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