The Love-Child

‘You’ve been very prolific, haven’t you?’ She got to her feet and wandered over to have a closer look. She noticed his latest book, Theory of Murder, and took it out. ‘I haven’t read this,’ she murmured, her eyes scanning the blurb on the back. ‘They’ve turned it into a film, haven’t they?’

He nodded. ‘Take it, if you want,’ he offered casually, perhaps in an endeavour to be rid of her quickly.

‘Thanks.’ She smiled at him, but made no attempt to leave. ‘I have a confession to make—I have only read a few of your books.’

‘Murder stories and political thrillers aren’t everyone’s idea of an entertaining read.’

‘Oh, I did enjoy them,’ Cathy told him sincerely. ‘It’s just that I don’t get much time for reading, so I tend to choose light novels.’

‘Let me guess...romance?’

She shrugged. ‘Yes, I like romantic fiction. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favourite books.’ She fixed him with a direct look. ‘You don’t seem to put much romance in your stories... Why is that?’

It was a question she would have asked had she been interviewing him and she waited, feeling pleased that she had managed to inject it in so easily.

‘Love is a powerful emotion. I do use it occasionally. Clarissa, for instance, in, Hell Hath no Fury was driven by desire. It blinded her; it changed her from an ordinary woman into a cold-blooded killer.’

‘Yes, I read that book.’ She shivered as she remembered it. ‘I found it quite terrifying. Your hero, there was no love interest for him—’

‘He had a few flings.’ For just a moment Pearce looked amused.

‘Yes, I know there is sex in the book.’ Cathy felt herself colouring up, for some reason feeling suddenly embarrassed. ‘But that’s hardly the same thing, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’ There was definite amusement in his blue eyes now and she felt her composure slipping.

‘Well, he doesn’t fall in love with anyone...there’s no happy ending for him.’

The brief moment of amusement faded. ‘No, but that is life sometimes.’

Cathy remembered how Henri had told her that Pearce had loved and lost somebody. ‘That’s rather a sad statement,’ she said gently.

One eyebrow lifted. ‘Is it? I think it is a realistic statement.’

‘Basically what you are saying is that you are not a romantic?’

‘I’m a writer, Ms Fielding, and I enjoy my work... when I’m allowed to get on with it.’

She knew that he wanted her to leave but she was loath to go. She batted wide beautiful eyes. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ Something made her lower her voice to a soft husky tone. Why she spoke like that she didn’t know; it was some kind of feminine instinct that just seemed to take over.

For a moment his eyes moved downwards to the soft curves of her body. The movement caused a quiver of awareness to steal over her from absolutely nowhere. ‘In a word...yes.’

The sound of the telephone cut the sudden tense silence that fell between them.

Pearce snatched up the receiver immediately, a frown etched very clearly on his handsome features.

Cathy stood where she was, unashamedly watching him. Obviously it wasn’t the hospital because he relaxed immediately on hearing whoever was at the other end of the line.

‘No, John, there is no news yet. I rang the hospital a little while ago and her condition is unchanged.’ He raked a hand in a distracted way through his hair. ‘I know ... it’s terrible, and to add to everything we’ve got a damn air strike. I had planned to fly up every day to see Jody...now I don’t know what to do. It’s a long drive and I’ve got Poppy to consider...’

Pearce flicked a glance up at Cathy, then covered the mouthpiece. ‘Haven’t you got work to do?’ he asked her curtly.

‘Yes, of course.’ She moved towards the door very slowly so that she could hear as much of his conversation as possible.

‘Poppy is fine. I’ve got—’ He covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand for just a moment and his voice boomed over towards her. ‘Ms Fielding, please pick up your feet and leave.’

Pearce Tyrone certainly didn’t waste time trying to be polite, she thought wryly. She cringed as she remembered the flirtatious way she had spoken to him a moment ago.

She shook her head, wondering what on earth she had been thinking of. Trying to flirt with Tyrone was like trying to play with a panther. She must never ever do that again, she told herself crossly.

She closed the door behind her and went upstairs.

She was no sooner in the nursery door than Poppy started to cry.

‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ Cathy leaned over the cot. The child looked hot, her cheeks were flushed and she cried fretfully. Cathy put a soothing hand to her forehead and was relieved to find she didn’t have a temperature. Gently, she reached in and picked her up.

‘Let’s change you into something a little cooler and check your nappy,’ she murmured as she put the baby down on a changing mat on the floor.

Poppy stopped crying as soon as Cathy took off her nappy. It didn’t need changing but she decided to put on a fresh one anyway.

Poppy seemed to like the cool freedom of being without it because she kicked her legs in vigorous delight.

Poor little mite, Cathy thought as she watched her. She hoped and prayed that Jody Sterling would make a complete recovery. She stroked a stray curl from the little girl’s face. At least Poppy had a caring father. She had very little doubt that Pearce was Poppy’s father. Why else would the child be here?

‘You like being without that nappy, don’t you?’ Cathy said in a gentle voice. ‘Yes, you do.’

What was it about babies that made you talk in that ridiculous tone? Cathy wondered with a wry smile as she lifted the child and gently patted her dry with a towel before reaching for some cream and some talc. Even so, it was quite fun—like going back to a second childhood, she told herself as she hummed a little song to Poppy. Not the same kind of fun as lying in the sun with a gin and tonic ... but it was engagingly rewarding.

You didn’t feel self-conscious, acting silly with a baby—it was like letting all your inhibitions down and just being yourself.

She turned the talc container upside down to lightly dust the child’s skin. Unfortunately she didn’t realise how fast the talc would come out and white powder flew everywhere.

‘Oh, wonderful,’ Cathy remarked drily as she surveyed the chalk-white little legs. ‘Just wonderful.’

Poppy gurgled happily, as if sharing the joke. ‘Well might you laugh at me—’

‘Everything all right, Ms Fielding? Pearce Tyrone’s curt tone interrupted the proceedings abruptly.

Cathy looked around, dismayed to be caught in such a mess. She was sitting in the middle of the floor, Poppy’s things spread around her like a bring-and-buy sale and talc everywhere. A man like Pearce Tyrone would not be amused.

‘Yes, fine, thank you.’

‘I though I heard Poppy crying.’

‘She was a little hot, that’s all. I’m just going to put her in a cool cotton vest.’ As she spoke she dusted the child down lightly with a towel and then reached for a new nappy. She had hoped that Pearce would go. She felt nervous with him watching her. However, instead of leaving he came further into the room to stand over her.

She pulled open the sticky tapes on the disposable nappy and pressed them down into place but infuriatingly they sprang open again.

Poppy kicked her dimpled, chubby legs in delight as once more she felt herself free.