The Sicilian's Mistress by Lynne Graham Page A

you that I would be out for so long.’
    â€˜Nonsense. Go back home this minute. You look awful,’ Louise told her bluntly.
    Relieved by that advice, Faith went back out to her car and drove slowly home to the rambling old farmhouse her parents had bought and renovated when she was a child. In the cosy front hall, the scent of beeswax polish and the ticking of the old grandfather clock enveloped her like a healing blanket.
    Connor ran out of the kitchen, loosed a noisy whoop of welcome and flung himself at her. ‘Mummy!’ he carolled.
    Faith reached down and lifted her son. She hugged him so tightly he gave a yelp of protest. Instantly she loosened her grip and pressed an apologetic kiss to his smooth brow. A great gush of love had just engulfed her, but for the first time there was a piercing arrow of fearful insecurity inside that love.
    He was a gorgeous little boy. The combination of her blonde hair with his dark brows, sparkling brown eyes and golden skin tone was unusual. But all of a sudden Connor wasn’t exclusively her little boy any more. He was the son of a very rich man, who wanted a share of him. How much of a share?
    Her mother emerged from the kitchen. ‘Are you taking the rest of the afternoon off?’ she asked, and then frowned. ‘Oh dear, what’s happened to your hair?’
    â€˜I lost the clasp.’
    Davina Jennings, a small, comfortably rounded woman with short greying fair hair and an air of bustling activity, sighed. ‘You should take time off more often. You do look tired, darling.’
    â€˜Do I?” Averting her head, Faith lowered Connor to the floor.
    She would talk to her parents tonight after dinner. There was no point putting it off. Gianni might just arrive on the doorstep. Possibly storming out on him hadn’t been the wisest move. It might have made her feel better but it would have increased his hostility. And how could she blame him for the reality that she had been his mistress? She had been an adult when she had made that choice, not a helpless little girl.
    â€˜Since you’re home, I think I’ll just pop down to the church hall and check that everything’s ready for that choral do this evening,’ Davina Jennings continued. ‘I know Janet Markham said she would see to it, but I’m afraid the younger women on the ladies’ committee aren’t always as reliable as they like to think.’
    Faith knew that her mother would be out for the rest of the afternoon. Davina loved to be busy. She would go down to the church hall, seize with alacrity on the idea that the floor wasn’t quite clean enough or the kitchen looked a little dingy and roll up her sleeves.
    Faith went upstairs to her bedroom. Connor got down on his knees to run a toy car along the skirting board, making phroom-phroom noises while she got changed. She pulled on a sweater and a comfy denim skirt and took Connor out to the garden.
    It was a lovely mild winter day. But the sense of tranquillity that usually enveloped her outdoors refused to come. What would Gianni do next? She was just sitting here on pins waiting to find out, wasn’t she? Suddenly ashamed of her own passiveness, Faith walked into the kitchen and reached for the phone. It made sense that she should contact Gianni to arrange to meet up with him. The last thing she wanted was for him to arrive unannounced at her home…
    But the receptionist at the hotel didn’t seem to know whether they had a Gianni D’Angelo staying or not. Yet she still requested Faith’s name and address before she mightcondescend to pass on such privileged information. Exasperated, because she was afraid she might lose her nerve, Faith decided to leave a message instead.
    â€˜Tell him Milly would like to see him. I’ll be…I’ll be in the park at four,’ she dictated tautly, and hurriedly replaced the receiver.
    Cloak and dagger stuff, but why give her own name when it