Secret Love-Child: Kept for Her Baby / The Costanzo Baby Secret / Her Secret, His Love-Child

‘Then why did you hire one for Marco? Did you think I wasn’t good enough to look after your son, the precious Emiliani heir?’

She didn’t believe that his eyes could close up any more, or become any more opaque, but it was like looking into the immovable face of a statute. One that was carved from cold, hard marble.

‘That was never my aim,’ he said at last and if a statue could have spoken then it would have had just that same stiff, icy voice. ‘If you want the truth, I was fool enough to think that you might appreciate some help.’

That cold comment twisted a knife in Lucy’s already tender conscience. She’d been so caught up in her own misery that she’d never looked at it from this angle. Now she was forced to face the fact that her own lack of self-esteem had turned what had been an attempt to do the right thing into the exact opposite.

‘I’m sorry…’ she began but as she spoke Marco whimpered again.

‘Your son needs you,’ Ricardo said.

‘What?’

She hadn’t quite caught what he had said. Or, if she had, then she wasn’t at all sure that she could possibly have heard right.

‘Your son needs you,’ he repeated, calm, coldly controlled and totally unmistakable this time. ‘You had better go to him.’

She knew that look, that assessing scrutiny. He was testing her again. But which was the right way to react? How could she prove herself to him? And just what did he want her to prove?

She could only go with her instincts. There was no way of second-guessing him.

And, as the whimper turned into a wail and then an outraged cry, she was left with no choice. She no longer gave a damn what Ricardo thought or felt. It was what Marco needed that mattered. She was out of the sitting room in a rush, bending down over the cot before Ricardo could say a word. And she knew that if he had spoken, if he’d tried to stop her, then she would have ignored him completely.

‘Hush little one…it’s all right. Mu…’

Her throat closed over the words, choking them off. How could she call herself ‘Mummy’ after all that had happened? Marco would never understand—and would he even let her touch him?

Painfully aware of the way that Ricardo had moved to the doorway, one strong hand resting against the wood of the frame, she could feel the burn of his eyes in her back as she reached in and scooped up the little boy, lifting him gently. He was so much bigger than the last time she had held him that she felt the unexpected weight of him in contrast to then. That dreadful time when she had felt that she had to give him one last hug, in spite of the fears that were whirling in her head, telling her that she wasn’t safe with this precious child. That she had no idea just what she might do.

‘Careful, darling…’

Was it just the unfamiliar voice, or would she be completely fooling herself to think that the baby recognised her somehow? Lucy’s heart clenched sharply as the little boy’s big dark eyes opened wide to stare into her face, his wails and his whole body stilling as she lifted him so carefully.

‘That’s better, isn’t it?’

She prayed that he wouldn’t feel the way she was trembling all over. That the twisting of her nerves wouldn’t communicate itself to him and upset him all over again. She also hoped that Ricardo wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes, the determined effort she was making to hide the way she was feeling and misinterpret it as something else.

‘Now, let’s see…’

Adjusting the baby in her arms, she caught a telltale whiff that left her in no doubt of something that needed dealing with. She didn’t have much experience of caring for her child, but this was something practical she’d done for him, even in the short weeks she’d been with him.

‘Oh, so that’s the problem! Let’s see…’

A swift glance around made it clear just where the changing mat and all the things necessary for cleaning and changing a nappy could be found and she moved towards it, taking Marco with her. She was determined not to look in Ricardo’s direction, knowing he was still watching her like a hawk. No doubt just waiting for her to make a mistake, show some hesitation. Something he could criticise. Something he could hold against her.

Well, not this time, Signor Emiliani. She almost laughed as she laid Marco on his back on the brightly coloured changing mat. This was something she knew how to do.

‘Let’s get you cleaned up…’

Unfastening the sleep suit, removing the dirty nappy, cleaning, was the work of moments. And she enjoyed it—doing this simple task for her baby. Even when Marco waved his arms and legs wildly in the air, wriggling so that it was a struggle to get the nappy on and fastened, she couldn’t hold back the soft chuckle of appreciation of his life and energy. Forgetting about the dark, watchful man behind her, she bent her head and blew a loud raspberry on his exposed stomach, revelling in its soft roundness, the uncontrollable giggles that burst from him in response.

Perhaps with Marco at least things could come right. Maybe in time she could make up to him for the way she had left him. If Ricardo gave her that time, she was forced to add as a movement behind her told her that her husband had left his watching position and come closer.

‘That’s you done,’ she said, pretending she hadn’t noticed, determined to ignore him as she fastened the baby’s clothes, lifted him carefully, cradled him against her shoulder. ‘Now, let’s see…’

‘Give him to me.’

She’d been expecting it but still it was like a blow to her heart. She’d known he wouldn’t give her free rein with the baby, that he was just watching and waiting…

Instinctively her arms tightened around the sturdy little body. Every part of her wanted to shout no, to refuse to hand him over. But she knew she had to think of Marco. She must not upset him. And yet she couldn’t just give in to Ricardo’s demand.

‘This isn’t fair,’ she said, keeping her voice as calm and as quiet as she could manage as she swung round on her heel, turning to face the big dark man behind her.

Over Marco’s soft dark head she faced the baby’s father with rejection sparking in her eyes.

‘You let me hold him, come close to him—the next moment you take him from me. It’s cruel and…’

‘I’m not taking him from you,’ Ricardo stunned her by saying. ‘It’s midday. Marco usually has something to eat around now.’

A wave of his hand indicated the padded high chair close at hand.

‘Why don’t you put him in there?’

The slight emphasis on that you brought a stinging reproach that she had to admit to herself she deserved. The sharp reminder of just how little she knew about Marco’s life and routine twisted a cruel knife in her heart.

‘I’m sorry.’

Moving rather clumsily as she adjusted to the unfamiliar weight of her son in her arms, she tried to put Marco into the high chair. Luckily, he seemed prepared to help her and, obviously recognising that this meant food was on its way, began banging on the tray with an enthusiastic hand, slapping his palm on to the surface.

‘Da!’ he said excitedly, waving the other hand wildly in the air. ‘Da!’

He was too young to be talking properly yet, Lucy told herself, fighting with the twist of misery that sound brought her. And, besides, having only ever been spoken to in Italian, Marco was unlikely to be trying to form the word ‘Daddy’. But it was another way of bringing home to her how much she had lost by being away from him at this important stage of his life. The pain that cut at her had her digging her teeth down hard into the softness of her lower lip as she fought with the tears that burned at the back of her eyes.

Ricardo bent to wipe the high chair’s tray, receiving enthusiastic pats on his face from his son as he did so. Careful cleaning of those grasping fingers followed.

‘Here—give him this…’

Ricardo passed her a sliced banana on a plate.

‘Just put it onto the tray and let him help himself.’

The small domesticated tasks, the time taken to feed the baby, brought a new and unexpected peace between them. Ricardo passed her the food that the nanny had left prepared and Lucy put it before the little boy, some of the tension seeping from her face, a light switching on in her eyes.

Had he been mistaken or had there been the glisten of tears in those eyes just a moment before? Ricardo found himself wondering. And did she know what it did to him to see the way that her sharp white teeth had dug into the pink softness of her lower lip as she had looked down at their little boy?

He had lost any ability to read her expression, thrown off balance by what he had just learned. He had trusted her once and that had had such shocking repercussions that he had vowed never to do so again. But this was very different. Vicious guilt clawed at him at the thought that his already hardened prejudice against her might have blinded him to the truth, driving him to misinterpret her behaviour after Marco’s birth.

He should wait and watch, see what happened, he resolved in the same moment that another more primitive response shook his mental balance even harder.