Mistress to a Millionaire

The air was perfumed with the scents of almond, orange and lemon from the trees surrounding the entrancingly lovely structure, and all in all there was a magic, an ethereal quality to the house, which actually brought a lump to Daisy’s throat. It was the sort of house you might imagine in a dream but never expect to see in real life, and she was going to stay here for a time. She, Daisy Summers, she thought wonderingly as a dart of something she had forgotten she could feel but which she recognised as joy lit her soul. If she could find peace of mind anywhere, surely it was in this exquisite setting?

Slade had been watching her face, and now, although she had not spoken, he appeared satisfied with her reaction to his home as he opened the door of the Bentley and helped her alight.

They hadn’t taken more than a step or two towards the house when the doors were opened to reveal a large, buxom woman and a tall, slim girl, and in between them, but without his hands in theirs as one would have expected, stood the small figure of Slade’s son, who looked even more fragile and large-eyed than in his photograph.

Daisy was aware of the two women but her eyes were on Francesco as she and Slade walked to the foot of the steps. She saw him dart a quick glance at the housekeeper and his nanny before his eyes returned to them, and then she and Slade were climbing the steps and Francesco was in front of her.

‘How do you do?’ He had stepped forward a pace and was holding out his hand, his large brown eyes looking up into her face. ‘I am Francesco, and I am very pleased you are going to come and stay with us.’

It was said parrot fashion and there was another fleeting glance at his father as he repeated the words he had been taught.

Daisy hesitated just a moment and then she did what her heart told her to do and knelt down in front of the small figure, her head now level with his. ‘Hello, Francesco,’ she said softly, looking into the baby face that was surprisingly like his handsome father’s, and then she reached out and took the small hand, drawing him towards her and into her arms. There was a split second of stiffness and then the little body melted against her, thin arms coming round her neck in a quick hug.

Daisy held him tight for one more moment before she put him gently from her, and her voice was determinedly bright to quell the surge of emotion that had flooded her chest at the pressure of the childish embrace as she said, ‘I would love to see your home, Francesco. Would you show me it, please?’

Again there was the glance at Slade, and at his father’s nod the child said, his tone more natural now, ‘I will show you your rooms first, Signorina Summers—’

‘Francesco.’ Slade cut into the little boy’s eager chatter with a dark frown. ‘What did I tell you? English at all times. You know the correct address.’

‘Sì—I mean yes, Papà.’ The brightness had gone from Francesco’s face and Daisy could have wept. ‘I will show you your rooms, Miss Summers,’ he repeated formally.

‘My name is Daisy, Francesco, and that is what my friends call me. We are going to be friends, aren’t we?’ she asked brightly.

‘Sì—yes, but Papà—’

‘Your father didn’t know how I wish you to address me.’ Daisy forced an easy smile Slade’s way and saw he was scowling at her. She ignored it utterly. ‘Now he does I am sure it will be perfectly all right for you to call me Daisy.’

There was absolute silence at the side of her but again she ignored it. This child was scared stiff of his father, she thought angrily, and if Slade thought she was going to be what he had termed a mother figure and called Miss Summers at the same time he had another think coming! She had never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. How could she reach the child like that?

‘Francesco, just before you show Miss Summers her suite perhaps you would be good enough to go and find Mario and ask him to bring in the cases?’ Slade said stiffly. ‘We will wait for you in the drawing room, yes?’

‘Yes, Papà.’ It was clear the small figure was reluctant to leave Daisy, but once Slade had introduced her to Isabella and Angelica he sent the nanny and Francesco in one direction, and Isabella in another with a request for a tray of coffee. Then she and Slade entered the house behind the housekeeper and he led her straight through the baronial hall, which was vast and very beautiful with a massive open winding staircase, marbled floors and stunning chandeliers, and into the drawing room.

She barely had time to take in the grandeur of this room before Slade said, his voice very cold, ‘I think there are a couple of things I need to make clear before we go any further, Daisy.’ He waved a hand for her to be seated.

‘Yes?’ She knew what was coming and she stared at him, her chin up and her back straight as she remained standing.

‘As I explained to you, Francesco has been outrageously spoilt by my wife’s parents and family and there is a need for discipline to be maintained at all times if the child is to grow up as I would wish,’ Slade said firmly.

She continued to stare at him and now he shook his head slightly, his voice irritable as he said, ‘You understand what I am saying? He cannot be encouraged to be wilful.’

‘You think allowing him to call me by my Christian name is encouraging him to be wilful?’ Daisy asked with very real surprise.

‘Not exactly.’ Slade frowned darkly. ‘No, of course not. But his grandmother can be…graceless with those in her employ,’ he said tightly. ‘I will not have this rub off on Francesco.’

He was clearly finding this conversation difficult but Daisy was at a loss as to how to help him.

‘After one particularly long visit to her home I found Francesco ordering Mario about in a manner I can only describe as churlish,’ Slade said quietly. ‘This attitude is not acceptable. It must be corrected now. It is unfortunate that my mother-in-law lives so close but that cannot be helped.’

‘How did Mario take Francesco’s orders?’ Daisy asked softly. She could see he was trying to do the best for his son but by swinging the pendulum so far in the opposite direction he was doing more harm than good.

‘He thought it most amusing,’ Slade said grimly. ‘I did not and Francesco soon discovered this.’

‘Slade, he is six years old.’

‘He will be seven in a few weeks,’ Slade barked back.

‘Nevertheless he needs love as well as discipline,’ Daisy said hotly, stung by his tone. ‘Surely you can see that? There is no way I could have him call me Miss Summers, no way. It doesn’t mean that I’ll let him show me any disrespect, but I want him to obey me through affection, not fear. And although it is true that children are little sponges as far as adults are concerned, soaking up their elders’ attitudes and actions, I’m sure Francesco sees enough of you and this household to know the correct way to behave.’