Riccardo's Secret Child

by Cathy Williams

  ‘After lunch,’ Julia told him, feeling hunted. ‘Around one-thirty. That will give us time to eat.’

  ‘In which case I shall join you for lunch. I’ll see you at twelve.’

  Julia could hardly concentrate the following morning. Everywhere she turned, she caught images of herself and Riccardo. She had had a very long bath the previous night, or rather early morning, when she had returned home, but nothing could wash away the musky scent on her, the scent of a satisfied woman. Her thoughts haunted her, teasing her with remembered pleasure and then admonishing her for her insanity. And the more insane her behaviour seemed, the more coolly calculating his own appeared.

  She was a bag of nerves by the time he arrived promptly at twelve for lunch, but his behaviour was impeccable. There were no allusions, not even on the odd occasion when they found themselves in the same room without either Nicola or her mother around, to what had happened the night before.

  Disconcertingly, his silence on the subject only served to reconfirm her impression that their lovemaking had been a spontaneous but miscalculated error of judgement, at least on his part. He had given in to the temptation of appeasing his sexual curiosity about her and was now content to play his part without batting an eyelid.

  The same could not have been said of Julia. She was agonisingly aware of him, and even when they touched in passing she could feel her body react, as though it had a life of its own, quite independent of the workings of her brain.

  Her fiery little outburst about finding someone else, said in the heat of the moment to scupper his smugness that she would fall in with whatever he had in mind, for however long it took, had obviously been dismissed as ridiculous.

  It was an unutterable relief when they wearily made their way back to the house, with Nicola chatting happily between them in the taxi.

  ‘You can relax now,’ Riccardo said, following her into the house and closing the door behind him.

  ‘I wasn’t tense,’ Julia lied, with her back to him. ‘I suppose you must be getting on your way now.’ She turned around and looked pointedly at the door.

  Wasn’t tense? Riccardo thought that he could have had quite an argument with her about that, but it would have been an argument going in circles. For every one step forward with her, he took five back, and the amazing thing was that he was still determined to put another foot in front.

  Why?

  He was better equipped to understand his motives for revenge, dubious though they had been. Revenge was a violent, passionate emotion in tune with his soul. But he no longer wanted any kind of revenge and the truth was that he was no longer sure what he wanted.

  Except he wanted Julia. And he was determined that he would have her again. This time, though, his approach would not be one of physical persuasion, but something far more subtle. He shook his head to clear it of the buzzing hornet’s nest that was driving him mad.

  ‘I’ll have a cup of coffee before I go.’

  ‘Is that one of your orders?’

  ‘It’s a request,’ he told her, in a voice that matched hers. ‘Look, we’ve had a good day. Why don’t we call a truce?’

  Julia didn’t answer but preceded him into the kitchen, to find Nicola getting out her colouring book, one that had been bought for her from the souvenir shop at the zoo.

  ‘I’ll colour with you later, honey,’ Julia said, nervously aware that Riccardo was watching her. She almost tipped hot water over her hand under the casual, brooding scrutiny.

  ‘I don’t know if you want to see Nicola during the week,’ she began quietly, edging towards the far end of the kitchen, away from idle ears. ‘If not, next weekend would be fine, although not on Saturday evening. I won’t be around.’

  ‘Won’t you? Where are you going?’

  ‘Out.’ A friend had invited her to a birthday party and Julia was looking forward to it. She had not seen Elizabeth in nearly two months and there would be other mutual friends there as well. It would be blissfully relaxing not to have Riccardo around like a burr under her skin.

  ‘Out where?’ His voice was hard and Julia met his stare levelly.

  ‘None of your business, Riccardo. I have got a private life, you know, even though you might not want to believe it.’

  ‘Cancel whoever it is you are seeing. I want to take you both out to dinner on Saturday.’

  ‘Forget it.’ She could have told him the occasion, knew that he would understand because underneath his aggression she was all too familiar with a side of him that was scrupulously fair, even though it might not always pertain to her. But a sudden wicked urge incited her to keep him guessing. ‘I’m not changing my plans.’

  Riccardo watched the shuttered expression as she sipped her coffee and a cold, icy rage wafted through him. He couldn’t believe it. She was going out with a man. No woman looked like that, expression veiled, unless she was holding a secret to herself, and the only secrets women did not share with their lovers, because lovers they had been and would be again, was the presence on the scene of another lover.

  Jealousy ripped through him, leaving him shaken. A pulse in his jaw began to beat fiercely and he lowered his eyes.

  ‘Why not? Are your plans that important?’ The words were dragged out of him. He knew that he should stop now but he couldn’t.

  ‘Very important,’ Julia answered truthfully. ‘I haven’t seen this particular friend for quite a while now and I’m very much looking forward to meeting up.’ She drained her coffee and thought, Well, I have a life and you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.

  And she could see that he didn’t like it, didn’t like not being obeyed.

  Perhaps, she thought in a blinding flash, the time was coming for her to change. To stop driving in the slow lane while everyone else was in the fast.

  ‘I have changed my mind,’ Riccardo said abruptly as jealousy stroked his mind with icy fingers.

  ‘Changed your mind? What about?’

