Reluctant Father

She was on the point of telling him that she did not appreciate such personal comments when she noticed that Gifford was frowning. He, too, seemed to regret his observation. And no doubt regretted that she still appealed, Cass thought drily.

‘Me and Phyllis were so busy chattin’ the time went flyin’ by,’ someone announced into the silence, and they both jumped and looked round.

A plumply handsome black woman had pushed out through the kitchen doors. Her lustrous dark hair was piled into a bun on the top of her head and she wore a floral button-through dress. She was in her mid-fifties.

‘Hello, Edith,’ Cass said, smiling, then she frowned. Where was Jack?

‘His lordship’s flat out on the verandah,’ the new arrival advised, as if reading her mind. She nodded at Gifford. ‘Bonzour.’

‘Good morning,’ he replied.

‘Cassie opened up early and made you something to eat? You must be special,’ Edith declared, her brown eyes twinkling.

Cass gave a strained smile. Should she say that they knew each other? If so, how much did she reveal? She had told the older woman that Jack’s father was not around, and as man/woman relationships in the Seychelles often seemed to be casual and temporary—en passant was the local term—her statement had been accepted without question. Gifford had not been named.

“This is Mr Tait,’ she said. ‘He’s moved into Maison d’Horizon.’

Edith chuckled. ‘You are special,’ she declared, in her rolling, molasses-rich Creole-accented English. She turned to Cass. ‘Have you asked if—’

‘No, and I’m not going to,’ she cut in hurriedly.

‘Aw, honey, Bernard didn’t mind, and I’m sure Mr Tait—’

‘Please call me Gifford,’ Gifford said, with a smile.

Edith smiled back. Some people you took an instant liking to, and Edith obviously liked him. ‘I’m sure Gifford,’ she adjusted, ‘won’t mind, either.’

‘I mind,’ Cass insisted, shooting the older woman a fiercely pleading ‘keep quiet’ look.

‘Mind about what?’ Gifford enquired.

‘Us asking a couple of favours,’ Edith told him. ‘Bernard was the French gentleman who rented Maison d’ Horizon before you. He was gettin’ on, in his seventies, and came out here to take a break from his evernaggin’ wife and to make drawings of the birds—the parrots, mynahs and such. The island is full of them. He was so obliging.’

Cass gritted her teeth. She knew what was coming next.

‘Look, I—’ she started to protest, but the woman refused to be deflected.

‘Bernard used to come in for meals and a drink at the bar most evenings, and when he heard how we’ve been waiting for a delivery of water glasses since kingdom

come—’ Edith rolled despairing eyes ‘—he brought over two dozen. Don’t know who it was who stocked the villa, but they sure went to town on glasses. Went to town on most everything, like the exercise machines, as you’ll have seen. Bernard never used the machines, but—’

‘Gifford is a keep-fit fanatic and be will,’ Cass inserted, at speed. ‘Yes?’

His brow furrowed. ‘Yes.’

‘Even so,’ Edith continued blithely, ‘you’re not going to be exercisin’ all of the time. Cassie here’s hung up on slimming down her figure. though Lord knows why because she looks more than slim enough to me. Real shapely.’

His eyes moved over Cass again. ‘True,’ he agreed, and his frown cut deeper.

‘Bernard was happy for her to work out whenever she wished, so—’

‘You want to borrow the glasses again, and Cass would like to make it burn?’ Gifford enquired, in a slightly terse summing-up.

He had chosen the Seychelles for his recuperation because the islands were a very long way from home. He had wanted to be anonymous, living alone and keeping himself to himself, with no visitors. He had never imagined he would meet anyone he knew, least of all Cass.

The black woman grinned. ‘Please.’

Frowning, he considered the proposition, then he nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘There you are,’ Edith said, swinging Cass a triumphant smile. ‘Must go now and start on lunch.’ She reverted to her native Creole. ‘Orevwar.’

‘Au revoir,’ Gifford said.

‘Edith was speaking out of turn,’ Cass began as the swing doors dovetailed shut. ‘We can manage with-out—’

‘There’s no need to manage. Give me a ring to let me know when you’re coming and you can have the glasses,’ he told her. ‘We can also fix a time for your aerobics sessions.’

She dithered. His agreement had been reluctant and, call it foolish pride, but she did not want to be the recipient of his largesse. Yet she was keen to lose those few excess pounds.

‘Thanks. Will do.’

‘Fitting out the gym must’ve cost an obscene amount of money,’ Gifford remarked. ‘Take the computerised exercise bike. The only place I’ve ever seen a machine like that before was in an exclusive sports club in Aspen. It…’

As he talked on, Cass drank the rest of her coffee. He had failed to make any mention of Jack. How could he? She felt so hurt, so wounded, that he had not immediately demanded to see her—his—child. Didn’t he care about him just a little? Didn’t he feel any curiosity? Or compassion? The answer had to be a resounding no.

Her hurt hardened into a cold, stony anger and, clattering her cup down onto her saucer, she rose to her feet. Gifford might resent being landed with a son, but she would make him acknowledge and accept him.

‘Back in a minute,’ she said, and marched away.

Passing Edith, who was dicing sweet potato in the kitchen, she went through the wedged-open side door and out onto the verandah. There, in the shade, stood a navy-upholstered baby buggy. Walking quietly over, Cass looked down. With his thumb fallen from his mouth and his dark lashes spread on peach-smooth cheeks, Jack was fast asleep. She felt a catch in her throat. She loved him so much.

Her forehead puckered. She had always known that he looked like Gifford, but until she had seen them together—almost—she had not realised how strong the resemblance was. Their dark hair grew in the same way, they had the same broad brow, the same determined chin. But she would, she thought fiercely, do her damnedest to ensure that Jack grew up with a far softer heart.

Releasing the brake, she took a grip on the push-bar. Like it or not, the unwilling father was going to meet his son—now.

Cass wheeled the buggy through the kitchen and, holding one of the swing doors aside, strode forward. She stopped dead. The table was empty. A sheaf of notes in payment for his meal was tucked beneath a saucer, but Gifford had gone.

The prospect of coming face to face with his offspring must have been too much to take, so he had fled the restaurant. Was he also intending to flee from the bungalow and from the island? By the end of the day, would Gifford Tait be flying back to the States? She tossed her head. She could think of nothing which would suit her better.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_fb39e70f-7c51-55b1-a218-327adca76253)

THE hair stylist smiled down into the buggy. ‘Doesn’t your mama look as pretty as a princess?’ she enquired.

The baby grinned, blue-grey eyes smiling and a dimple denting one round cheek, then he pursed his rosebud lips and blew a raspberry.

Cass laughed. ‘He may not be too thrilled, but I think

it’s a big improvement.’ She took a final, appraising look at herself in the mirror. Thanks a lot.’