Sins of the Past (12 page)

She was challenging his thinking and he didn’t like it, he realised, releasing the catch on his car boot to drop his briefcase inside.

They were from different worlds, he reminded himself pragmatically, and with far too much bad history between them. Wouldn’t the advisable thing be to let her go? Get on
with his life? What could come of anything between them but a whole heap of anger and recrimination when this fierce and mutual attraction had burned itself out?

About to slam the boot lid down, he noticed the box the little boy had given him still there where he had left it. He hadn’t had time to look at it since he had dropped it in there the other day.

What was he doing getting involved? he rebuked himself as he picked it up. Would he even have bothered to bring it with him if he hadn’t seen it as yet another chance to break through the barriers that Riva had erected against him? As a sound excuse to return to her flat?

His thinking shamed him—especially when he remembered how optimistic and trusting the little boy had sounded when he had asked him to mend his toy.

With the box in his hand now, he got into the car, pulling his tie loose with satisfying relief, unfastening the top button of his shirt.

As he drew the toy out of its box, something else fell out. A little gift tag, he noted, discarding it on the dashboard while he gave some thought to the repair.

That sorted, he replaced the dinosaur in its carton and, remembering the tag, was about to drop that back in too, when something about it caught his attention.

Reading what was written on the reverse side, he sat there staring down at it, immobilised, his mind a maelstrom of bewildered questions, his blood seeming to freeze in his veins.

It was only seven o’clock, but Ben was already sound asleep, Riva realised, gratified, when she peeped in on him. More than a week of sleepless nights had obviously taken their toll. On both of them, she thought, keeping her fingers crossed that this might herald the start of a more relaxed phase for him—if not for her. Just thinking about what had happened in Damiano’s car today still made her blush to her roots.

Closing Ben’s door quietly, so as not to risk disturbing him, she went and had a leisurely bath—which only made her dwell on what had happened and made her feel worse, if anything, since the warm water relaxed her, making her body respond like clockwork whenever the man entered her thoughts. And that was virtually non-stop as she lay there, too conscious of the tightening crests of her breasts and the ache in her loins that only his possession would assuage.

She had settled down with some needlework in front of the television in her white waffle bathrobe, and was watching her favourite wildlife programme when the doorbell rang.

Guessing it was probably the neighbour who took in the odd parcel for her when she was at work, she turned the television down and went to answer the door.

‘Damiano!’

He looked excitingly dishevelled, still in his dark suit, but with the top button of his shirt unfastened and his tie askew. His thick hair was uncustomarily untidy, as though he had been raking his fingers through it, and as he shouldered his way past her without saying a word she could tell that for some reason he was very, very angry.

‘Wh-what’s wrong? What is it?’ she faltered, her expression wary.

As he swung round she could see the livid mask transforming his striking features.

‘Exactly when were you going to tell me he’s mine?’

‘What?’ It came out as a squeak, his question driving all her immediate worries about him seeing her undressed and without any make-up from her mind. ‘How …? How …?’
How did you find out?
she was trying to say—and knew the second he flung the tiny gift tag down onto the settee.

‘"Happy Fourth Birthday.
Benito
!” You even very conveniently supplied the date!’

Riva darted a dismayed glance down at the incriminating little card. It must have been in the box all this time, since

Ben’s birthday over a month ago! How could she have been so lax?

She couldn’t speak, let alone answer him, as all her worst fears coalesced inside her, etching lines of alarm and anguish across her forehead.

‘He’s mine, isn’t he?’ One stride towards her and he was grabbing her. ‘Tell me the truth! Go on. Say it!’ His hands were hard on her shoulders as he tried to shake the answer out of her. ‘For once in your life try telling me the truth!’

‘Yes! Yes, he is!’ she flung at him, afraid of his pulsing anger.

‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’

What could she say?

‘You even lied about his age—let me believe he was another man’s child!’

‘I had my reasons.’

‘What reasons, Riva? You bore my child, yet you took it upon yourself to deny me the right even to know of his existence! What reason can possibly justify that?’

‘Stop shouting! He’ll hear you!’ Shame mingled with fear and the mind-scorching knowledge that she had been wrong.

