His Child: The Mistress's Child / Nathan's Child / D'Alessandro's Child. Catherine Spencer

to go to sleep if it’s too warm. Not good—but especially not good for people who are working,’ he responded drily, but flashed her an answering smile.

      Lisi felt sick, but she guessed that this was something she was going to have to get used to. If it wasn’t Tricia it would be someone else. Some beautiful, expensively dressed woman who would temporarily or permanently share Philip’s life one day.

      And become a surrogate mother to Tim while he was here, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth behind a smile which pride forced her to make.

      ‘Lisi is the mother of my son,’ explained Philip. ‘And so I thought she could give us some input on colours and fabrics.’

      It was the coldest and most distancing description he could have given her—and yet, when she thought about it, how else could he have put it? She wasn’t his girlfriend—current or past.

      Pulling herself together, she walked over and looked down at the swatch of fabrics which Tricia was still holding. ‘May I?’ she asked pleasantly, and Tricia handed it to her.

      She pretended to lose herself in them, though her mind was only half on the task—but she had spotted immediately the one which Tim would like the most.

      ‘This one,’ and she jabbed at the brightly coloured piece of material which depicted Mickey Mouse dancing all over it.

      ‘Lisi likes Disney,’ Philip explained with a smile, thinking how jerky and unnatural her movements were. ‘She always has done, haven’t you, Lisi?’

      He was remembering her birthday cake, and so was she. That innocent start to a supposed friendship which had brought so much heartache in its wake. She nodded. ‘Wh-what colour are you planning to do the walls?’

      Tricia peered down at the fabric and pointed a perfect fingernail at several of the colours. ‘We could pick out one of these shades,’ she suggested and turned her head. ‘What do you think, Phil?’

      Phil?

       Phil?

      Lisi wanted to scream and to demand what right she had to call him by a nickname that she had never heard used before, but there was absolutely no point at all. Tricia could call him anything she liked, and probably did—in bed at night when he was making mad, passionate love to her.

      ‘I like the…I like the yellow.’ She swallowed.

      ‘Mmm!’ Tricia smiled. ‘Perfect! Sunny and positive—and with all that glorious light flooding in—’ She waved an expansive arm at the window. ‘The room will look irresistible!’ She shot a look at Philip, and her eyes glimmered. ‘We could do it in the same colour as your London dining room, in fact—or would you rather something different down here?’