son needs you,’ Ricardo said.
‘What?’
She hadn’t quite caught what he had said. Or, if she had, then she wasn’t at all sure that she could possibly have heard right.
‘Your son needs you,’ he repeated, calm, coldly controlled and totally unmistakable this time. ‘You had better go to him.’
She knew that look, that assessing scrutiny. He was testing her again. But which was the right way to react? How could she prove herself to him? And just what did he want her to prove?
She could only go with her instincts. There was no way of second-guessing him.
And, as the whimper turned into a wail and then an outraged cry, she was left with no choice. She no longer gave a damn what Ricardo thought or felt. It was what Marco needed that mattered. She was out of the sitting room in a rush, bending down over the cot before Ricardo could say a word. And she knew that if he had spoken, if he’d tried to stop her, then she would have ignored him completely.
‘Hush little one…it’s all right. Mu…’
Her throat closed over the words, choking them off. How could she call herself ‘Mummy’ after all that had happened? Marco would never understand—and would he even let her touch him?
Painfully aware of the way that Ricardo had moved to the doorway, one strong hand resting against the wood of the frame, she could feel the burn of his eyes in her back as she reached in and scooped up the little boy, lifting him gently. He was so much bigger than the last time she had held him that she felt the unexpected weight of him in contrast to then. That dreadful time when she had felt that she had to give him one last hug, in spite of the fears that were whirling in her head, telling her that she wasn’t safe with this precious child. That she had no idea just what she might do.
‘Careful, darling…’
Was it just the unfamiliar voice, or would she be completely fooling herself to think that the baby recognised her somehow? Lucy’s heart clenched sharply as the little boy’s big dark eyes opened wide to stare into her face, his wails and his whole body stilling as she lifted him so carefully.
‘That’s better, isn’t it?’
She prayed that he wouldn’t feel the way she was trembling all over. That the twisting of her nerves wouldn’t communicate itself to him and upset him all over again. She also hoped that Ricardo wouldn’t see the fear in her eyes, the determined effort she was making to hide the way she was feeling and misinterpret it as something else.
‘Now, let’s see…’
Adjusting the baby in her arms, she caught a telltale whiff that left her in no doubt of something that needed dealing with. She didn’t have much experience of caring for her child, but this was something practical she’d done for him, even in the short weeks she’d been with him.
‘Oh, so that’s the problem! Let’s see…’
A swift glance around made it clear just where the changing mat and all the things necessary for cleaning and changing a nappy could be found and she moved towards it, taking Marco with her. She was determined not to look in Ricardo’s direction, knowing he was still watching her like a hawk. No doubt just waiting for her to make a mistake, show some hesitation. Something he could criticise. Something he could hold against her.
Well, not this time, Signor Emiliani. She almost laughed as she laid Marco on his back on the brightly coloured changing mat. This was something she knew how to do.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up…’
Unfastening the sleep suit, removing the dirty nappy, cleaning, was the work of moments. And she enjoyed it—doing this simple task for her baby. Even when Marco waved his arms and legs wildly in the air, wriggling so that it was a struggle to get the nappy on and fastened, she couldn’t hold back the soft chuckle of appreciation of his life and energy. Forgetting about the dark, watchful man behind her, she bent her head and blew a loud raspberry on his exposed stomach, revelling in its soft roundness, the uncontrollable giggles that burst from him in response.
Perhaps with Marco at least things could come right. Maybe in time she could make up to him for the way she had left him. If Ricardo gave her that time, she was forced to add as a movement behind her told her that her husband had left his watching position and come closer.
‘That’s you done,’ she said, pretending she hadn’t noticed, determined to ignore him as she fastened the baby’s clothes, lifted him carefully, cradled him against her shoulder. ‘Now, let’s see…’
‘Give him to me.’
She’d been expecting it but still it was like a blow to her heart. She’d known he wouldn’t give her free rein with the baby, that he was just watching and waiting…
Instinctively her arms tightened around the sturdy little body. Every part of her wanted to shout no, to refuse to hand him over. But she knew she had to think of Marco. She must not upset him. And yet she couldn’t just give in to Ricardo’s demand.
‘This isn’t fair,’ she said, keeping her voice as calm and as quiet as she could manage as she swung round on her heel, turning to face the big dark man behind her.
Over Marco’s soft dark head she faced the baby’s father with rejection sparking in her eyes.
‘You let me hold him, come close to him—the next moment you take him from me. It’s cruel and…’
‘I’m not taking him from you,’ Ricardo stunned her by saying. ‘It’s midday. Marco usually has something to eat around now.’
A wave of his hand indicated the padded high chair close at hand.
‘Why don’t you put him in there?’
The slight emphasis on that you brought a stinging reproach that she had to admit to herself she deserved. The sharp reminder of just how little she knew about Marco’s life and routine twisted a cruel knife in her heart.
‘I’m sorry.’
Moving rather clumsily as she adjusted to the unfamiliar weight of her son in her arms, she tried to put Marco into the high chair. Luckily, he seemed prepared to help her and, obviously recognising that this meant food was on its way, began banging on the tray with an enthusiastic hand, slapping his palm on to the surface.
‘Da!’ he said excitedly, waving the other hand wildly in the air. ‘Da!’
He was too young to be talking properly yet, Lucy told herself, fighting with the twist of misery that sound brought her. And, besides, having only ever been spoken to in Italian, Marco was unlikely to be trying to form the word ‘Daddy’. But it was another way of bringing home to her how much she had lost by being away from him at this important stage of his life. The pain that cut at her had her digging her teeth down hard into the softness of her lower lip as she fought with the tears that burned at the back of her eyes.
Ricardo bent to wipe the high chair’s tray, receiving enthusiastic pats on his face from his son as he did so. Careful cleaning of those grasping fingers followed.
‘Here—give him this…’
Ricardo
