Catherine Spencer - His Child - The Mistress's Child / Nathan's Child / D'Alessandro's Child

‘And a very happy Christmas to you, too,’ he replied sardonically. ‘I left my parents slightly ahead of schedule because they predicted snow—’

‘Where?’ asked Lisi, theatrically peering at the sky and then at the ground. ‘I don’t see any snow!’

He tried to take into consideration the fact that she had obviously been changing. ‘My apologies,’ he murmured. ‘And now, do you think I can come inside? It’s getting pretty chilly standing here.’

She held the door open ungraciously, but as she closed it on the bitter night she reminded herself that she had vowed there would be no unpleasantness. Not in front of Tim. And especially not today, of all days.

Philip lowered his voice. ‘Have you told him?’

She bit her lip. ‘Not yet.’

He looked at her in disbelief. ‘Hell, Lisi—it’s been a week!’

She shook her head. ‘I just couldn’t work out how to do it—it’s not something you can come out with very easily and explain to a child of three. ‘‘By the way, darling—you know that strange man who turned up on the doorstep on your birthday? Well, he’s your daddy!’’’

‘There’s no need to make it sound so—’

‘So like the truth?’

He sighed. ‘So when are you going to tell him?’

‘Not me , Philip. Us. You, mainly.’

‘ Me? ’

‘Yes, you! I’ll leave you to do the talking—I’m sure you’ll put it in the most diplomatic way possible.’ Hot tears stung at her eyes and she turned away before he could see them. ‘I just haven’t got a clue what to say. Tim! ’ she called. ‘Tim!’

‘Is it Faver Chrissmas ’gain?’ squeaked a little voice and Tim came pelting out and almost collided with the tall figure in the hall. He looked up at him with huge aquamarine eyes.

So like Lisi’s eyes, thought Philip. ‘Hello,’ he said.

‘You’re Mum-mee’s friend!’ announced Tim triumphantly.

‘That’s right! And I’ve come to have tea with you both—if that’s okay with you?’

‘Did Faver Chrissmas bring you lots of presents?’

‘Not lots,’ said Philip gravely. ‘Some.’

‘I got lots!’

Philip smiled. ‘Do you want to show me?’

Tim nodded excitedly and eyed the brightly wrapped parcels in Philip’s arms with interest. ‘Who are those presents for?’ he asked coyly.

Philip laughed. ‘They’re for you. We’ll open them when Mummy has changed out of her dressing gown.’ He shot Lisi a questioning look and she realised that she had been standing there just gawping.

‘I’ll go and get changed.’ She nodded, wondering just how he had always had the knack of seeming to be in charge!

She shut the bedroom door behind her, her heart thundering just with the knowledge that he was here, such a short distance away, and that she was standing in her underwear and looking at it critically in the mirror.

A functional peach-coloured bra and knickers which didn’t even match—but who cared? She certainly wasn’t planning for him to get a glimpse of them.

But you would like him to, wouldn’t you? taunted a mischievous voice in her head, and she shook her head at her reflection in the mirror.

She still wanted him, yes—but things were complicated enough as they were. Resuming a physical relationship with him would only add to those. She gave a wry smile as she pulled on a pair of old blue jeans and an ice-blue sweater. Who was she kidding? As if a few short hours in someone’s arm could be defined as a relationship.

She raked the brush through her hair, tempted to tie it back—but decided that she couldn’t leave him sitting out there waiting for her for much longer, so she left it loose.

She walked back into the sitting room to find that he was playing trains with Tim, and when he looked up his eyes were quietly smouldering.

‘Is—everything okay?’ she asked.

He steeled himself against the impact of her beauty, and jerked his head towards the roaring fire instead. He stood up and came to stand beside her, lowering his voice into an undertone so that only she could hear. ‘Do you usually leave Tim here on his own, while you titillate yourself in the next room?’

For a moment she didn’t quite get his drift, and when she did her mouth set itself into a mulish line. So he thought he could walk back into their lives and start criticising her skills as a mother, did he?

‘I was hardly titillating,’ she answered icily, gesturing to her casual clothes with an angry, jerking motion. ‘Just getting changed out of a dress which Tim had liberally smeared with chocolate.’

‘Lisi, he was alone in the room with a fire—for heaven’s sake! Do you really think that’s safe for a three-year-old?’

The injustice of it stung her. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ she said, between gritted teeth, and marched out to the kitchen.

He followed her, as she had known he would, but remained standing in the doorway so that he could keep an eye on the toddler who was still engrossed in his new train-set.

He saw the fury in the stiff set of her shoulders. ‘Listen, I wasn’t meaning to be judgemental,’ he said softly.

She clicked the kettle on and turned round, her eyes spitting pale blue fire. ‘Like hell you weren’t!’

‘I was only just pointing out—’

‘Well, don’t!’ she said, in a low, shaking voice. ‘Do you think I’ve brought him up in a house which has a fire and not taught him that he is never to go near it?’

‘Listen—’

‘No, you listen! What do you think it’s like as a single parent living with a little boy? Have you ever stopped to think about it?’

‘Actually, no—but then it wasn’t number one on my list of priorities. Until now.’

She met the quizzical green stare fearlessly. ‘Even taking a bath has to be planned with all the attention you would give to a military campaign!’ she declared. ‘As for going to the bathroom—well, you don’t want to know!’

He glanced back towards Tim and then at her again. It had never occurred to him. Why should it? People rarely considered the practical problems of child-rearing unless they were contemplating taking the plunge themselves. He sighed. ‘You’re right. I had no right—’

‘No, you didn’t!’ she agreed furiously. ‘You have only to take a look at him to realise that he is a happy, contented little boy. The world is full of dangers, Philip—and I have had to teach him about them all. Never to talk to strangers. Never to approach a dog that might bite him. The fact that the roads aren’t safe—’ She saw him flinch, and wished she hadn’t chosen an example which would remind him of Carla. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘The cotton-wool remark still holds true. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

‘No, you shouldn’t!’ She pointed to the kitchen cupboards with an air of frustration. ‘I’ve had all these cupboards child-proofed so that he can’t get into them. I don’t leave bottles of bleach lying around the place for him to find—and there’s a stair-gate at the foot of the stairs! Please credit me with a little more sense and caring, Philip! He has had it drummed into him from the word go that fires are dangerous and must be treated with respect and caution—and that Mummy is the only person who touches the fire.’

He watched her warm the pot and then make the tea. He had been lucky in a way, he guessed. She could have been the kind of mother who didn’t care—who saw Tim as a mistake who had taken away her youth and her freedom. But she had created a home for him, a warm and loving home, he realised.

She was right. You had only to look at the child to see that he was happy and contented and well cared for. Stimulated, too—to judge from his conversation.