while in the sitting room a log fire had blazed out its warmth.
Fortunately—or unfortunately in Lisi's case—no neglect could mar the beauty of the sitting room. The high ceiling and the carved marble fireplace drew the attention away from the fact that the curtains could have done with a good clean.
Philip nodded and walked slowly around the room, his eyes narrowing with pleasure as he looked out of the long window down into the garden beyond.
A winter-bare garden but beautiful nevertheless, he thought, with mature trees and bushes which were silhouetted against the curved shapes of the flower beds.
Lisi wandered over to the window and stood beside him, past and present becoming fused for one brief, poignant moment.
'You should see it in springtime,' she observed fondly.
He heard the dreamy quality of her voice which was so at odds with her attitude of earlier. 'Oh?'
'There are bulbs out everywhere—daffodils and tulips and narcissi—and over there...' she pointed to where a lone tree stood in the centre of the overgrown lawn '...underneath that cherry, the first snowdrops come out and the lawn is sprinkled with white, almost as if it had been snowing.'
The sense of something not being as it should be pricked at his senses. Instincts, Khalim had taught him. Always trust your instincts.
'You seem to know this house very well for someone who only works part-time in the estate agency,' he observed softly.
She turned to face him. What was the point of hiding it from him? 'You're very astute, Philip.'
'Just observant.' His dark brows winged upwards in arrogant query. 'So?'
I used to live here.' No, that remark didn't seem to do the place justice. 'It was my childhood home,' she explained.
There she was, doing it again—that vulnerable little tremble of her mouth which made him want to kiss all her hurt away.
'What happened?' he asked abruptly.
'After my father died, it was just my mother and me—'
He sounded incredulous. 'In this great barn of a place?'
'We loved it,' she said simply.
He let his eyes roam once more over the high ceilings. 'Yes, I can see that you would,' he said slowly.
'We couldn't bear to leave it. When my mother died, I had to sell up, of course—because there was Tim to think about by then.'
'So you sold this and bought the cottage?' he guessed. 'And presumably banked the rest?'
She nodded.
He thought of her, all alone, struggling along with a little
baby, and he felt the sharp pang of conscience. 'Lisi, why in God's name didn't you contact me? Even if I hadn't been able to offer you any kind of future—don't you think that I would have paid towards my son's upkeep?'
She gave him a look of icy pride. 'I wasn't going to come begging to you, cap in hand! I had to think of what was best for everyone, and I came to the conclusion that the best thing would be to cut all ties.'
'And did you enjoy playing God with people's lives?' She heard his bitterness. 'I thought it would only complicate things if I tried to involve you—for you, for me, for Tim. And for your wife, of course,' she finished. 'Because if it had been me, and my husband had done what you did to her—it would have broken my heart.' She looked at him and her eyes felt hot with unshed tears for the dead woman she had unknowingly deceived. But not Philip—his betrayal had been cold-bloodedly executed. 'Did she know, Philip? Did your wife ever find out?'
'No,' he said flatly. 'Carla never knew anything about it.'
'Are you sure? They say that wives always know—only sometimes they pretend not to.' She stared at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. 'How could you do it? How could you do that to her and live with yourself afterwards?'
Her condemnation of him was so strong that he felt he could almost reach out and touch it, but he knew he couldn't let her stumble along this wrong track any longer, no matter how painful the cost of telling her.
'She didn't know,' he ground out, 'because she wasn't aware.
Fortunately—or unfortunately in Lisi's case—no neglect could mar the beauty of the sitting room. The high ceiling and the carved marble fireplace drew the attention away from the fact that the curtains could have done with a good clean.
Philip nodded and walked slowly around the room, his eyes narrowing with pleasure as he looked out of the long window down into the garden beyond.
A winter-bare garden but beautiful nevertheless, he thought, with mature trees and bushes which were silhouetted against the curved shapes of the flower beds.
Lisi wandered over to the window and stood beside him, past and present becoming fused for one brief, poignant moment.
'You should see it in springtime,' she observed fondly.
He heard the dreamy quality of her voice which was so at odds with her attitude of earlier. 'Oh?'
'There are bulbs out everywhere—daffodils and tulips and narcissi—and over there...' she pointed to where a lone tree stood in the centre of the overgrown lawn '...underneath that cherry, the first snowdrops come out and the lawn is sprinkled with white, almost as if it had been snowing.'
The sense of something not being as it should be pricked at his senses. Instincts, Khalim had taught him. Always trust your instincts.
'You seem to know this house very well for someone who only works part-time in the estate agency,' he observed softly.
She turned to face him. What was the point of hiding it from him? 'You're very astute, Philip.'
'Just observant.' His dark brows winged upwards in arrogant query. 'So?'
I used to live here.' No, that remark didn't seem to do the place justice. 'It was my childhood home,' she explained.
There she was, doing it again—that vulnerable little tremble of her mouth which made him want to kiss all her hurt away.
'What happened?' he asked abruptly.
'After my father died, it was just my mother and me—'
He sounded incredulous. 'In this great barn of a place?'
'We loved it,' she said simply.
He let his eyes roam once more over the high ceilings. 'Yes, I can see that you would,' he said slowly.
'We couldn't bear to leave it. When my mother died, I had to sell up, of course—because there was Tim to think about by then.'
'So you sold this and bought the cottage?' he guessed. 'And presumably banked the rest?'
She nodded.
He thought of her, all alone, struggling along with a little
baby, and he felt the sharp pang of conscience. 'Lisi, why in God's name didn't you contact me? Even if I hadn't been able to offer you any kind of future—don't you think that I would have paid towards my son's upkeep?'
She gave him a look of icy pride. 'I wasn't going to come begging to you, cap in hand! I had to think of what was best for everyone, and I came to the conclusion that the best thing would be to cut all ties.'
'And did you enjoy playing God with people's lives?' She heard his bitterness. 'I thought it would only complicate things if I tried to involve you—for you, for me, for Tim. And for your wife, of course,' she finished. 'Because if it had been me, and my husband had done what you did to her—it would have broken my heart.' She looked at him and her eyes felt hot with unshed tears for the dead woman she had unknowingly deceived. But not Philip—his betrayal had been cold-bloodedly executed. 'Did she know, Philip? Did your wife ever find out?'
'No,' he said flatly. 'Carla never knew anything about it.'
'Are you sure? They say that wives always know—only sometimes they pretend not to.' She stared at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. 'How could you do it? How could you do that to her and live with yourself afterwards?'
Her condemnation of him was so strong that he felt he could almost reach out and touch it, but he knew he couldn't let her stumble along this wrong track any longer, no matter how painful the cost of telling her.
'She didn't know,' he ground out, 'because she wasn't aware.
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