  He glanced at Nicola and then stared broodingly at the woman in front of him.

  No more pretences, dammit. He wanted Julia and now he would pursue her without the dubious advantage of knowing that her hands were tied, that she was compelled to wear a smile to fuel the illusion of a relationship in the eyes of his unknowing daughter. All of that suddenly seemed like the cheap tactics of a coward and coward he most certainly was not.

  The time had come for honesty to prevail.

  ‘Nicola,’ he said softly, squatting so that he was on her level as she approached him. ‘There’s something I have to say to you.’

  ‘Riccardo!’

  ‘No, Julia. No more pretence.’

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘It’s time.’

  ‘Time for what?’ Nicola looked at them, frowning and Riccardo smiled tenderly and absorbed one of her small hands in his.

  ‘Time to tell you, my sweet, that you have at least three people that love you very much, Aunty Jules, and Grandma and…’ His voice wavered and Julia laid her hand on his shoulder, knowing that their shared strength would be important for Nicola.

  ‘And…me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that I am your dad, my child.’

  There was an agonisingly long silence, or so it seemed to Julia, then Nicola smiled, a little shadow of a smile that was tinged with shyness.

  ‘My real dad?’

  ‘Your real dad,’ Riccardo said gravely, his heart bursting as the smile enfolded him.

  ‘I knew…’

  ‘You knew? That I was your dad?’

  ‘That you would come back to find me.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JULIA looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror in her bedroom and didn’t know whether to be shocked, thrilled or just confused at what confronted her. Over the past week, she had worked on her self-image with the fast and furious pace of someone fleeing from the devil. Which just about summed it up as far as she was concerned. Riccardo Fabbrini was the devil and she was
fleeing from him and straight into the arms of a damage-limitation exercise which would give her strength and propel her into the sort of life which she felt she needed desperately if she wasn’t to fall deeper into the quagmire of her confused emotions.

  She needed to prove to him, once and for all, that she was no walkover to be used and discarded at his pleasure. She refused to be the brown sparrow to his circling hawk. And more than that: his role was now complete. He had told Nicola of his true identity and her heart wrenched as she imagined her niece’s gradual withdrawal from her life. She needed to move on now.

  On the Monday she had gone to her optician’s. Having always worn spectacles, she had listened to Nick Healey’s sales patter on the convenience of contact lenses with scepticism, and was even more sceptical when informed that with soft contact lenses there would be little if any initial discomfort. She had returned for her lenses three days later and had overcome her queasiness at the thought of putting a foreign object into her eye by reminding herself that it was all for a greater purpose.

  In between ordering her lenses and having them fitted, Julia took herself to the hairdresser’s after work. Her usual unexciting wash, shampoo, trim and blow dry was replaced by a dramatic blunt bob that fell thickly to chin level, and a complete dye job, with highlights. She was now the proud possessor, for the first time in her life, of a hair colour that was not her own. Rich chestnut with golden auburn highlights.

  Julia spent the remainder of the week shopping. She ignored the temptation to throw her money in the direction of the most background outfits with the least daring cuts and staunchly headed for the overpowering sales assistants who eyed her body knowingly and were only too overjoyed to clothe her in short, adventurous designs in striking colours.

  Now, barely a week later, Julia stood in front of the mirror and looked at the completed job. She looked much taller and a lot more shapely than she had imagined herself to be. Her hair swung provocatively around her face, a riot of carefully blended colours and without spectacles her eyes were clearly visible for the first time. Large grey eyes, shadowed with a subtle application of eye make-up.

  And, to complete the show, her new pale blue, very short skirt and matching jacket that was tailored to emphasise every line of her slender body. Under the jacket, a small, tight top clung to her like a second skin. Her shoes were black and high and undeniably sexy.

  Julia did a twirl and thought that she looked the part, if she didn’t exactly feel it.

  But looking was good enough for her. Let Riccardo Fabbrini see that she was a force to be reckoned with, that she was not some sad, desperate woman who found it impossible not to respond to his polished, experienced charm and fabulous good looks.

  Shame it was all about to be wasted on a girlfriend’s birthday party, but then again, she thought wryly, a bit of practice might help when it came to the niggling technicalities of sitting in minuscule skirts and walking in three-inch heels.

  She glanced at her delicate bracelet watch, a present from her parents when she was sixteen and the only item with which she had refused to part company. Her mother would be here in an hour to babysit, although Nicola was already in bed at a little after seven, and then she would launch herself into the world.

  She had just peeked in to see Nicola and give her a final goodnight kiss, when the doorbell rang.

  Now this, Julia thought with a grin, will take a little getting used to. Sashaying. Something she had never done before. She sashayed down the stairs, resisting the impulse to remove her shoes and run down the way she usually did, and pulled open the door with a wide smile, waiting for her mother’s shocked reaction.

  The expression froze on her face as she absorbed who was standing on the doorstep, his hands thrust into his pockets.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Julia stood in front of him, barricading his entry, one hand on her hip, the other holding the door ajar.

