used to say to me.

His wise words had stuck, as I’d barely missed a day’s work since. Even when I was genuinely ill, I’d think of the children who were expecting me and would drag myself into school.

‘I wasn’t that spoilt,’ I said, defending myself.

‘What? With the dad you had?’ he said, laughing. ‘I find that very difficult to believe.’

I pulled myself up and turned on the light. ‘I wasn’t aware I’d spoken about my dad,’ I said, my voice clipped.

‘What?’ he said, still laughing.

‘When did I talk to you about my dad?’ I had no reason to be suspicious, but I couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable.

‘After we’d had dinner with Diego Rodriguez,’ he said.

‘I don’t remember that.’

‘You were a little tipsy,’ he replied, smiling, as his finger traced my lips. ‘It must have been somewhere between the train station and home because, if you remember, we were pretty busy at all other times.’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

I felt myself blush at the flashback of being pressed together on the train and the overwhelming urgency to get back to the flat. All the details in between were sketchy.

‘We were talking about the wine business and you told me that your dad was a successful restaurateur and that in another life, me and him would no doubt be in business together.’

That did sound like something I would say, forever holding a candle to my father’s entrepreneurial spirit.

I smiled. ‘He’d either be buying wine from you, or selling you his collection. He had a nose for a fine wine.’

‘Did your mum ever remarry?’ he asked.

‘God no. Dad was the love of her life. No other man stood a chance.’

It’s funny. I’d desperately wanted to share exactly this kind of information with him, had thought that we weren’t really a proper couple until we did, but now that we were, it didn’t feel right, and my protective barrier was going up again.

‘What about your parents?’ I asked, deflecting the conversation back onto him.

‘My mum has dementia and is in a home, and my dad lives in Sydney with his new wife.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Do you see her very often?’

‘As much as I can,’ he said sadly. ‘I try to go in a few times a week.’

‘That must be really difficult. Does she know who you are? Is she able to recognize people?’

‘It’s a bit hit and miss,’ he said. ‘She has good days and bad days, but unfortunately she’s at a stage where it’s really starting to take hold.’ His voice caught in his throat. ‘Is your mum in good health?’

‘She is, yes,’ I said, whistling and touching the wooden surround of the headboard. ‘She’s made of stern stuff and puts me to shame.’

‘In what way?’ he asked.

‘In every way. She’s on the go 24/7; doing a yoga class, walking a neighbour’s dog, helping out at church, volunteering down at the soup kitchen. If I have half the energy and a quarter of the conscience that she has when I’m her age, I’ll be very happy with my lot. She’s a force to be reckoned with.’

‘So, she doesn’t work as such?’ he asked.

‘No, not in the sense that she earns money, though she probably works the same hours as a full-time job. But that’s not why she does it. She’s just a selfless person who gets a great deal of satisfaction from helping others. Making someone’s day easier is reward enough for her.’

‘So, she doesn’t have to worry, financially?’

I laughed. ‘Good grief no. The only financial pressure she’s under is to spend more. She’s still in the house we all lived in as a family, but it needs some money spent on it. She’s essentially only living in the downstairs rooms, and yet she still won’t put the heating on or change the rickety old windows that are letting a cold draught through. The pool hasn’t been used for years and the stables are derelict. I’d love to see it restored to its former glory, but she reckons she’s happy with it the way it is.’

‘So, what’s she spending all her money on then?’ he asked incredulously.

‘No doubt she’s giving some of it to worthwhile causes and I’m sure there’s a reason why Father Michael has a little twinkle in his eye every time he sees her.’

Thomas raised his eyebrows playfully.