C HRISTIEN was paralysed to the spot by shock as he watched Jake fight to get air into his skinny little chest. As Christien had not even a nodding acquaintance with what fear felt like, his fear on his son’s behalf hit him as hard as a bullet from a gun. He watched Tabby grab up what looked like an inhaler and tend to the little boy. His little boy.
‘What’s the matter with him…what can I do?’ Christien demanded, sick to the stomach with the force of his concern.
‘You don’t need to do anything. Jake’s fine.’ Tabby’s squeaky tone was a leaden but obvious attempt to conceal her anxiety sooner than increase the risk of Jake getting more upset. ‘It’s just a little asthma attack and the medication in the bronchodilator will help put it under control.’
Unimpressed and constitutionally incapable of standing around doing nothing and feeling helpless, Christien stepped out onto the landing, dug out his mobile phone and hastily called a doctor.
Even as his son’s breathing difficulties subsided Christien discovered that he could not take his attention from Jake. In appearance the little boy was unmistakably a Laroche. His black curls ran down into a peak at the hairline just as Christien’s did. His eyes were just like his paternal grandmother’s-dark, liquid and very expressive. His olive skin was in direct contrast to Tabby’s fair colouring and the pure lines of his bone structure were already hinting at the strong features that could be seen in the family paintings. However, in apparent defiance of those genes from a tall, well-built family, Jake looked shockingly small and slight to Christien, who had had very little to do with young children. But then illness had probably stunted his son’s growth, Christien reflected sadly.
Tabby’s tension was beginning to drain away when Christien sat down on the other side of Jake’s bed as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Jake stared at the tall, dark male in his city suit with huge surprised eyes.
Tabby was annoyed that Christien was pushing in just when she had got her son calmed down. ‘Jake…this is-’
Christien closed a hand over Jake’s tiny one and breathed shakily, ‘I am your papa…your father, Christien Laroche-’
‘Christien!’ Tabby hissed in a piercing whisper, shaken by the ill-considered immediacy of that startling announcement. ‘If you upset him, it could cause another-’
‘Daddy…?’
Jake was studying Christien with big, wondering eyes.
‘Daddy…Papa. You can call me whatever you like.’ Satisfied to have introduced himself and claimed his rightful place in his son’s life, Christien smoothed a thumb over the little fingers curling within his. He smiled. Jake began to smile too.
‘Do you like football?’ Jake piped up hopefully.
‘Never miss a match,’ Christien lied w
ithout hesitation.
Feeling excluded for the first time since her son had been born, Tabby watched in a daze as Jake and Christien proceeded to demonstrate that the gap between three years and twenty-nine years was not so great as any mere female disinterested in sport might have supposed. But then Christien was bright enough and smooth enough to sell sand in a desert. A bell sounded and she jerked in surprise, only then appreciating that the cottage now possessed a doorbell.
‘That will probably be the doctor.’ Christien vaulted upright.
‘You called out a doctor?’ Tabby questioned in some annoyance.
‘Don’t go, Daddy,’ Jake protested worriedly.
Tabby hurried downstairs and opened the door to a suave medic in a suit. Jake clasped in one strong arm, Christien hailed the older man from the top of the stairs, and from that point on, as the French dialogue whizzed back and forth too fast for Tabby to follow and Jake was examined, Christien was in charge. Apart from the occasional question relating to the treatment Jake had received in London for his asthma, Tabby was required to play little part in the discussion that took place.
Finally, having shown the doctor out again, Tabby returned to Jake’s bedroom. Christien held a silencing finger to his lips. Her son had fallen asleep in his father’s arms. That Christien had won Jake’s trust so easily shook Tabby. ‘Let me tuck him in.’
‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to risk waking him up again,’ Christien asserted.
Tabby was tempted to snatch Jake from Christien’s arms and she was ashamed of her own streak of childish possessiveness. ‘You can’t be comfortable lying there like that.’
‘Why not? Are you the only one of us allowed to show parental affection?’ Christien queried, smooth as silk, dark golden eyes flaming satiric gold over his son’s downbent head. ‘I have a lot of time to make up with Jake. I won’t miss out on a single opportunity that comes my way. If he is comfortable, I will lie here all night and I really don’t care how uncomfortable I get or how you feel about that.’
Hot colour flooded her cheeks. He had thrown down a gauntlet but it was not one she was willing to pick up as yet. She was moving in uncharted territory. Christien had accepted that Jake was his without a single word of the protest she had expected or even a demand for further proof. That was good, she told herself. That he should be angry was natural, she told herself in addition. On the surface, Christien might seem to be handling her bombshell very well but, in reality, he had to be in shock too and he needed time to adjust. It would be foolish of her to argue with him before he had even had the chance to think through what being Jake’s father would demand from him.
Tabby sat down on the chair by the wall. She wanted to cuddle Jake, reassure herself that he was fine again, but instead Christien had him and she felt constrained. ‘There was really no need for you to contact a doctor,’ she remarked. ‘It was a very mild attack-’
Christien gave her a hard look of challenge, his strong jawline set firm. ‘I can afford the very best medical attention and I intend to avail myself of it for my son’s benefit. I would like him to see a couple of consultants. I want to be sure that he receives the best possible treatment.’
‘Don’t you think that you should discuss that first with me?’ Tabby was fighting her own resentment over his high-handed attitude with all her might, for she did not want to be unreasonable.
‘For three and a half years you have made all the decisions on our son’s behalf and I am not impressed by the value of your judgement.’
Tabby set her teeth together. ‘You’re not being fair.’