The Mistress's Child Read Online Free

was a commitment you made for life, not something to be picked up and put down at will—especially if the father of that child was married.
    Except now that his wife was dead. So didn't that change things?

Lisi shook her head. 'Nobody knows. Not a living soul.' She stared at Marian. 'Except for you, of course.'
    'I won't tell him, if that's what you're worried about, Lisi,' said Marian awkwardly 'But what if he finds out anyway?'
    'He can't! He won't!'
    'He's planning on buying a house here. It's a small village. What if he starts putting two and two together and coming up with the right answer? Surely he'll be able to work out for himself that he's the father?'
    Lisi shook her head. Why should he? It was a long time ago. Months blurred into years and women blurred into other women, until each was indistinguishable from the last. 'Maybe he won't find a house to suit him?' she suggested optimistically, but Marian shook her head with a steely determination which Lisi recognised as the nine-carat businesswoman inside her.
    'Oh, no, Lisi—don't even think of going down that road. This is strictly business. And if a client—any client—wants to buy a house from this agency, then we find one for him to buy. Beginning and end of story. I simply can't allow you to prejudice any sale because of some past quarrel with your child's father—which in my opinion, needs some kind of resolution before Tim gets much older.'
    'An outsider doesn't know how it feels,' said Lisi miserably.
    'Maybe that's best. An outsider can tell you what she thinks you need rather than what you think you want.' Marian's face softened again. 'Listen, dear,' she said gently, 'why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off? You look much too shaken to do any more work. Peter will be back from his viewing shortly—and it's always quiet at this time of the year. Think about what I've said. Sleep on it. It may be better in the long run if you just come clean and tell Philip the truth about Tim.'

Better for whom? wondered Lisi as she took off her work shoes and changed into the Wellington boots she always I wore to work when the weather was as inclement as it was I today. It certainly wouldn't be better for her.
    She felt disorientated and at a loss, and not just because
    of Philip's unexpected reappearance. Tim didn't finish nursery until four, which meant that she had nearly two hours going spare and now she wasn't quite sure what to do with them. How ironic. All the times when she had I longed for a little space on her own, when the merry-go-round of work and single motherhood had threatened to
    drag her down—and here she was with time on her hands and wishing that she had something to fill it.
    She didn't want to go home, because if she did then she would feel guilty for not putting any washing into the ma- chine, or preparing supper for Tim, or any of the other eight I million tasks which always needed to be done. And mundane tasks would free up her mind, forcing her to confront the disturbing thoughts which were buzzing around inside her head.
    Instead, she turned up her coat collar against the chill breeze, and headed up the main village street, past the duck pond.
    The light was already beginning to die from the sky and the contrasting brightness of the fairy lights and glittering Christmas trees which decorated every shop window made the place look like an old-fashioned picture postcard. How their gaiety mocked her.
    The breeze stung her cheeks, and now and again, tiny little flakes of snow fluttered down from the sky to melt on her face like icy tears.

    The weathermen had been promising a white Christmas, and, up until today, it had been one of Lisi's main preoccupations—whether her son would see his first snow at the most special time of year for a child.

But thoughts of a white Christmas had been eclipsed by thoughts of Philip, and now they were threatening to engulf her, making her realise just why she had put him in a slot in her