Morgan's Secret Son

‘It’s true!’ she said indignantly. ‘I’ll give you the phone number and you can check!’

‘I’ll do that.’

‘Good—’

‘I suppose you’re kind to children and animals?’ he drawled.

‘No, at every opportunity I boil them up in oil—what do you think?’ she cried crossly. ‘I’m just an ordinary sort of person who tries to keep on the straight and narrow and live a decent life—’

‘Not that ordinary. You have a boyfriend?’

‘Is that relevant?’ she asked in surprise.

‘Could be,’ came the enigmatic answer.

She shrugged. OK, so be it. She’d tell him her bust size and weight if it helped her cause.

‘The answer’s no. I’ve just dumped him,’ she said with a grimace. ‘He was an arrogant controller who’d tried to mould me into his version of the perfect woman!’ Her mouth quirked at his raised eyebrow.

‘Did he fail?’ Morgan asked, clearly doing his best to hide his amusement.

‘Dismally. My problem is that I’m highly allergic to thongs!’ she said with a giggle.

As she’d expected, he did a double-take, and for a second or two she thought his eyes showed a flicker of genuine interest. Then the impenetrable shutters came down again.

‘So when your relationship broke up,’ he drawled, ‘you decided to give your father in England a whirl, for want of something better?’

‘No! It wasn’t like that at all!’ she said, bristling. ‘Hearing from my father was the catalyst for change. My boyfriend’s attitude to a reunion with my father was unsympathetic and obstructive. OK, I took my time realising this, but eventually I did—and saw my boyfriend for what he was. A selfish, manipulative, bullying brute!’ She pinned Morgan with a determined stare. ‘I’ve spent the last seven years being walked over. I won’t be pushed around any more—not by anyone,’ she said meaningfully.

‘I think you’ve made that apparent,’ he murmured.

Had she gone too far? She looked at him edgily. ‘So what’s your verdict?’

‘The jury’s out,’ he drawled.

A sudden feeling of hopelessness washed over her. He was playing with her, leading her on. Fatigue and disappointment made her limbs leaden and her brain ragged as she tried to keep up the pressure on him.

‘Look. I’m shattered. I haven’t the energy to joust with you but I am desperate to see my father,’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘If it makes it any easier for you, I totally understand that if he eventually decides that he wants to live his life without me—then that’s his choice to make and I will have to accept his decision.’

Morgan nodded in approval. ‘Good! That’s settled, then,’ he murmured with satisfaction.

She saw tension ease from him and felt her own nerves tighten. It looked as if he was going to send her away with a flea in her ear! Annoyed, she fixed him with her brilliant green eyes and grimly set about persuading him to plead on her behalf.

‘However,’ she said sweetly, ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that it should be his decision, based on personal knowledge of me. It would be wrong if he didn’t even see me face-to-face, so that I could explain that there might have been a mix-up with the mail,’ she added, being generous about her suspicions concerning Morgan’s part in the ‘mix-up’.

‘He still might not believe you,’ he suggested cynically.

‘Oh, yes, he would! He’d look into my eyes and find the truth there!’ she insisted stubbornly, passion pouring from her blazing eyes. ‘You have seen his letter and read his sentiments. He must still care about me deep down! I’m convinced he’ll be overjoyed that I’ve turned up! You may not have read enough of his letter to me to know that he mentioned he’d just moved house—and that he had something special to tell me. I’ve been consumed with curiosity ever since. You can’t deny me the right to see my own father, not when he was initially so anxious that we should be reunited! He must want me, mustn’t he?’

Morgan scowled at his tea. His mouth tightened and then he gave a small exhalation of breath. Jodie waited, tense with anticipation.

‘Perhaps,’ he hedged reluctantly.

Jodie gasped and clasped her hands in delight, drawing his dark, assessing gaze. ‘So I’m close to passing muster?’ she asked with a relieved laugh, her eyes spangled with deep jade lights.

‘You’re persuasive,’ was all he’d say.

It was enough for her. The moment had come! She jumped up eagerly. ‘Let me ask him! Lead me to him! I just can’t wait any longer, Morgan. I’ll burst if you keep me dangling in suspense!’

He shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s…not that simple—’

‘Why not?’ she cried in exasperation.

He leant back in his chair, studying her expressionlessly. ‘He’s not here.’

Jodie’s jaw dropped in dismay and she gave a little gasp of disappointment.

‘Not…here! But I imagined…hoped… Oh, when’s he coming back?’ she wailed.

‘Not…today,’ he dissembled.

She slumped back into the chair, totally depressed. ‘None of this is working out as I expected,’ she said morosely. ‘This means I’ll have to get back into that wretched car, battle my way along the wrong side of the road and search for the hotel.’ Her head lolled back and she heaved a heavy sigh. ‘It’s not a prospect I relish. I feel shattered. I’ve been living on adrenaline for days. You can’t have any idea what this meeting means to me, Morgan!’

‘Have a piece of cake,’ he suggested gruffly.

‘Keep my strength up?’ Dejectedly she took the plate and picked at the fruit cake in a desultory fashion as her thoughts came tumbling out. ‘It’s my fault, I suppose,’ she mused. ‘I should have waited for a reply to the recorded delivery. But I was mad keen to see him.’ She met his gaze, her eyes clouded with sadness.

‘Why is it so important to you?’ he asked quietly.

‘Because he’s the only family I’ve got now. He and my mother separated when I was a year old. Mom and her boyfriend took me to New York and we lost touch with my father. Mom died when I was six—’

‘Your mother is dead?’ he broke in sharply.

‘Yes,’ she replied, too engrossed in her own problems to pay much attention to his alerted state.

‘God!’ he groaned. ‘Eighteen years ago! If only Sam had known!’

A film of tears washed over her eyes at the implication that her father would have contacted her sooner.

‘Mom wasn’t much of a mother, but she was better than my foster-parents. All this time I thought I had no living relative in the whole world! W-when my f-father wrote—’ She broke off, a lump filling her throat.

‘I don’t need to hear this,’ Morgan rasped.

‘You do!’ she cried passionately, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘I want you to know what this means to me! I discovered that my father was alive! It was the most wonderful present I could ever have been given. He was in England, walking, breathing, sleeping… I couldn’t think straight. I went around the apartment in a daze, bursting into song…’

Unable to stop herself, she flung her arms in the air in an impassioned gesture as she relived those first joyful hours. His eyes flickered with a strange, glittering light and she faltered, bringing her arms down quickly, lest he think she was mad. But he had to know the intensity of her feelings!

‘Morgan,’ she explained fervently, ‘you had to be there to see me! I danced, I hugged myself breathless, ate a whole tub of ice cream…! Oh,’ she cried, husky with the memory, ‘I was so happy I felt delirious. I grinned at everyone I met. New York reeled! For days I walked on air—and then every so often I’d burst into tears. I felt so far away from him, you see.’