and cutting some teeth, she had still found herself imagining every possible worst thing that could happen as the car had made its way down to the shore where the boat was moored.
Luckily the speedy motorboat that Ricardo used to cross the lake made the trip in a tenth of the time that it had taken her earlier that evening in the heavy old-fashioned rowing boat that was all she had been able to hire for herself. But, all the same, the short journey had seemed endless as Lucy stood at the prow of the boat, hands clenched tightly together, watching the lights of the big house coming closer, willing it to move faster—faster—so that she could be sure.
And now she was sure. Although miserable and irritable, Marco was clearly not seriously unwell. But somehow, knowing that didn’t make her feel any better. Seeing him safe in Ricardo’s arms, the tones of a familiar voice reaching to him as his sobs eased, only made everything so much worse. She couldn’t help but imagine how many other times this had happened, as the result of a banged knee or a miserable cold. How many times had Marco woken in need of a cuddle and she—his mother—hadn’t been there? The doctors had said that she should forgive herself for that, but how could she forgive what she couldn’t bear to think of?
‘Calma, tesoro,’ Ricardo soothed, pacing slowly up and down the room, the little boy in his arms. ‘Calma…’
At last the wails stopped, the sobs subsiding to a low murmur and then a snuffling silence, broken occasionally by a faint hiccup, a slightly gasping breath. A small hand came out and patted Ricardo’s cheek, gently, lovingly. Seeing the gesture, Lucy caught back a moan of longing and loss.
She would barely have recognised him. He was not the tiny, hairless little doll she had last seen but a small boy. So clearly his father’s son, with the Emiliani jet-black hair and wide dark eyes. Eyes that stared up into his father’s face with total confidence, total devotion.
Another shaft of pain ripped through her, tearing at her heart. She couldn’t hold back a small choking sound as she struggled with her distress.
The noise brought the child’s head round towards her. From the safety of his father’s arms, his head pillowed on the man’s strong shoulder, the little boy regarded her with wide-eyed curiosity, his soft brown gaze focused directly on her face.
‘Oh, Marco…’ It was just a whisper.
Did he recognise her? Was it possible? She longed to be able to believe it, prayed he might show some sign—however small…
But then those heavy eyelids drooped, his head lowered, the small cheek, flushed with the effects of teething and his crying jag, pressed against Ricardo’s shirt. A small thumb was pushed into his mouth and sucked on hard.
It was the last thing that Lucy saw with any clarity. The tension that had been all that had been holding her upright suddenly seemed to evaporate, leaving her whole body sagging weakly. Her vision blurred as the stinging tears filmed her eyes and all the fierce blinking in the world wouldn’t clear it for her. Her head was swimming, there was a buzzing sound in her ears and she had to put a hand to the wall for support.
‘Excuse me…’
She didn’t know if Ricardo heard her, but the truth was that she was past caring. If she stayed she would be a problem. She had to get out of the room, get some air. She didn’t dare to look back at Marco for fear that seeing him would finish her completely and she would collapse in an abject, miserable heap right at Ricardo’s feet.
She doubted if anyone saw her go.
At the far end of the corridor was a sliding glass door that she remembered led to a balcony that looked out over the lake. A place where on a fine day you could see the shore so clearly that it almost seemed as if there was no lake. As if you could simply step off the balcony and walk straight into the village without getting your feet wet. It was all in darkness now, of course, and as she leaned on the carved stone balustrade and gulped in much-needed breaths of the cool evening air the lights of the houses seemed to dance before her eyes.
The silence behind her told her that Marco was no longer crying, that he had calmed, perhaps even now was falling asleep.
Falling asleep in Ricardo’s arms.
A sobbing gasp escaped her as she wrapped her arms around her body, feeling the need to stop her heart from breaking apart. She had longed for this day, had dreamed of it for so many weeks. And yet, when it had happened, it had been almost more than she could bear.
She had so wanted to come back here, had so needed to see her baby. And yet now, when she was here, the only thing she could think was—did she really have the right to come back into her little boy’s world? Did she have the right to stay, to disturb the routine he had obviously settled into with his father?
Ricardo was so good with him. She couldn’t doubt the evidence of her eyes on that. It was so clear that this was not the first time he had comforted the baby through a disturbed night, soothed the little boy’s distress when something hurt or he didn’t feel well. Every movement, every touch, every caressing sound of his husky voice, carefully gentled to calm and reassure, made it clear that he had done this so many times before.
She didn’t have a place here. She had given it up when she had fled from the villa, abandoning her baby. And wouldn’t it be kinder, fairer…?
‘So this is where you’re hiding.’
Ricardo’s voice came from behind her, making her jump. Clenching her hands tightly over the edge of the stone balcony, she tried to suppress the betraying start, only managing it by continuing to stare fixedly out across the bay rather than turning to respond.
‘I’m not hiding! I just had to get out of the room.’
‘Couldn’t take it, hmm?’ The cynicism in his voice had deepened. ‘Who would have thought that such a small person could make so much noise? He has a strong pair of lungs.’
Lucy could only nod, not trusting her voice to say anything about Marco. A mist seemed to have descended over the lake and it was only when she blinked her eyes firmly that she realised her vision was again blurred by the film of tears that she was determined not to let fall.
‘Not quite your image of a pretty little baby lying sweetly in a crib?’
That brought Lucy swinging round, her eyes going to Ricardo’s face as he stood in the opening of the door out onto the balcony. The unwise movement made her head spin sickeningly and it was a moment or two before she could focus properly. When she did, her heart lurched to see his dark and shuttered expression, the tightness in his jaw that drew his beautiful mouth into a thin, hard line.
‘I knew he was not going to be totally quiet—you said he was unsettled. So I thought I’d better leave you to it. I’d have gone back to the boarding house but there isn’t any way I can get a boat.’
‘So you were running away again.’ Ricardo’s cynicism stung like a whip.
Moving suddenly, he strolled across the terrace to stand beside her, his back to the lake, lean hips propped against the stonework. Positioned like this, his face was in shadow and all she could see was the cold gleam of his eyes in the moonlight.
‘I was not running…’
‘Only because you could not find someone to take you over the lake.’
‘I didn’t