‘I don’t give a damn if the whole blasted neighbourhood hears me! I want some answers, Riva,’ he demanded, although he had lowered his voice by a few decibels. ‘And I want them now. Why didn’t you tell me when you first discovered you were pregnant?’ His fingers bit into her soft flesh, making her wince. ‘Why, damn you!’

Bitterness marked her tilted glance up at him. ‘I thought you knew the answer to that.’

‘Which is?’

‘When you found out it was my first time you weren’t very complimentary about it.’

A nerve leaped in his jaw. No doubt he was remembering how he’d as good as accused her of making love with him in the hope of bringing a paternity suit against him.

‘No … Well …’ His hands loosened their grip, so that she was able to tug herself free. ‘That was how it appeared to me at the time.’

‘And of course the high and mighty Damiano D’Amico couldn’t be wrong about a thing like that!’

Hard lines scored his face. ‘How did you become pregnant? I thought you were taking the pill?’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘So that was a lie too. Just like everything else about you. The oh, so worldly woman act. Your sexual experience. The father you didn’t want me to know about.’

‘For heaven’s sake! I lied! I know I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t know what else to do. Haven’t you ever been ashamed of anything?’

His upper torso stiffened, as though someone had just punched him hard between the shoulderblades.

‘That has nothing to do with the fact that you kept the knowledge from me when you found out you had conceived.’ His voice was low and controlled as he held his simmering temper in check. ‘When he was born—since. Even when I came here the other day. Just how long were you prepared to go on keeping me in the dark? When exactly did you plan on telling our son that I’m his father? Or weren’t you? Were you planning on keeping him in the dark for ever too?’

‘No! I don’t know! I would have told him eventually.’

‘When, exactly? When he had grown up and missed out on having two parents? When I had missed out on the whole experience of his childhood?’

‘No!’

‘And why, when you obviously hate everything I stand for, did you give him an Italian name?’

Did
she hate everything he stood for? She didn’t know any more.

Heat suffused her skin as his gaze touched on the gaping neckline of her robe. He’d given her so much pleasure in his
car earlier that day, but making love was definitely not on his agenda tonight.

‘I didn’t see why I should let the way I feel about you influence my judgement over what was best for my child,’ she answered, pulling the ends of her robe together. ‘Just because you thought my family weren’t good enough to be part of yours, nothing can change the fact that D’Amico blood runs through Ben’s little veins. No matter what you believe, I wanted him to grow up recognising his Italian roots, that he comes from an old and respected—if pompous and stuck up and totally prejudiced—family! The fact that his father thought the other half of his ancestry was trash I was going to keep from him until he discovered it for himself!’

It was clear from the breath that shuddered through his lungs that her point had hit home—and hard.

‘You really believe that?’ His voice was strung with disbelief. ‘That I would turn away my own flesh and blood? My own son?’

Broodingly, Riva said, ‘I wouldn’t put anything past you, Damiano.’

The bleakness showing through the accusation in her eyes penetrated his defensive armour. Did she despise him so much that she had really believed he wouldn’t accept the child they had both created? She would rather struggle to provide for that child alone—deprive his own son of things that were the child’s birthright—than come to him for a single cent?

She had asked him just now if he had ever been ashamed, and he had—of course he had. Of the way he had callously and cold-bloodedly used her—a virgin, even though he hadn’t realised it until it was too late—to break up his uncle’s relationship with her mother. It had been wrong, and because of his actions she had borne him a child—in secret. The shame in having to acknowledge that made him feel sick to his stomach.

The fact was, though, that she
had
kept it a secret and, still
in shock, still reeling from being left to find out about it as he had, he didn’t think he could ever forgive her for that.

‘I want to get to know my son,’ he breathed, with every pulsing cell in his body defying her to try and stop him. ‘And I’m going to get to know him whether you like it or not. I shan’t disturb him tonight,’ he went on, remembering then where he should be, and the game of squash he should be playing. For the first time in his life he had forgotten an appointment, let someone down. ‘But tomorrow, Riva—I don’t care how or when, or how much it hurts that lying little conscience of yours to have to do it, you’re going to tell him who I am!’

