Free Riccardo's Secret Child by Cathy Williams

looked over Nicola’s head in the taxi and caught his eye. ‘Perhaps it was a mistake to promise that she could choose whatever toy she wanted.’ But she couldn’t make a big deal of it. It had not been a case of buying his daughter’s affections, more trying to win them using the only currency with which he was familiar, namely money. Moreover, she was grateful that in his daughter’s presence, he had been the epitome of charm and politeness, with none of those searing looks that were aimed to remind her of her criminal status in his eyes.
    She was also grateful that there had been no mention of that farewell kiss of a couple of evenings before, and in fact, she had reached the point of wondering whether she might have dreamt the whole thing.
    â€˜I didn’t realise that women began procrastinating from as young an age as five,’ he responded drily, raising his eyebrows in bemusement.
    â€˜Are you talking about me?’ Nicola asked, perking up at the mention of her age, and he smiled down at her, tempted to cradle the back of her dark head with his hand. He was aware of Julia looking at him and had to force himself not to look up suddenly and catch the expression on her face.
    â€˜We’re wondering how come it took you three hours to finally choose your marker set and a handbag,’ Julia said, smiling. ‘They were the first things you saw!’
    â€˜I know, but I wasn’t sure… I’m going to draw a picture of Mum and Martin,’ Nicola said earnestly, then she turned to Riccardo. ‘Would you like me to give it to you?’
    Dark eyes clashed with grey ones.
    â€˜Of course. That would be very nice,’ he said, only the tiny muscle beating in his jaw a sign of his thoughts. Strange, he had been gradually lulled into a sense of family, of belonging, and had almost forgotten that he was still on the outside looking for a way in. He averted his face and stared out of the window, watching the crowded streets race by.
    â€˜And maybe you could also draw a picture of a house,’ Julia intervened hastily; ‘you know how brilliant you are at drawing houses. A lovely tall house like the one you live in, with a red roof and a blue door.’
    â€˜Our door isn’t blue.’
    â€˜Well, cream, then.’
    â€˜Will Gran be there when we get back? I want to show her what I got.’
    â€˜No, no, I don’t think she will be. We can go visit tomorrow.’
    â€˜Will you be coming over tomorrow?’ Nicola addressed her father and he turned round to look at her. The long, dark hair fell in a tumble along the little shoulders, rippling down her dark green anorak with the patches on the elbows. Her legs stuck out along the seat of the chair, not long enough to dangle over the edge, and her feet were encased in sturdy trainers that, she had proudly pointed out to Riccardo, lit up every time she walked.
    He didn’t even know whether he could answer that question without first getting permission from her aunt. He knew that it was irrational to continue feeling angry when anger did nothing to alter reality, but he could still feel it take him over.
    What did Julia know of loss? he wondered. Loss like he felt whenever, it seemed, he rested his eyes on his daughter. Nothing.
    Why shouldn’t he make her find out? He had felt the way her mouth had trembled under his and he knew that under the self-control lay passion. He could stoke that passion and then when he walked away from her she too could feel some of the pain he was enduring now. Never as much, but enough.
    He raised his eyes slowly to Julia’s and held her stare.
    â€˜Why don’t we play it by ear, Nicky, OK?’ Julia said eventually.
    â€˜Does that mean yes or no?’
    â€˜It means we’re not too sure yet,’ Riccardo said gently, ‘although I would love to come visit tomorrow. Maybe take you to the zoo, check and see how those animals are doing in