The Mistress's Child (13 page)

'But he doesn't know you properly, and until he does then I'm afraid that I cannot permit him to stay with you. In fact, he probably won't want to come up to the house without me.'

The expression on his face grew intent. 'I want bathtimes and bedtimes and all the normal things which fathers do, and if you think I'm cracking my skull on the ceiling of your cottage every time I stand up, then you've got another think coming!'

She opened her mouth to object and then shut it again, because she could see from his unshakable stance that to argue would be pointless. 'I can't see that happening for a long time,' she said coldly.

'We'll see.' He gave a bland smile. 'And in the meantime, I'll be around on Christmas afternoon. Shall we say around five?'

She couldn't bring herself to answer him, and so she nodded instead.

CHAPTER EIGHT

'Tim, darling—please don't eat any more—you'll be sick!'

'One more, Mum-mee!'

Lisi lunged towards him, but he had crammed another chocolate in his mouth before she could stop him. She took the stocking away from him firmly. 'That's enough chocolate!' she said sternly. 'We've got tea to get through next.' And her face fell.

Rachel leaned across the table, holding a bottle of port. 'Have a glass?' she suggested. 'You haven't got far to go, and it is Christmas Day!'

'You don't need to remind me,' said Lisi gloomily. She looked down at her son, who was busy licking chocolate off the inside of the wrapper. 'Put that down, darling, and go away and play with Blaine until it's time to go!'

To her relief, Tim went scampering off, and, after a swift glance at her wrist-watch, Lisi curled her feet up underneath her. Another hour until the avenging Caprice appeared on her doorstep. 'I could just go to sleep.' She yawned.

'On Christmas Day? Show me the mother of a child under ten who couldn't, and I'll show you a liar!' chortled Rachel, and then a look of concern criss-crossed her brow as she glanced across at her friend. 'You okay?'

Lisi shrugged. 'As okay as anyone can be when they're having their arm twisted.' She had told Rachel everything. She had seen no cause not to. There was no longer any point in keeping anything back. People would know—or guess—soon enough when she and Tim started traipsing down the lane for cosy afternoons and evenings with him!

'I still can't believe he's bought The Old Rectory,' said

Lisi crossly. 'And what is even more unbelievable is that he railroaded his lawyers into rushing through the deal. They complete in the New Year,' she finished. 'What a wonderful way to start the year—Philip Caprice firmly ensconced in my old family home.'

'I think it's rather romantic,' sighed Rachel.

'Romantic?' squeaked Lisi.

'Mmm. I can't imagine Dave doing something like that—even if he could afford to.'

'But you wouldn't want him to, would you?' asked Lisi, raising her eyebrows in surprise. 'I thought you said that if you never saw him again, it would be much too soon?'

Rachel shrugged and swirled her port around in the glass, so that it looked like a claret-coloured whirlpool. 'I suppose not. It's just that sometimes I get lonely—well, often, actually—and Christmas is the worst. Even if Dave wasn't the most wonderful husband in the world, at least he was there. I guess I miss having a man around the place.'

And that was the difference between them, thought Lisi—she had been content enough with her single status. Not that she had been anti-men, or anything like that—she just hadn't particularly missed having a partner. Until she reminded herself that she had never actually had a partner.

'I'd better think about making a move,' she said reluctantly, thinking how warm and cosy it was by Rachel's fireside.

Rachel nodded. 'You'll need to change.'

'Will I hell? There's nothing wrong with this dress!'

'Except that Tim has smeared chocolate all over it,' commented Rachel, with a smile.

Lisi looked down at her dress to see several brown, sticky thumbprints! She smiled at her friend. 'We've had a wonderful time today,' she said softly.

'Me, too.'

'Sure you won't come over for a drink later on?'

Rachel pulled a face and giggled. 'And face the daunting Philip Caprice after what you've told me about him? Er, I'll take a rain check, thanks, Lisi!'

Lisi packed up their presents in a carrier bag and wrapped Tim up warmly in his little duffle-coat and the brand-new bobble hat and matching scarf which Santa had brought him. She kissed Rachel and Blaine goodbye and they set off home in the crisp air.

Although it was only just past four, it was already pitch-black and there was a curious silence which had descended over the whole village. But then it was Christmas Day. Everyone was inside, making merry with their families— falling asleep after their big lunches, or playing games or watching weepie films on television.

She let them in and thought how cold the house was. Better light a fire. She drew the curtains and knelt in front of the brand-new toy railway track and began to push one of the trucks around it with her finger. 'Choo-choo,' she chanted. 'Choo-choo!'

'Me, Mum-mee! Me play with the train!'

She smiled. 'Go on, then, and I'll light the fire.'

She efficiently dealt with the logs and paper until the blaze was spitting and glowing. She put the big fire-guard in front of it, and went into her bedroom to change.

She had just stripped off her dress and was standing in her bra and pants when there was a knock at the front door and she glanced at her watch in horror. He couldn't be here! Not yet. But who else would it be on Christmas afternoon?

Saying a few choice words underneath her breath, she dragged on her dressing gown and opened the front door to find his tall figure dominating her view, blotting out the moon completely. He was carrying presents, but she barely gave them a second glance. Not only had he demanded this visit—he didn't even have the courtesy to be on time!

'You're early!' she accused.

He thought that no woman had the right to look as sexy as that—not when she was wearing an old flannelette dressing gown which had clearly seen better days—but Lisi did. Maybe it was something to do with the fact that he knew only too well what fabulous curves lay beneath its rather shapeless covering. Or because, for once, she had let her hair fall free and unfettered, spilling in abundant ebony streams to her waist. He had only ever seen it loose once before and he felt the blood begin to sing in his veins as he remembered just when.

'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 respecVand 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.

'Can I do anything?' he asked.

She couldn't resist it. 'Better go back in and keep your eye on Tim,' she said sweetly. I can manage here.'