The Spaniard's Love-Child by Kim Lawrence Page B

this discovery. ‘Turn that hob down for me, Raul!’ she instructed without looking at her son.
    â€˜It’s not on.’
    â€˜I did turn it off by mistake, but I distinctly recall turning it back on.’
    â€˜The back burner is on,’ Raul inserted gently.
    A spasm of distress, which seemed to Nell disproportionate to the mild domestic blip, contorted the classical features of the older woman as she sat down heavily in a chair.
    â€˜I do that sort of thing all the time,’ said Nell.
    â€˜It’s not the same. These wretched eyes,’ Aria cried, passing a hand across the items she had cursed. Her expression was tinged with embarrassment as she turned to Nell. ‘I expect Raul has mentioned that my eyesight is not as good as it might be?’
    â€˜He did,’ she confessed uncomfortably. ‘But I thought…’ Nell stopped mid-sentence; you could hardly tell a fond mother that you had thought her son was a liar who had invented a sick parent.
    â€˜What did you think, my dear?’
    Her cheeks burning, Nell’s eyes automatically sought out the tall, silent figure who had left the stove and was crossing the room. Their eyes locked and his knowing expression confirmed her worst fears—he was perfectly aware that she had assumed he’d been lying about his mother’s condition.
    â€˜I expect you thought that he was an over-anxious son exaggerating.’ Unwittingly it was Aria who came to her rescue. ‘I only wish he was,’ she admitted with a sigh.
    Before Nell could respond to this wistful comment Raul came to stand behind his mother. He laid a hand on her shoulder and said something soft and rapid in Spanish. Whatever he said drove the melancholy expression from her face and drew forth her light, musical laughter.
    â€˜Mother has diabetes. It went undiagnosed for some time and unfortunately it has affected her eyesight.’
    â€˜Yes, I have diabetic retinopathy. The doctors are hopeful that the damage has been arrested, however I am still adjusting. An adjustment, which, as Raul rightly says, would be a lot easier if I wasn’t so vain. They want me to use a white stick. A white stick! ’ she exclaimed with an eloquent shudder before sliding seamlessly into her native tongue.
    Nell’s expression grew thoughtful as she listened to the to and fro of conversation between mother and son. ‘Does it need to be white?’
    The conversation stopped.
    â€˜I was just wondering, if the idea is for you to be able to feel obstructions, the colour of the stick really doesn’t matter, does it?’
    â€˜I really don’t see what relevance the colour is.’
    Refusing to be put off by Raul’s dismissive manner, Nell persisted. ‘I mean, people have handbags to match their outfits—why not canes? You could start a new fashion.’ She shrugged as silence greeted her comment. ‘It was just a thought.’
    â€˜And a particularly foolish one.’
    Nell’s chin went up to a belligerent angle. ‘I was only trying to be helpful; there’s no need to be rude.’ She watched his expression darken with annoyance. ‘Would it be foolish if you had thought of it?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t have because I—’
    â€˜Because you are a man,’ his mother interceded. Nell’smoment of triumph was short-lived. ‘It will be so nice to have another woman around the place for a while.’
    â€˜Well, actually, I—’
    Raul cut in with a frown. ‘I thought you were going back home to Spain to rest when Nell moved in.’
    Nell isn’t going to move in! It was a simple enough thing to say, so why, oh, why couldn’t she just say it? The longer she delayed, the harder it was going to be. Why hadn’t Raul’s mother turned out to be a horrid, cold aristocrat and not warm, genuine and very obviously in need of support?
    â€˜And I shall, only Nell and the children