His Child. Sharon Kendrick

But at least the suggestion of house-hunting would legitimise his being here. ‘That’s right,’ he said evenly. ‘If you could let me have a few details to glance through.’

      ‘Of course.’ She gave a coy smile. ‘I’ll need to know your price range, though.’

      He mentioned a sum that made her pupils dilate and she immediately reached for a sheaf of papers which stood neatly stacked on a corner of her desk. ‘I thought you’d be looking at the top end of the market,’ she said triumphantly, and handed them to him.

      Philip glanced down at them without interest.

      ‘The most attractive property we have on our books is The Old Rectory,’ said Marian, straightening up and looking at him expectantly, but his gaze remained noncommittal. ‘It’s a beautiful old house, with a wealth of architectural detail—although it does require considerable updating, of course—’

      ‘Why hasn’t it sold already?’ he cut in.

      Marian blinked. ‘Sorry?’

      ‘If it’s so beautiful, then why hasn’t it been snatched up?’

      Marian gave a little cough and lowered her voice. ‘Because it’s unrealistically priced,’ she admitted.

      ‘Then get the vendors to lower it.’

      ‘They’re reluctant.’ She sighed, and pulled a face. ‘It’s a divorce sale, you see, and they need every penny they can get. I’ve told them that they may not get a buyer unless they’re prepared to be realistic, but you know what people are.’

      He nodded and gave an impatient smile, eager to be away. ‘Listen, I need to see Lisi. Can you tell me where she lives?’

      Marian hesitated. ‘I’m…I’m not sure that I should. She might not want me to.’

      Philip met her eyes with an unwavering stare. ‘Oh, I think she would,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But, of course, if you won’t tell me—then I’ll just have to find out for myself. Only it would save me a little time.’ He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Giving me more opportunity to look at houses.’

      There was a long pause while she considered the subtext behind his words, and then she nodded. ‘She lives at Cherry Tree Cottage—it’s on Millbank Lane. A bright blue front door—it’s easy enough to find.’

      He folded up the house details and slid them into the pocket of his overcoat. ‘Thanks very much.’

      Marian looked at him anxiously. ‘I don’t know whether I should have told you.’

      He gave a tight smile. ‘I would have found her anyway.’

      * * *

      Lisi had just finished pinning the flouncy paper frill onto the birthday cake when there was a knock at the door, and she sighed. What she didn’t need at the moment was an interruption! There were a million and one things to do before Tim’s party—when the house would be invaded by five of his friends and she would have her work cut out to prevent six small boys from wrecking her little home!

      She brushed some stray icing sugar from her hands and went to the front door, and there, standing on the step, was Philip, and her heart lurched with a combination of apprehension and lust.

      He looked pretty close to irresistible, dressed casually in jeans which emphasised the long, muscular thrust of his thighs and a soft grey sweater which made the green eyes look even more dazzling than usual. He wore an old-fashioned flying jacket, and the sheepskin and worn leather only added to his rugged appeal.

      She thought of Tim in the sitting room, watching a video, and the lurch of her heart turned into a patter of alarm.

      ‘Hello, Philip,’ she said calmly. ‘This is a surprise.’

      He gazed at her steadily. ‘Is it? Surely you didn’t think that I was going to go away without speaking to you again, Lisi?’

      ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

      ‘But I do,’ he said implacably.

      He can’t make you do anything, she told herself. ‘I’m afraid that it isn’t convenient right now.’

      He let his eyes rove slowly over her, and the answering flood of heat made him wish that he hadn’t.

      Her dark hair was scraped back from her face into a pony-tail and she wore cheap clothes—nothing special—a pair of baggy cotton trousers and an old sweater which clung to the soft swell of her breasts. There was a fine line of flour running down her cheek which made him think of warpaint.

      And she looked like dynamite.

      ‘Been cooking, have you?’

      ‘Am cooking,’ she corrected tartly. ‘Busy cooking.’

      ‘Mum-mee!’

      Lisi froze as green eyes lanced through her in a disbelieving question.

      ‘Mum-mee!’ A child who was Lisi’s very image appeared, and Tim came running out from the sitting room and up to the door, turning large, interested blue eyes up at the stranger on the doorstep. ‘Hello!’

      Lisi had always been proud of her son’s bright and outgoing nature—she had brought him up to be confident—but at that moment she despaired of it. Why couldn’t he have been shy and retiring, like most other boys his age? ‘I really must go, Philip, you can see I’m really—’

      He ignored her completely. ‘Hello,’ Philip said softly as he looked down at the shiny black head. ‘And what’s your name?’

      The boy smiled. ‘I’m Tim, and it’s my birthday!’ he said. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I’m Philip. A friend of Mummy’s.’

      Tim screwed his eyes up. ‘Mummy’s boyfriend?’

      Lisi saw the cold look of distaste which flickered across his face, and flinched.

      ‘Does Mummy have lots of boyfriends, then?’ Philip asked casually.

      ‘Tim,’ said Lisi, a note of desperation making her voice sound as though it was about to crack, ‘why don’t you go and colour in that picture that Mummy drew for you earlier?’

      ‘But, Mum-mee—’

      ‘Please, darling,’ she said firmly. ‘And you can have a biscuit out of the tin—only one, mind—and Mummy will come and help you in a minute, and we can organise all the games for your party. Won’t that be fun? Run along now, darling.’

      Thank heavens the suggestion of an unsolicited biscuit had captured his imagination! He gave Philip one last, curious look and then scampered back towards the sitting room.

      Lisi tried to meet the condemnatory green stare without flinching. ‘It’s his birthday,’ she explained. ‘And I’m busy organising—’

      ‘So that was why you had to ring your mother,’ he observed softly.

      It was not the aggressive question she had been expecting and dreading. She stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What?’

      ‘The night you slept with me,’ he said slowly. ‘I wondered why you should bother to do that, when we were only supposedly going for a quick drink,’ he added witheringly. ‘I guess you had to arrange for your mother to babysit. Poor little soul,’ he finished. ‘When Mummy jumps into bed with a man whenever the opportunity presents itself.’

      For a moment, Lisi couldn’t work out what he was talking about, and then his words began to make sense. Tim was a tall boy, as Marian had said. He looked older than his years. And Philip didn’t even suspect that the child might be his. God forgive me, she thought. But this is something I have to do. For all our sakes. He hates me. He thinks the worst of me—he’s made that heartbreakingly clear. What good would it do any of us if he found out the truth?