No...what I needed to do was slap myself silly, right after I took this opportunity to press my case. Who knew when I’d get another chance? I cleared my throat.
“I would like to see Ryan. Please.”
His gave me a hard stare. “Why?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “He’s my son and I have a right to see him regardless of the paperwork I signed.”
James rocked back on his heels. The tightening of his lips and the small crease between his brows weren’t subtle enough to hide his answer. I had failed his judgement, just as I had the first day we’d met. And like back then I was missing something—something only centimetres beyond my reach. From the look on James’s face he thought I would never find it.
His answer was a soft and definite, “No.”
My face felt stiff with the effort not to scream. I was sick and tired of having to justify why I wanted to see my own child. Should I tell of my grief, of the ache that kept me awake at night? It would make no difference to the man in front of me.
“I’m Ryan’s mother,” I said angrily.
James gazed out over London without answering. He didn’t seem angry though, merely lost in thought. No doubt wishing he’d slept with anyone but a malicious, teenaged addict. I was a fool to believe that two dances and a few heartfelt words would change his opinion of me.
I grabbed my handbag and made for the door before I said something I regretted.
“Heading home?”
It was Friday night and I was damned if I was going to admit I didn’t have plans. I paused at the door. “I’m going out to dinner and then dancing,” I said, bringing forward my evening plans by one day.
“With your special friend?”
I blinked at his overly casual tone. Francesca must have told him about meeting Tarzan in the park. His inflection on “special” was so tiny you’d have to be tuned in to channel JXS-T to hear it. There was something watchful in his stance that got my hackles up. Was he looking for another reason to deny me access to Ryan, thinking I’d be dining and drinking followed by dancing and drugging?
“Tarzan is a Church of England minister and we do things like go to the cinema or concerts, when he’s not too busy. He’s a wicked salsa dancer, with a great sense of rhythm and fantastic hip action. He—”
“I’d better not keep you then,” he said, turning his back.
Why hadn’t I trod on his foot with my stiletto?
Chapter Fourteen
Misery Really Does Love Company
After Mr Lemane’s party James was constantly on channel F for frown. He edged away if I passed within an inch and tried to avoid being alone with me. Did he regret our dance and the revelations that had followed? Or had he hashed out the past with Francesca and now blamed me for exposing her deceit? I didn’t want to believe James could be so unfair, but where I was concerned I feared that he could.
I preferred to think one of our snooty clients complained about me. I had become pretty nifty at “tax liability minimisation” procedures but I found myself triple-checking everything I did. Of course, being James, he was as pedantic about supervising my work as ever. My tolerance threshold for supercilious lawyers is low at the best of times and his cool broodiness was seriously testing me.
I’d had to come up with a plan of action so James would look at me like he had after the party, frank and open. I told myself that I wanted him to speak to me only because of Ryan and my mind grumbled uneasily. I ignored her. My desire to see Ryan was strong and my purpose clear. Penetrating looks and sudden frowns weren’t going to knock me off target.#p#分页标题#e#
James looked up from his desk and I turned away, almost getting caught staring. I shrugged off my awkwardness and decided to put my plan into action.
Step One: Elicit friendly, relaxed James via non-confrontational topic of conversation.
I didn’t make it to Step Two.
What the hell did he want from me? I had tried joking with him but I should have known better since I’m crap at being funny. Next I talked about films but James belongs to an alternate reality where there’s no such thing as a cinema. Finally, I resorted to the weather.
No change.
My strange melancholy grew heavier, filling my days with hopelessness. I didn’t need or want to cross-examine myself because it could only mean one thing: I was never going to hold my son again or be a part of his life.
I watched James smile and talk with Velma and fumed. You won’t talk to me but dancing is okay? Flirting with me, pressing against me and making me breathless?
Oh for crap’s sake!
I had to do something, but what? The old Paisley would have cut to the chase, taunted James into revealing what his problem was and laughed if he insulted her. That brash eighteen-year-old girl was still a part of who I was, but she now shared space with someone else entirely. Someone I couldn’t layer with toughness or paint with indifference. My only hope was that she wouldn’t sprout from my body and show herself to James.