related to the little boy.” She knew all about Mandy and Eric and, like the thoroughly nice person she was, never harboured the least suspicion that Peter might really be Aileen’s own child.
Aileen nodded. “Peter’s father was his cousin,” she explained. “Would you mind looking after Peter for a few minutes? I think he wants to ... to talk about Peter and it might be difficult with him present.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Margetson said instantly. “Come and help me lay the table,” she added, holding out her hand to Peter, and the boy went off with her quite willingly, as Aileen turned with quite unwilling steps to return to the lounge.
Duarte was standing by the window when she entered, but she had the impression that those dark eyes of his had already taken in everything about the room - and indeed the whole house - that he wanted to know,
“Please sit down,” she said as he turned to face her, and he lowered his long length into an armchair, meticulously waiting until she had seated herself.
“Well, now that you’ve met Peter ... ?” She did not realise that her voice was just a little defiant.
“You are to be complimented on the way he has been brought up.”
“Thank you.”
Her voice was conventional this time. The sense of apprehension was growing. Was this the sugar to coat some bitter-tasting pill? Why had he insisted on meeting Peter?
“You are no doubt wondering why I came here.” The dark eyes flickered over her face, but his expression was still as unreadable as ever.
Aileen shrugged, endeavouring to keep her voice quite even. “I suppose you naturally had a certain amount of curiosity to see what Eric’s son would be like.”
“Not only that.” There was a pause, then he went on quite deliberately, “I suppose you realise that I intend to take him back to Spain with me.”
CHAPTER III
Aileen felt herself stiffen. In one flash of knowledge she realised that this was what she had subconsciously dreaded. This was what had caused that strange feeling of apprehension. Far from refusing to acknowledge Peter as an Adriano, he actually wanted to take him away from her.
With a swift uprush of antagonism and defiance she lifted her head and blue eyes met black quite determinedly.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t agree to that, Mr. Adriano.”
“No? It would be to your advantage.”
A spark of fire showed in her eyes. “You’re not thinking of offering me money, I hope?”
“No, I had no intention of insulting you.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was level, yet subtly impregnated with the intense dislike and very active hostility she felt towards him.
“I meant that, earning your own living, you must find a dependent rather a strain,” which was almost the same words that Marius Jenton had used.
She replied to them in the same way. “I manage quite easily - and even if Peter had been a strain on my resources, I still would not regret it.”
He shot her a sharp glance, then abruptly got to his feet, moving over to the window with the smooth, lithe grace she had noticed before. He half turned from her, apparently occupied with an inspection of the pattern on the cretonne curtains. “And Peter himself?”
“I think he is happy with me if that’s what you mean,” Aileen replied evenly.
“That is not quite what I meant.” He turned to face her fully again. “I have already seen that he is happy with you.”
“Then perhaps it might be as well if you told me just what you did mean.”
It was best surely to get the position absolutely clear, although that same sense of apprehension was telling her something of what was apparently in his mind.
“Peter is a member of my family. I wish him to be brought up as an Adriano.”
“His name is Balgare - and Eric was quite emphatic that he did not wish to have anything further to do with his Spanish relatives.” She saw something vaguely speculative flash into the dark eyes and a queer stiffening ran through her body,
Aileen nodded. “Peter’s father was his cousin,” she explained. “Would you mind looking after Peter for a few minutes? I think he wants to ... to talk about Peter and it might be difficult with him present.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Margetson said instantly. “Come and help me lay the table,” she added, holding out her hand to Peter, and the boy went off with her quite willingly, as Aileen turned with quite unwilling steps to return to the lounge.
Duarte was standing by the window when she entered, but she had the impression that those dark eyes of his had already taken in everything about the room - and indeed the whole house - that he wanted to know,
“Please sit down,” she said as he turned to face her, and he lowered his long length into an armchair, meticulously waiting until she had seated herself.
“Well, now that you’ve met Peter ... ?” She did not realise that her voice was just a little defiant.
“You are to be complimented on the way he has been brought up.”
“Thank you.”
Her voice was conventional this time. The sense of apprehension was growing. Was this the sugar to coat some bitter-tasting pill? Why had he insisted on meeting Peter?
“You are no doubt wondering why I came here.” The dark eyes flickered over her face, but his expression was still as unreadable as ever.
Aileen shrugged, endeavouring to keep her voice quite even. “I suppose you naturally had a certain amount of curiosity to see what Eric’s son would be like.”
“Not only that.” There was a pause, then he went on quite deliberately, “I suppose you realise that I intend to take him back to Spain with me.”
CHAPTER III
Aileen felt herself stiffen. In one flash of knowledge she realised that this was what she had subconsciously dreaded. This was what had caused that strange feeling of apprehension. Far from refusing to acknowledge Peter as an Adriano, he actually wanted to take him away from her.
With a swift uprush of antagonism and defiance she lifted her head and blue eyes met black quite determinedly.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t agree to that, Mr. Adriano.”
“No? It would be to your advantage.”
A spark of fire showed in her eyes. “You’re not thinking of offering me money, I hope?”
“No, I had no intention of insulting you.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was level, yet subtly impregnated with the intense dislike and very active hostility she felt towards him.
“I meant that, earning your own living, you must find a dependent rather a strain,” which was almost the same words that Marius Jenton had used.
She replied to them in the same way. “I manage quite easily - and even if Peter had been a strain on my resources, I still would not regret it.”
He shot her a sharp glance, then abruptly got to his feet, moving over to the window with the smooth, lithe grace she had noticed before. He half turned from her, apparently occupied with an inspection of the pattern on the cretonne curtains. “And Peter himself?”
“I think he is happy with me if that’s what you mean,” Aileen replied evenly.
“That is not quite what I meant.” He turned to face her fully again. “I have already seen that he is happy with you.”
“Then perhaps it might be as well if you told me just what you did mean.”
It was best surely to get the position absolutely clear, although that same sense of apprehension was telling her something of what was apparently in his mind.
“Peter is a member of my family. I wish him to be brought up as an Adriano.”
“His name is Balgare - and Eric was quite emphatic that he did not wish to have anything further to do with his Spanish relatives.” She saw something vaguely speculative flash into the dark eyes and a queer stiffening ran through her body,
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