Hate to Love You(75)

I snorted softly. James would never do anything so common as to book a package holiday. No, they probably flew first class and stayed in a private five-star mansion with staff to cater to their every whim. Nothing like the kind of place I could take Ryan.

Like Blackpool.

Another picture showed James and Ryan on a rugby pitch with a team of players. James had a whistle slung around his neck and his jersey said Coach.

I read the school letter on Ryan’s desk, stating the date and time of the next parent-teacher conference. James had chosen next Thursday, 6:30 p.m. to see the Year Two teacher, Miss Carter. Next to the comments section, he’d written “discuss maths and reading extension work.”

It shouldn’t have been so disconcerting that James had a facet to his life that I didn’t, especially after my epiphany at Les Miserables. Still, it was a revelation. When I went home at night I switched on the TV; he switched on the Parent.

It was obvious that father and son shared a strong bond. I had suspected as much, what with James being a single dad. I knew from observing Marcia with Fleur Anise that the relationship was perhaps closer than it might have been were she not a single mum. But it was one thing to know that James loved Ryan deeply and quite another to see the evidence in 2D.#p#分页标题#e#

Did Ryan wish, even a teensy bit, that he had a mother?

I sat next to him and put my ear to his soft breath. Funny how seemingly insignificant events can cause devastation on a massive scale. A butterfly flaps its wings and a few weeks later a tsunami wipes out Sri Lanka.

I was wiped out by a child’s soft snore.

Ryan was happy. He didn’t need me and he never had. How would he react to having his secure little life upturned by the arrival of a drug-addict mother? What did I have to offer him except a scarred past and inept, clueless “parenting”? Knowing me would make him feel insecure instead of loved.

I heard again my words to James, the self-righteous demands to see Ryan sounding like nails raking on glass. No wonder he had been so disappointed at my attitude. He had a perfectly happy son whose life would be upturned forever if I entered it.

When would I learn that it was too late? Too late to make different decisions and too late to rectify my mistakes. I steadied myself against the bed board. My compass was definitely wacko and I didn’t know what to do anymore.

Maybe I should throw it away.

I kissed Ryan’s soft cheek and took one long, last look at him. “Goodbye,” I whispered.

It was time to let him go. I would rather be locked in a room with Manuel than upset Ryan’s happiness with my selfishness.

James was waiting for me in the sitting room, immaculately dressed once more.

Delicious, my mind sighed.

But there would be no repeat of our powerful, erotic exchange. It was over.

Forgotten.

Silently, we walked along the corridors back to the party. “I’m handing in my notice on Monday,” I said. “I never should have forced myself on you and made your working environment uncomfortable.”

James stopped, forcing me to do the same. “I don’t want you to quit.”

My mouth hung open and he smiled faintly.

“I meant what I said to Caroline. You’re the best secretary we’ve ever had, even if you are prone to criminal behaviour.”

I gulped back a gushing response. “I’ll stay until the end of my probation because I need a good reference, not to mention the money,” I added. “But you can relax, I won’t be making any more demands about Ryan.”

“You won’t need to.”

“I won’t?”

“My mother showed me your hair follicle test and after careful consideration I have decided to grant your request to visit with Ryan,” he said. “I was going to tell you when I got back from Madrid on Wednesday. We can talk about it over dinner if you like.”

I could see Ryan and James was inviting me to dinner?

Duh, my mind said. Proximity makes the Paisley grow stupider, remember? That’s what the man said. Now make an excuse because there is no way you can go out with him.

But I couldn’t obey. I was thrown by James’s decision and by his invitation. I felt touched—no, I felt caressed by his trust. As if he’d reached into the sore, twisted thing in my chest and stroked it back into life. I was filled with wonder, gratitude, so much that my guilt over Ryan’s real paternity was momentarily forgotten.

“But I’ve been so selfish, only thinking about what I wanted and not considering Ryan’s best interests,” I said, ashamed of my impulsive plans and petty jealousy. “I don’t want to cause him any pain.”

“Then don’t,” he said soberly.