  Riccardo recovered quickly from the gut punch he had felt on seeing her. So he had been right, he thought savagely. Out on a date with a man and dressed to kill for the occasion. Looking every inch a knock-out. His black eyes travelled the length of her body, lingering on her legs and the jut of her breasts under the cling-film top she was wearing. When he finally met her eyes it was to find her looking at him coldly.

  ‘I asked you what you were doing here,’ Julia repeated. Never had she been so blatantly stripped before and she was angry to find that the mental striptease had turned her cool confidence into heated arousal.

  But her appearance, she thought fiercely, was now her armour, and she remained where she was, not flinching.

  ‘I’ve come to babysit,’ Riccardo answered, his mouth twisting. ‘I have every right, considering I am Nicola’s father and there are no flimsy pretences remaining between me and my child.’

  ‘That’s impossible. Mum’s babysitting,’ Julia replied. ‘In fact, she should be here any minute now.’

  ‘Should be but won’t. Because I phoned to let her know that as I am free tonight, I would take over. Now, are you going to stand aside and let me in or do I have to push past you and let myself in?’

  Julia stood aside, furious, and waited until he was in before slamming the door behind her. ‘How dare you?’ she said in a low, strangled voice. ‘How dare you re-arrange my plans so that you can come here and check up on me?’

  ‘Check up on you? I’m doing nothing of the sort. I’m helping out. Where is my daughter?’

  ‘Upstairs. Asleep.’

  ‘Very wise.’

  ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

  His eyes did another indolent appraisal of her body and Julia felt another wave of heat wash over her.

  ‘It means that you did the sensible thing in making sure that my daughter does not see her surrogate mother going out dressed like a tart!’ He knew that every word he was saying was getting under her skin and that every lazy glance over her barely dressed body was enraging her, and he felt a vicious sense of satisfaction. Let her go out raging, let her spend her romantic evening furiously thinking about him.

  ‘I am not dressed like a tart,’ Julia hissed furiously. She glanced up the stairs and then pulled him by his jacket out of the hall and away from any possibility of being seen by Nicola should she just happen to wake up and stroll out of her bedroom at the wrong moment.

  ‘That skirt barely covers you. And where are your spectacles? If you don’t fall flat on your face in those heels then you’ll trip over something, and how elegant are you going to look in front of your man?’

  ‘I’m wearing contact lenses,’ Julia said tersely. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘It damn well is my business! I will not allow my daughter to see you in a get-up like the one you’re wearing! What the hell sort of example do you imagine you are setting?’ God, he sounded positively Victorian but, dammit, he wanted to strip her of those wickedly provocative clothes. Just the thought of some man looking at her, daring to let his gaze linger over the swell of her breasts and that ripely deep-pink mouth, wonder what the body was like under the cling film, was enough to make him clench his jaw in a possessive fury.

  ‘I will wear what I like, Riccardo.’ She strode across to pick up her jacket which she had draped over the banister and slung it on defiantly, then snatched her small clutch bag from the table in the hall.

  ‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ he growled. What exactly he could do about it was beyond his comprehension, and his impotence only served to add tinder to the fire. ‘This is not the sort of example I want to have set for my child!’

  Julia looked at him in frank amazement. ‘Since when did you have such a highly developed puritanical streak, Riccardo Fabbrini? From the look of your last girlfriend, it must be a very recently acquired trait!’

  ‘Helen was my lover; my child was not in her care. If she had been then rest assured I would not have allowed her to dress like a wh—’

  ‘Don’t even think about saying it,’ Juli
a said in an icy voice. ‘I’m going now and I’ll be back in a few hours’ time. You know where everything is.’

  She turned and as she was opening the door felt his hand descend on her arm, forcing her to turn and face him.

  ‘Where are you going, anyway?’ he demanded, his eyes clashing with hers. A man could lose himself in those eyes. Clever, suspicious, bruised eyes that could trap a man. Who the hell was she going out with?

  ‘That’s none of your business!’

  ‘And what if I need to get in touch with you? What if Nicola wakes up and asks after you? She might be disoriented. What if she falls ill?’

  ‘I have my mobile phone with me.’ Julia glanced around for a piece of paper and a pencil, glared at him and then began sashaying towards the kitchen. The tightness of the skirt combined with the height of her heels made her feel headily provocative, even though she was steaming angry at his high-handed attitude. But there was nothing to be done. She had to give him her phone number despite the fact that it was extremely unlikely that it would be needed.

  She could feel his eyes boring into her as he followed her and it seemed to take several hours covering ground between the hall and the kitchen. How on earth did women maintain this look all the time? Did they get used to the heels or did they just resign themselves to walking very, very slowly for the sake of their vanity?

  ‘Here’s my mobile number.’ She handed him a piece of paper, which he didn’t glance at, just shoved in his pocket while he continued to stare at her blackly. ‘Though I don’t think you’ll need it,’ Julia informed him, clicking her way out of the kitchen and back to the front door. ‘Nicola was exhausted tonight and she very rarely wakes up once she goes to sleep. And you’re her father! I don’t think she’ll be alarmed if she does get up and finds you here instead of her grandma.’

  ‘And what time do you intend to be back?’ If any woman had ever questioned his movements the way he was questioning hers, he knew that he would have hit the roof, but he didn’t give a damn if he sounded like an inquisitor.