His Child. Sharon Kendrick
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He was walking around the room now, touching the walls with a proprietorial air she found utterly abhorrent. She gritted her teeth behind a forced smile. ‘Very well. I’ll get that up and running straight away.’ There was a question in her eyes. ‘Though it’s going to need a lot of work to get it up to the kind of specifications I imagine you’ll be looking for.’
His answering smile was bland. ‘Just so.’
‘You certainly couldn’t expect to be in before Christmas. Probably not until springtime at the earliest,’ she added hopefully.
Her wishes were beautifully transparent, but, unfortunatelyfor her, they were not going to come true. ‘Not Christmas, certainly,’ he agreed, and saw her visibly relax. ‘But I think spring is a rather pessimistic projection.’
‘All the builders and decorators around here are booked up for months in advance!’ she told him, trying to keep the note of triumph from her voice.
‘Then I shall just have to bring people down from London, won’t I?’
She glared at him. ‘As you wish,’ she said tightly. ‘And now, if there’s nothing further, I’ll call into the office and then I really must get back—’
‘To Tim?’ he interjected softly.
How she wished he wouldn’t use that distinctly possessive tone! He might be Tim’s father—but the two had barely exchanged a few words. He couldn’t just walk back into their lives unannounced and expect to be an equal partner!
‘Yes, to Tim,’ she said coldly, and began to walk towards the hall, her high heels clip-clopping over the polished floorboards.
‘Oh, Lisi?’
She stopped, something in his tone warning her that she was not going to like his next words, either. She turned round, wishing that he were ugly, and that he didn’t have those piercing green eyes which could turn her knees to jelly. ‘Yes?’
‘We haven’t discussed Christmas yet, have we?’
‘Christmas?’ she echoed stupidly. ‘What about it?’
‘I want to spend it with Tim.’
She fought down the urge to tell him that he could take a running jump, but she knew that open opposition would get her nowhere. Softly, softly it must be.
She put on her most reasonable smile. ‘I’m afraid you can’t. I’m really sorry.’
Yeah, she sounded really sorry. He kept his face impassive. ‘Oh? And why’s that?’
‘Because we’ve already made arrangements for Christmas.’
‘Then unmake them,’ he said flatly. ‘Or include me.’
She drew in a deep breath. ‘We’ve arranged to have lunch with my friend Rachel and her son, Blaine—he’s Tim’s best friend. I couldn’t possibly take you along with us!’
He thought about it. ‘I’m supposed to be having lunch with my parents,’ he reflected. ‘But I’ll drive down here afterwards. We can all have tea and Christmas cake together, can’t we, Lisi?’
‘No!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because…because he doesn’t know who you are!’
He narrowed his eyes, but not before she had seen the flash of temper in them. ‘You mean you haven’t told him yet?’
‘When?’ she demanded angrily. ‘In the hour I had this morning between waking up and being summoned into the office at your bidding?’
The accusation washed over him. ‘I thought that it was important for you to see where I was buying.’
‘Why?’
‘Because eventually Tim will come to stay with me. Naturally.’
Feeling as though her world were splintering all around her, Lisi prayed that it didn’t show. Keep calm, she told herself. He may be powerful and rich, but he can’t just ride roughshod over your wishes. He can’t.
She drew a deep breath.
‘Listen, Philip—I can understand that you want to build a relationship with Tim—’
‘How very good of you,’ he put in sarcastically.
‘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