The Italian's Baby of Passion. Susan Stephens

it. She couldn’t see the men and women in suits leaping up to take responsibility.

      ‘Won’t you let me get someone down from Occupational Health, at least—?’ Scarlet began, only to be cut off by an impatient, slightly imperious nod of the smooth dark head.

       ‘You sound just like my sons.’

      Scarlet had no control over the expression of horror that spread across her face. ‘Me?’

      ‘You know, I consider myself a lucky woman,’ Natalia revealed. ‘Two sons who I love dearly, and they are so good to me. But,’ she explained with a shake of her head, ‘they are both ridiculously overprotective. Roman is possibly the worst.

      ‘He has a terrible habit of thinking he knows what is best,’ Natalia continued ruefully. ‘If I’d let him he’d run my life, I swear he would.’

      ‘You have to stand up to him!’

      Natalia’s delicate brow lifted at the heat of Scarlet’s stern declaration.

      Scarlet coloured self-consciously and forced her expression to relax. ‘I suppose it’s a son’s job to be protective of his mother. I expect mine will one day,’ she added lightly.

      ‘You have a son?’ Liquid dark eyes scanned Scarlet’s slim figure. She was wearing her usual work garb, jeans and one of the bright child-friendly tee shirts all the helpers in the crèche wore. It had been suggested that, as the manager of the centre, she ought to wear something more in fitting with her management role, but Scarlet, a hands-on sort of manager, had stuck to her guns and her tee shirt.

      ‘Goodness, you look so young, or maybe that’s just me getting old.’

      ‘You’re not old.’

      ‘When I look at those little ones I feel…’ She suddenly went very still as she looked through the plate-glass partition to the room beyond. It should have been empty; the children were enjoying the party on the lawn. ‘That child—what is his name?’

      It was a casual enough question, but casual in Scarlet’s experience didn’t equate with the lines of tension bracketing the older woman’s soft mouth or the tortured twisting of the hands clasped in her lap.

      ‘Which one? We’ve got quite a few here. Should you lie down, perhaps…?’ she suggested tentatively. ‘If you’re not feeling well?’

      ‘I’m feeling fine.’ The strained smile she produced to prove the point did nothing to soothe Scarlet’s fears. ‘The little boy I’m talking about is the one who gave me the flowers? The one sitting there.’

      Scarlet followed the direction of the ashen-faced woman’s strangely haunted gaze as Natalie nodded through the glass partition that separated Scarlet’s office from the big, newly equipped play room, towards a small dark-haired figure sitting cross-legged on the floor.

      Sam was meant to be outside with the other children watching the magician they’d engaged as entertainment. With the party in full swing he had obviously managed to slip away unnoticed. Sam was a very resourceful child.

      He had wanted to finish his jigsaw earlier, and when he wanted something, as she knew to her cost, he could show remarkable focus. His little face was a mask of concentration as he slotted the final piece into a complicated wooden jigsaw and gave a triumphant smile.

      ‘Sam,’ Scarlet replied, a puzzled frown forming between her brows as she registered the throb of emotion in the other woman’s attractively accented voice.

      ‘I hope I didn’t alarm him.’

      ‘Sam takes most things in his stride,’ Scarlet returned honestly.

      ‘I thought he might,’ came the puzzling dry rejoinder. ‘His mother…does she work at the university?’

      ‘Sam’s my son, the one I mentioned.’ Scarlet was trying very hard not to glow too obviously with pride. ‘One of the perks of running the university crèche is I get to bring him to work with me.’

      This hadn’t happened by accident. Early on Scarlet had realised to leave Sam on a daily basis would be too painful, not necessarily for the child, who possessed an adaptable and sunny personality, but for herself.

       ‘You?’

      Scarlet endured with equanimity the astonished, searching scrutiny that came her way. The reaction didn’t surprise her. Sam was an exceptionally beautiful child, and Scarlet knew the only thing exceptional about herself was her ordinariness, but even so the softly breathed, ‘Unbelievable!’ did bring a faint flush to her pale cheeks.

      As if she realised her lapse in manners, a flicker of something akin to embarrassment flickered across the beautiful features of the VIP guest.

      ‘And how old is Sam?’

      ‘He was three in April.’

      ‘He seems very advanced for his age.’

      ‘Sam is quick,’ Scarlet agreed, unable to stifle a flicker of parental pride at this praise.

      ‘You and your husband must be very proud of him.’

      ‘I’m not married.’ Even in this enlightened age Scarlet was used to her single motherhood producing disapproval in varying degrees, but the inexplicable flicker of relief she saw in Natalia’s brown eyes was not a reaction she’d encountered before.

      It only lasted a moment and Scarlet almost immediately put it down to a trick of the light or her imagination. After all, she asked herself, why would her being unmarried make a total stranger relieved?

      ‘Then Sam’s father…?’

      ‘There’s just me and Sam and we like it that way,’ Scarlet explained cheerfully.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘BUT it must be hard for a woman alone?’

      ‘One-parent families are not exactly unusual.’

      ‘But you’ve never been married?’

      Scarlet, who was beginning to feel puzzled with the older woman’s pursuit of the subject, shook her head. ‘Never.’ This might be a good time to change the subject and admit she had contacted the tyrannical son.

      ‘Listen, Mrs O’Hagan—’

      ‘Natalia, please, my dear.’

      ‘Natalia, I know you asked me not to.’ Scarlet took a deep breath and made a clean breast of it. ‘The thing is I called Mr O’Hagan…that is your son, the control freak one,’ she explained unhappily.

      ‘I don’t blame you being angry with me,’ she continued, ‘but I really did think that someone should know—’ Scarlet stopped in response to a cool hand laid on her arm.

      ‘I’m not angry with you, child.’

      Scarlet gave a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad about that.’

      ‘Did you speak to Roman yourself? I ask,’ she added, ‘because I have a problem doing so myself sometimes.’ She gave a light laugh. ‘He is guarded zealously.’

       You can say that again!

      ‘I did manage to, eventually,’ Scarlet admitted with a guarded smile.

      There was something in the other woman’s manner…she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but Scarlet couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something.

       ‘My, you must be a determined girl, or have special access that I don’t?’ Her laughter had a forced sound to it.

      ‘I could have done with it, but I had to fall back on my natural talent—I’m stubborn.’

      Natalia nodded; her expression suggested her thoughts had already moved on. ‘I sometimes think this security business