His Child: The Mistress's Child / Nathan's Child / D'Alessandro's Child. Catherine Spencer
you?’ Marian raised her eyes to heaven. ‘That’s a new way to describe it! He looked more like he wanted to eat you up for breakfast, lunch and tea—and vice versa. Like no one else existed in the universe other than him.’
And he had always had that effect on her—even though she could have been nominated for an Oscar, so hard had she always tried to hide it in the past. Philip could do and behave exactly as he pleased and Lisi would always be there with a smile for him. No questions, Lisi. Weak Lisi. Foolish Lisi.
Well, not any longer!
‘It must have been a very passionate relationship,’ observed Marian.
If only she knew!
‘The question is, what are you going to tell him?’
Lisi shook her head. ‘I’m not. I’m not going to tell him.’
Marian screwed her eyes up. ‘Oh, Lisi—do you honestly think that’s a good idea?’
Lisi shook her head. ‘I know it isn’t ideal, but it’s the only thing I can do.’
‘But why, dear? Why not tell him? Don’t you think he has the right to know that he has a beautiful son?’
‘The right?’ Lisi looked at her boss and knew that she could not tell her whole story—but part of the story would surely make her point for her. And illustrate as well as anything just how little she had meant to Philip.
‘Marian—he walked out on me. He made it clear that he thought our night together was a big mistake, and that he wanted nothing more to do with me.’
Marian frowned. ‘One night? That’s all it was? Just one night?’
Lisi nodded. ‘That’s right.’ She saw Marian’s rather shocked face. ‘Oh, it wasn’t the classic one-night stand—believe me.’ It hadn’t even been meant to happen. ‘I…I used to see him every couple of months or so,’ she continued painfully. ‘We had grown to like one another, though I realise now that I never really knew him, or anything about him. But the ‘‘affair’’ wasn’t really an affair, as such.’ In fact, it hadn’t lasted beyond midnight.
‘But isn’t it time he found out the truth—whatever has happened between you? I have children of my own, Lisi, and children need a father wherever possible. They need to know their roots and where they come from.’
Lisi sighed. How could she possibly explain this without sounding scheming and cold-hearted? ‘Maybe I’ll tell him if he shows any sign of wanting to be a father, but if I just announce it without careful consideration—can’t you just imagine the consequences? Philip demanding contact. Philip turning up to take Tim out…’ Philip taking Tim’s affection…while feeling nothing for her but lust at best, and contempt at worst. ‘Tim doesn’t even know about Philip!’
‘But surely other people round here must know he’s the father? Someone must know?’
Lisi shook her head. Her night with Philip had gone unnoticed and unremarked upon, and that was how she had kept it. No one knew the truth except for her mother, and that had been a death-bed secret. Even her best friend Rachel thought that her refusal to divulge the identity of Tim’s father was down to some fierce kind of pride at having been deserted, but it went much deeper than that.
Lisi had accepted that Philip could and had just walked out of her life—but she had vowed that he would never play emotional ping-pong with that of her son. A child was a commitment you made for life, not something to be picked up and put down at will—especially if the father of that child was married.
Except now that his wife was dead. So didn’t that change things?
Lisi shook her head. ‘Nobody knows. Not a living soul.’ She stared at Marian. ‘Except for you, of course.’
‘I won’t tell him, if that’s what you’re worried about, Lisi,’ said Marian awkwardly. ‘But what if he finds out anyway?’
‘He can’t! He won’t!’
‘He’s planning on buying a house here. It’s a small village. What if he starts putting two and two together and coming up with the right answer? Surely he’ll be able to work out for himself that he’s the father?’
Lisi shook her head. Why should he? It was a long time ago. Months blurred into years and women blurred into other women, until each was indistinguishable from the last. ‘Maybe he won’t find a house to suit him?’ she suggestedoptimistically, but Marian shook her head with a steely determination which Lisi recognised as the nine-carat businesswoman inside her.
‘Oh, no, Lisi—don’t even think of going down that road. This is strictly business. And if a client—any client—wants to buy a house from this agency, then we find one for him to buy. Beginning and end of story. I simply can’t allow you to prejudice any sale because of some past quarrel with your child’s father—which in my opinion, needs some kind of resolution before Tim gets much older.’
‘An outsider doesn’t know how it feels,’ said Lisi miserably.
‘Maybe that’s best. An outsider can tell you what she thinks you need rather than what you think you want.’ Marian’s face softened again. ‘Listen, dear,’ she said gently, ‘why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off? You look much too shaken to do any more work. Peter will be back from his viewing shortly—and it’s always quiet at this time of the year. Think about what I’ve said. Sleep on it. It may be better in the long run if you just come clean and tell Philip the truth about Tim.’
Better for whom? wondered Lisi as she took off her work shoes and changed into the wellington boots she always wore to work when the weather was as inclement as it was today. It certainly wouldn’t be better for her.
She felt disorientated and at a loss, and not just because of Philip’s unexpected reappearance. Tim didn’t finish nursery until four, which meant that she had nearly two hours going spare and now she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. How ironic. All the times when she had longed for a little space on her own, when the merry-go-round of work and single motherhood had threatened to drag her down—and here she was with time on her hands and wishing that she had something to fill it.
She didn’t want to go home, because if she did then she would feel guilty for not putting any washing into the machine, or preparing supper for Tim, or any of the other eight million tasks which always needed to be done. And mundane tasks would free up her mind, forcing her to confront the disturbing thoughts which were buzzing around inside her head.
Instead, she turned up her coat collar against the chill breeze, and headed up the main village street, past the duck pond.
The light was already beginning to die from the sky and the contrasting brightness of the fairy lights and glittering Christmas trees which decorated every shop window made the place look like an old-fashioned picture postcard. How their gaiety mocked her.
The breeze stung her cheeks, and now and again, tiny little flakes of snow fluttered down from the sky to melt on her face like icy tears.
The weathermen had been promising a white Christmas, and, up until today, it had been one of Lisi’s main preoccupations—whether her son would see his first snow at the most special time of year for a child.
But thoughts of a white Christmas had been eclipsed by thoughts of Philip, and now they were threatening to engulf her, making her realise just why she had put him in a slot in her memory-bank marked ‘Closed’. She had done that for reasons of practicality and preservation—but seeing him today had made it easy to remember just why no one had ever come close to replacing him in her affections.
And now he might be here to stay.
She climbed over a stile and slid down onto wet grass, glad for the protection of her heavy boots as she set out over the field, but she had not walked more than a few metres before she realised that she was being