It was a cool, gusty day, and there were very few people in the park, even for a Saturday.

In the children’s play area the only swing in use was the one occupied by Ben.

‘It’s Mr Mico!’ the little boy exclaimed, catching sight of the tall, lithe figure in dark blue shirt and blue jeans at the same time as Riva did. It was the only concession he had granted her last night—that they meet in the park.

Her heart leaped, and her stomach was churning queasily beneath her light jacket and cropped jeans as she caught the swing and Ben went racing off towards the man striding purposefully across the grass.

The little boy reached him before she did, and in spite of their angry confrontation of the previous night something caught in Riva’s throat as Damiano swept their son up into his arms.

‘So you came,’ he observed coolly over the boy’s shoulder as she joined them, his eyes hooded, the tautness of his features hiding all the other emotion he must have been feeling.

‘What did you imagine?’ The wells of her eyes were dark from where she had been lying awake all night, reliving the scene in her flat, worrying about meeting him today.

‘With you?’ The movement of his mouth was cynical. ‘Who
knows?’ he breathed raggedly, his face softening as he turned his attention to Ben. ‘Well …’ Gently he deposited the child back on his feet and, straightening, said, ‘Is there not something you wish to tell us, Riva?’

Riva’s already churning insides felt as though someone was tying them in knots.

He wasn’t helping her. Taking a deep breath and letting it out again, she said, ‘This is your daddy, Ben.’

‘Benito …’ He had dropped down to the little boy’s level now, and was tracing the shape of a little cheek with the side of his hand, brushing the wind-blown brown hair tinged with snatches of red back off the infant’s face.

‘Are you really my daddy?’

‘Sì, Ben. I am.’ There was no mistaking the crack in the deep Latin voice.

The boy looked up at Riva with his eyes dancing excitedly.

‘Does that mean Mr Mico’s going to come and live with us? My friend Simon has a daddy—’

‘No!’ It came out too sharply, and Riva instantly regretted it when the small mouth moved into a disappointed pout. It was much too disconcerting to contemplate, though, with Damiano listening to every innocent but embarrassing word the child uttered.

‘Here, Benito.’ He handed the little boy a familiar box. ‘Perhaps you would like to try it out on the path—see if he walks again.’

‘My dinosaur!’ He was already pulling it free of its packaging. ‘You mended my dinosaur!’

Standing upright now, Damiano smiled indulgently down at Ben. ‘Is that not what fathers are for?’

‘Look, Mummy! He’s mended my dinosaur.’

‘Yes, darling. So I see.’ Inexplicably moved, she took the empty box from him, feeling grateful. She didn’t want to feel grateful. ‘Thank you,’ she forced past her lips, whilst keeping
her eyes on the little boy who was dashing towards the path to play with his toy.

‘Get used to it, Riva. I’m going to be in my son’s life from here on, whether you like it or not. You’ve got some making up to do—to both of us—and you’re going to start doing it as of now!’

‘What do you mean?’ she challenged warily, shrinking from the daunting resolve that was marking his face, the tone of his voice, every hard unforgiving bone in his body.

‘I mean I’m going home for a while, and you and Ben will be coming with me.’

‘I can’t!’ Her mind swam in panic and rising excitement.

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t.’ She was finding it impossible to keep her weak-willed desire for him under control just while she was working for him, without the havoc he would cause to her self-respect and her general equilibrium were she to be marooned with him under far more intimate circumstances. ‘There’s the job I’m doing for your grandmother, for a start.’

‘To hell with the job!’

‘What?
After all the hours I’ve put in?’ If he could dismiss it that easily, just how important had it been to him in the first place?

‘Just forget it,’ he advised her harshly. ‘I would have thought even you, cara …’ he placed scathing emphasis on that endearment ‘… would have to admit that things have changed considerably.’

He meant because of Ben. But she couldn’t help wondering if he was referring to what was happening between the two of them as well. After all, he must have realised since meeting her again that she could no more resist him now than she’d been able to five years ago. So had he reckoned on that when he’d specifically requested her for the job in the first place?