The Love-Child

His tone was dismissive, as if he had taken all he could of inconsequential talk. She had a wild urge to say something flippant like, Yes sir, three bags full, sir. Instead, she bit her lip.

Her chance to be irreverent and glib would come later when she poured her story about the real Pearce Tyrone out onto paper. He was going to make a very interesting subject.

CHAPTER THREE

AS CATHY came out of Pearce’s study Henri was coming down the stairs with Poppy in his arms. ‘I think it is time for Poppy to be fed now, mademoiselle,’ he said as he handed the child across to her.

Talk about being left holding the baby, Cathy thought sardonically as she looked down at the child.

Poppy gave her a smile, her chubby cheeks dimpling in a cute way. She was wearing a hand-smocked dress and a pair of knitted booties, and she looked adorable. There was something about her that made Cathy’s heart contract.

‘Before I go home, mademoiselle, I must show you how to operate the security gates.’ Henri beckoned for her to follow him.

He brought her into the kitchen. It was a large room with a farmhouse-style refectory table, oak cupboards and a gleaming terracotta tiled floor. At the far side there was a TV monitor which showed the front gates, illuminated by floodlit security lights.

‘Just switch here and here.’ Henri flicked the controls on a panel next to the screen and she saw the gates opening and closing. ‘Always ask who is out there before admitting anyone. Monsieur only lets people in who have an appointment. He is a very busy man.’

‘Yes, I understand’ She had been very lucky to get in here, she thought wryly.

‘I shall go now and perhaps you will close the gates as I drive through?’

She nodded. ‘I take it you don’t live in?’

‘No. I have a cottage a few miles away.’

Well, that was good news, Cathy thought happily. If Pearce was working in his study she could have a good look around the house later on without any interruptions.

She wondered if she dared to ring the newspaper from here.

Poppy moved fretfully in her arms. ‘I had better feed this little one,’ she said, smiling at Henri as she placed the child in a high chair by the table.

Henri turned and opened one of the kitchen cupboards. ‘I think you will find everything you need for Poppy’s meals in here,’ he said.

Relief was overwhelming as she saw the jars of baby food and the packets with clearly written instructions. ‘Thank you, Henri,’ she said, her tone perhaps a little too heartfelt.

He nodded. ‘I go now, mademoiselle. Do not forget to lock up after me.’

‘I won’t.’ He was quite a kindly type of man, she decided. It was just a pity that he didn’t seem inclined towards a bit of gossip. She decided to try again with him. ‘So, what do you do around here, Henri?’ she asked in a friendly tone.

‘I look after the garden, clean the pool.’ He shrugged. ‘Just keep the residence in good order.’

‘And do you find Monsieur Tyrone a good person to work for?’

Henri nodded. ‘My wife and I have worked for him for over twelve years.’ He paused then, a look of sadness on his face. ‘My wife, Sophie, died five months ago.’ There was a wealth of sorrow in the older man’s voice and Cathy immediately felt sad for him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she told him sincerely.

He patted her shoulder as he saw the genuine sympathy on her face. ‘We had thirty years of marriage and I have a lot of good memories. Now I have my grandchildren and my job.... Monsieur Tyrone has been very understanding.’ He paused for just a moment, before saying, ‘But, then, the Monsieur knows what it is like to love someone and lose them.’

‘Does he?’ Before Cathy could ask about this Henri cut across her, his manner suddenly agitated. ‘I am talking too much.’ He moved away towards the door. ‘Don’t forget to close the gates when I have gone.’

Cathy watched him leave with a feeling of acute disappointment. Just a few more moments and she could have learnt so much more. To whom had he been referring? Whom had Pearce loved and lost?

The sound of Poppy crying cut across her thoughts and she turned to see to the child.

By the time Cathy brought Pearce’s supper in to him on a tray she was starting to feel tired. She hadn’t had a spare moment to look around the house—her time had been completely taken up with Poppy.

Looking after a baby was very hard work, but she had surprised herself by handling it quite well. In fact, there was a part of her that had enjoyed the experience. Poppy was a lovable child.

Pearce barely looked up as she came in. He was sitting in front of the computer terminal, his hands busy on the keyboard.

Cathy put the tray on the table next to him.

‘How is Poppy?’

Without being invited, she sat down on the chair opposite him. ‘Asleep at last. She took a while to settle.’

Pearce looked up, an expression of concern on his handsome features. ‘Do you think it is because she is in unfamiliar surroundings?’

Cathy shrugged. ‘If she was a bit older I’d say she was missing her mother. Is there any news about Ms Sterling’s condition yet?’

He shook his head. ‘I rang earlier, there is no change.’

He sounded worried and Cathy’s heart went out to him. It was a dreadful situation. ‘Poor little Poppy,’ she said softly.

Pearce looked over at her and his lips slanted in a half-smile. ‘I noticed that you and Poppy were having quite a conversation in the kitchen earlier.’

She felt her skin flare with colour. While she had been spoon-feeding Poppy her dinner she had been talking to her, trying to encourage her to eat up. She recalled now that she had got quite carried away, talking in a singsong gentle way in babyish rubbish.

‘I put my head around the door, just to see how you were getting on,’ he said in answer to her questioning look.

‘I didn’t see you.’ Her skin felt as if it were on fire. He must have thought she was completely daft.

‘No, you were absorbed with Poppy, so much so that I didn’t like to disturb you.’

She had been absorbed. She had felt a deep tenderness for the little girl. The power of the feeling had taken her by surprise. She wondered if it was because she had lost her own mother when she’d been just a baby. Whether, deep down in her subconscious, this was why she felt such empathy for the child.

‘Don’t look so embarrassed,’ Pearce said. ‘You don’t know what a relief it was to see you acting so naturally with Poppy, so gently. She is going to need a lot of extra love and attention to help her through this period.’

His sensitivity and concern for Poppy touched her. So much so that she found herself saying nothing, just staring at him and taking in everything about him—the way his dark hair gleamed like midnight under the overhead light, the chiselled strength of his features.

He returned her gaze. For just the briefest interlude there was a silence, tinged with some kind of emotion that Cathy couldn’t quite define.

She was the first to look away. She was supposed to be asking him questions, concentrating on her story. She shook her bead, trying to dispel the warm fog that had invaded her brain like cotton wool.

‘I’m sure you are right.’ Her voice became brisk, businesslike. ‘So, tell me, are you working on a new book?’ Abruptly she switched the subject to something less emotive.

His expression altered, became harder. ‘Yes.’

From the bluntness of the reply she took it that now they were no longer discussing Poppy Pearce was now waiting for her to leave him in peace. She could sense the sudden tension in him, feel his impatience. But despite this. or maybe because of this, she deliberately lingered. Her eyes moved around the room and lighted on a shelf that was filled with his books.