Keeping Her Close: In Christofides' Keeping / The Call of the Desert / The Legend of de Marco. ABBY GREEN
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watching as Lola grabbed her cup. She was getting to that age when she was determined to do everything herself. ‘Yes. Very well. I’m lucky that Lola has always been a pretty good sleeper, and she was tired last night.’
‘You look tired,’ he said abruptly, and when Gypsy glanced up she could see his face flush, as if he was angry with himself for noticing.
She shrugged, feeling even more self-conscious and haggard. ‘I’ve been working hard…’ She amended it, ‘Was working hard.’
He obviously noticed her T-shirt and asked now, ‘You went to London University?’
Gypsy busied herself cleaning Lola, who squirmed to get away. She hated having to tell him anything, but nodded and said, ‘I studied psychology, and specialised in child psychology.’
‘When did you graduate?’
‘Two years ago.’ Just weeks before she’d met Rico in that club. Not that she was going to mention that now.
Rico finally walked over to the coffee machine, and with his intense regard off her for a moment Gypsy could breathe again. She cast his broad back a quick glance. ‘I’ll need to go out today to get some things for Lola. I need nappies and some other supplies.’
Rico turned around and leaned back easily against the counter, coffee cup in hand. ‘I’ve taken the day off work. My doctor will be here in about an hour to take the swabs and then we can go out together. We can get what you need, and there’s a park near here where Lola can play for a bit. We’ll have to stay out of the apartment anyway, as people are coming in to child-proof it.’
Surprise washed through Gypsy at the speed with which Rico was adapting his world to accommodate Lola—and also, she had to admit, the fact that he wasn’t already gone to work, having left behind an impersonal note, or indeed no note. On the contrary, he was taking a day off. She couldn’t remember one instance when her own father, or her vacuous stepmother, had taken a day off for her. Not even on school sports days. Not even on the day when she’d come to her father’s home to move in. His cold housekeeper had brought her to a room and told her to stay there until dinnertime.
Feeling unaccountably threatened, and vulnerable from the memory, Gypsy said churlishly, ‘Afraid that if you turn your back we’ll be gone?’
Rico’s eyes flashed, but he took a lazy sip of coffee and drawled, ‘Let’s just say that trust is certainly an issue.’
She couldn’t say anything in response. She didn’t want to let him know how much he was surprising her. ‘We’ll be ready after I’ve washed and changed Lola.’
Rico put down his coffee cup then, and for a second Gypsy could have sworn that something intensely vulnerable flashed across his face. But it was gone before she could be sure.
‘Good,’ he said curtly, and watched as Gypsy’s jaw tightened in response.
She lifted Lola up to take her out of her seat. Rico had to school his features. For a second an impulse had risen up out of nowhere to offer to help with Lola. It had come out of a desire to get to know her better, to know her routine, watch what Gypsy did with her. Rico forced himself to remember that if he hadn’t seen Gypsy in the restaurant he’d still be unaware of the fact that he was a father.
Gypsy walked into the bedroom later that day, exhausted, and succumbed for a moment to sit on the bed. She felt upside down and inside out. After the genial and twinkly-eyed doctor had been and gone that morning, having taken swabs from Lola and Rico, Rico had changed into jeans and a thick jumper and they’d gone out, wrapped up against the cold. Clearly he didn’t trust them to be further than ten feet away from him.
They’d gone to the local shops, where Gypsy had bought what she needed, insisting on paying, much to Rico’s obvious chagrin. He’d looked ridiculously out of place in the local pharmacy. And then they’d gone to a local park, where Rico had largely ignored her and focused on Lola, who had basked happily in this new friend’s attention. Now, after holding herself so tightly for hours, and being so excruciatingly aware of Rico’s physicality, Gypsy’s defences were extremely shaky.
Rico’s unquestioning certainty that Lola was his still stunned Gypsy. And the fact that Lola was out in the living room right now, playing happily with Rico, made Gypsy feel very funny.
Gathering her energy again, she went to the nursery to get a bib for Lola’s dinnertime. When she opened the door she gasped out loud, belatedly remembering Rico’s scathing looks at her flimsy nondescript clothes that morning. She’d heard him making sporadic calls on his phone during the day but hadn’t thought much of it till now…
In shock, she took in what had to be thousands of pounds worth of clothes for her and Lola, hanging up or put away in drawers. The temporary nursery had been moved to a little ante-room off the bathroom, and was kitted out with even more accessories.
A potent memory of her father made her vision blur with anger. At the age of thirteen she’d been mesmerised when she’d seen the profusion of beautiful clothes he’d bought for her—until she’d realised to her shame and horror that they were all either too big or too small. And that he’d bought them specifically for her to wear socially, at his side, not out of any genuine paternal affection. He’d forced her to wear them, reading her acute embarrassment as ungrateful thanks. He’d had no comprehension of a daughter on the threshold of puberty, with a rapidly developing body.
And now Rico had taken a decision to do more or less the same thing. At no point during the day had he even asked her opinion. Or suggested that they go shopping together. Not that she would have complied, she knew grimly, but it would have been nice to be consulted. He was buying them—throwing money at the problem.
Gypsy gathered up some of the baby clothes, with their ostentatious designer labels, and stalked into the living room, where Rico was standing at the window with Lola held high, pointing things out. He looked around, those grey eyes glowing, only to rapidly cool as he took in Gypsy’s stiff stance.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’ She held the clothes out stiffly, some falling to the ground.
Rico’s eyes flashed as he turned to face her. ‘You’re both in dire need of new wardrobes. I can provide that.’
‘I’ve already told you,’ Gypsy spat, ‘we don’t need you, or your money. To spend money on clothes this expensive is pure extravagance. There’s enough in there to clothe an entire village of babies, not just one. As it is, Lola’s growing so fast that she’ll have outgrown most of them before she can even wear them.’
Rico’s face tightened, a muscle moving in his jaw, and Gypsy felt like a complete bitch. Because she had the strangest sensation that she’d just hurt him.
‘I will provide for my daughter. That is non-negotiable. And while you are with me, under my roof, you will not go outside the door looking like a bag lady.’
‘God forbid,’ Gypsy muttered caustically, somehow relieved that Rico was retaliating, ‘that we should embarrass the great Rico Christofides.’ She put down the rest of the clothes and held her hands out for Lola, who squirmed to get to Gypsy. ‘It’s time for her dinner now.’
After an interminable moment full of crackling tension Rico finally handed her over, and bit out, ‘I’ll be in my study for the rest of the evening. If you’re so concerned about the excess of clothes, take out what you think she won’t need and I’ll have them sent back.’
And then he walked out, and Gypsy inexplicably felt like a complete heel.
A couple of hours later she sat by Lola’s cot, watching her fight against sleep, her eyes getting heavier and heavier. And Gypsy was still fighting that feeling of guilt. Because Rico was all at once confirming every one of her worst suspicions and yet confounding them at the same time. The image of Lola in his arms earlier was still clear, and she knew she’d been a coward in not acknowledging how it had made her feel—knew too that her knee-jerk reaction to the clothes had