Listening to her daughter’s account of her day during the glorious ritual of the bath, Lara tried to work out how much to tell her mother. Of course Greta knew the name of Vivi’s father, but Lara hadn’t broken it to her yet about Alessandro’s latest meteoric appearance in her life.
During dinner, watching Vivi carefully hide all her peas under a lettuce leaf then ease them off one by one to hide under her plate, Lara guessed what her mother’s attitude would be. Tell him at once, Greta would urge. He deserves to know the truth. Vivi deserves it. And there was little doubt that he wouldn’t be long at work before someone mentioned she had a child. As soon as he found out Vivi’s age he wouldn’t have to be a mathematical genius to work out the truth.
How dreadful for him if he found out in some casual conversation. If only he hadn’t been so difficult this afternoon. So angry.
During the bedtime story, leaning back against the pillows with Vivi cuddled up to her and Kylie Minogie, her best doll, propped up beside them so she could see the pictures, every glance at her daughter over the pages of The Little Mermaid brought Alessandro’s likeness forcibly before her.
The resemblance was in more than Vivi’s dark velvet eyes and the richness of her hair. There was mischief and humour in that small face already, and even now the capacity for fathomless depths of…what?
Lara gave herself a little shake. Now she was being ridiculous. Vivi was only five. It was just the effect of having been with Alessandro after a long absence. Naturally his presence was overwhelming. Disquieting.
And admit it. In some way…energising.
It was a challenge. Not telling him would deprive Vivi unnecessarily of a parent, but on the other hand, the upheaval to their lives if he wanted to somehow participate in her parenting was frightening. How could he, anyway, from the other side of the world? It would be so unsettling and confusing, Vivi might be better off without him.
And today had been such a disappointment.
What had happened with the wife? she wondered, closing the story book and helping Vivi to settle down under the covers with Kylie Minogie. After his cavalier treatment of her she couldn’t help wondering if he’d been a faithful husband.
There was no denying it. Whatever he was, whatever he’d done, the old fire had been breathlessly present in the vibrations between them. When he’d touched her in that accidental collision-and had it been accidental?-she’d felt stirred. All the way home on the train she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of how disturbed that brief touch had made her feel.
Almost-aroused.
Her eyes drifted shut.
Though obviously, after six years of male deprivation, it was only to be expected he’d have had some impact.
She’d tucked Vivi into bed and had nearly finished the kitchen clean-up when the phone rang. Greta, she assumed, back from her oboe rehearsal and in need of a gossip.
She picked up the phone and cradled it between her ear and her shoulder while she peeled off her rubber gloves. ‘Hi, dear. Come straight up.’
There was a moment of silence, then, ‘Do you say that to everyone who calls?’
She froze to the sink, her heart making a bound as his deep velvet voice trickled down her spine like liquid Tiramisu.
‘Alessandro,’ he prompted when she didn’t reply at once.
Everything else in the world shrank and receded as the compelling tones thrilled through her. She managed to suck enough breath into her dislocated lungs to say, ‘I know that.’
‘We need to talk.’
She took the phone off her shoulder to hold squeezed in her shaking hand. Amazing, but even with her insides doing pirouettes, adrenaline cut in and she could speak.
‘I can’t imagine why,’ she said coldly. ‘But all right, then. Shoot.’
‘Face to face.’
A shock of excitement raced through her. ‘That’s impossible. I’m not available tonight.’
‘But you are at home.’
She glanced in the direction of Vivi’s room. ‘Well, yes, but I can’t go out. I have-commitments.’
‘Then I will come to you.’
She felt a bolt of alarm. ‘No! You can’t come here.’ Anxiety helped her to unscramble her wits. ‘Anyway, after today…the things you said…we can have nothing to say to each other. We’re strangers, remember?’
He said swiftly, ‘But you don’t accept that. I’m certain that was what you said.’ And when she didn’t answer added, ‘You know there are things we need to discuss.’
That was rich, after the way he’d refused to acknowledge their former relationship.
‘Things. Oh, you mean things about work?’
‘What else?’
Her heart was thundering. Yeah, right. Things about work indeed. If he wanted to know operational things, he could ask anyone. And he could wait until tomorrow. Did he think she was an idiot? He wanted to see her.
Oh, God. Forget all the negative emotion and confusion of the day. Face the truth. That mesmeric connection was still there. The excitement. And she wanted to meet him. God, she wanted to. If she could arrange to meet him somewhere…
He said firmly, ‘I’ll be in your street in a couple of minutes.’
‘What?’ she gasped, but it was too late. She’d spoken into dead space.
Immediately, she phoned down to Greta’s, but her mother mustn’t have returned yet. Then she realised she was wearing track pants and a ragged old sweater that had borne the brunt of too many bathtime splashes.
She dashed to her bedroom and dragged on her good jeans and a top. Though surely the red top was too clingy? What sort of a statement was it making? One breath of cold air and her nipples would stand up and protrude through the layers. Quickly she whipped it off and dived into her wardrobe for a shirt. She shrugged a sleeveless vest over it, ran a brush through her hair and smoothed on some lipstick.
She ran to the front window, and gasped when she saw a dark car pulling up across the street from the house. She jumped back, and stood for seconds, dithering. She’d open the door to him, and talk to him on the porch. In a worst-case scenario, she could invite him into Greta’s as if it were her place.
Unless…
She thought rapidly. Unless Vivi had left toys there. And there were the photos.
If he came here, her bumpy heartbeat told her, if he saw Vivi, she’d have no time to prepare. No time to prepare Vivi, no time to break the news gently to him. Somehow, she would have to lure him away from the house.
Her hands twisting, she paced back and forwards, stopping several times at Vivi’s door to glance in, dashing in once to ensure the covers were in place over the slight mound of her daughter’s sleeping form.
The downstairs bell to Greta’s flat gave a couple of sharp peals, and, torn between rushing to answer it and defending her cub, like a maddened tigress Lara dashed in to resettle the covers over Vivi’s shoulders.
CHAPTER SIX
ALESSANDRO surveyed No. 37 with curiosity. Third in a long row of Victorian terraces, its street frontage was narrow, and like the others it appeared to have two levels, with balconies at both. A creeper trailed from the ornate iron lace of the upper balustrade. The street was pleasant, the plane trees along its pavements bare, their last leaves now adrift after having succumbed to the southern wintry air.
Light glowed in an upper-floor window, and he thought he could see a figure flit past the filmy curtain. Lara, he thought, the buzz quickening in his blood. As he was about to leave the rental car a cruising taxi slowed and drew up in front of the house, and he stilled, his hand on the door handle.
A woman alighted. She was wearing a bulky coat, and in the glow of the street lamp gave the impression of being of mature age. She was carrying some sort of case, perhaps a musical instrument. She bent to speak to the
