all? And surely a trace of likeness to her own face was discernible in his?
Then he smiled, a wide grin making several small white teeth visible, and she felt tears pricking the back of her eyes. Memories both happy and sad floated through her mind.
He was a lovely baby, and it wasn’t fair that he’d been deprived of his mother, that she’d missed out on the changes of the last ten months, not had the pleasure of seeing his first real smile, hearing his first laugh, discovering his first tooth, watching him learn to crawl as he did so efficiently now. Missed, too, his birthday, by several weeks.
Who were the Brunellescis to decide that a child was better off without his mother? Lia might have been inexperienced and penniless, but the first she could have overcome, and the second had been well within their power to correct, for the baby’s sake.
Instead they’d taken him away from her. Left her to fend for herself as best she could.
That wasn’t love, it was an exercise of naked power.
The baby tugged at the strand of hair he held, and Barbara said, ‘Careful, Nicky!’
‘It’s all right.’ Gently unwinding the clinging fingers, holding the warm little hand in her own, smiling forgiveness, she couldn’t resist kissing a smooth, rounded cheek.
Nicky ducked and then gave her a mischievous grin, a sly sideways glance. He presented his cheek to her and when she puckered her lips dodged again, making her laugh. It was a game he obviously enjoyed.
‘Little tease,’ Barbara said cheerfully. ‘He’ll give the girls a hard time when he grows up.’ She checked her watch. ‘Are you going down for breakfast?’
‘Yes, I was. Are you?’
‘Nicky and I have ours in the kitchen. His table manners leave something to be desired—don’t they, young man?’ Deftly the nanny removed the baby to her own arms.
So he wasn’t tolerated at the family table? Banished because he might make a mess and spoil their coldly formal meals? It was tempting to ask, Can’t I join you? That would be a lot more comfortable than eating with the grown-ups. But she supposed if she offended the elder Brunellescis it wouldn’t help her case.
When she went down the three of them were already seated in a glass-walled conservatory off the dining room, reached by a shallow flight of steps. Plants hung on the walls, and the round marble table was ringed by four white-painted cane chairs with padded fabric seats. Another two chairs had been put aside in a corner. A tea trolley held cereal, bread, salami and cheese, a pot of jam and one of honey.
‘I’m sorry if I’m late,’ she said. Zandro rose from his chair and pulled one out for her, offered coffee from a pot on the trolley. As she took the chair, Domenico lowered the newspaper he was reading, nodded his patrician head and raised the paper again.
His wife looked apologetic. ‘Buon giorno, Lia.’
Zandro poured her coffee. ‘Did you sleep well?’ His voice was coolly courteous. Making conversation but not as if he really cared. He sat down again and passed the sugar bowl over as she murmured, ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘If you would like toast or a cooked breakfast—’
‘I’m not very hungry first thing in the morning.’ She reached for the corn flakes on the trolley, shook some into the bowl before her and picked up the white china jug to pour milk on them. Her hand, she noted, pleased with her composure, was steady.
His eyes inspected her, taking a leisurely but dispassionate inventory of her upper body. ‘You were very thin…before.’
Mrs Brunellesci said unexpectedly, ‘Too skinny. Domenico!’ She turned to her husband and he lowered his paper again. ‘Lia looks good now, you think? More healthy. A woman should look like a woman, is what you say, hey?’
He directed an icy, reluctant stare across the table. ‘Better,’ he agreed, before folding the paper noisily and laying it aside to take up a cup of coffee.
Zandro’s mouth twitched, a muscle moving near his jawbone. He was trying not to laugh.
That the man had a sense of humour at all was a revelation. And the fact that he could find his father amusing was a kind of comfort, making Domenico seem less formidable.
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