Wanting His Child

‘I know,’ Verity agreed quietly.

For a moment they looked at one another and then Honor told her quickly, ‘Look, the restaurant’s here,’ directing Verity’s attention to the building in front of them. ‘Don’t let them give us a bad table just because we’re two women eating alone without a man,’ Honor hissed to Verity as they walked inside.

‘Two what…?’ Verity started to question, but the maître d’ was already approaching them and, mindful not only of Honor’s stern admonition but also of the fact that as a potential mentor—not to mention role model—to the young girl, it behoved her to set a good example, she looked him firmly in the eye and said, ‘We’d like a table for two, please. That one over there,’ she added, pointing to what was obviously their ‘best’ table.

Without batting an eyelid the maître d’ swept them both a small bow and agreed, ‘Very well, Madam, if you would just follow me.’

‘That was good,’ Honor acknowledged gleefully when they had been seated.

‘No,’ Verity corrected her wryly with a grin, ‘that was Gucci,’ she told her flicking her fingertips over her suit. ‘It isn’t just long hair that men are susceptible to, you know,’ she pointed out drolly, before picking up her menu.

‘Ready to order?’ she asked Honor several minutes later.

‘Mmm…’ the young girl agreed.

Raising her hand discreetly, Verity summoned the maître d’, waiting until Honor had given him her order before giving her own.

‘Oh, and I’d like a glass of the house red as well,’ Honor included decidedly.

The maître d’ was visibly and seriously impressed, as well he might be, Verity acknowledged as, considerably less so, she gave Honor a thoughtful look.

‘Er…with water,’ Honor amended hastily, obviously sensing the veto that was about to leave Verity’s lips.

‘It’s okay,’ she told Verity defensively when the waiter had gone. ‘Dad lets me—he says it’s important for me to grow up learning how to handle alcohol. He says it makes for less mistakes later.’

‘Dad said that you used to live here, in town,’ Honor commented to Verity once they were eating their starter.

‘Er, yes. Yes, I did,’ Verity agreed.

‘Did you know him then?’ Honor asked her.

Verity paused, the forkful of food she had been lifting towards her mouth suddenly unappetising for all its rich, delicious smell.

‘Er…no, I don’t think so,’ she prevaricated. How much had Silas told his daughter? Not the truth. How could he?

‘Did you know my mother?’ Honor asked her, startling Verity with the unexpectedness of the question.

‘No. No, I didn’t,’ she told her truthfully. Poor child, and she was a child still, for all her quaintly grown-up ways and determined independence, Verity recognised. It couldn’t be easy for her, growing up without any real personal knowledge of the woman who had given birth to her.

‘She and Dad met when he was staying in London,’ Honor told her pragmatically, ‘so I didn’t think you would. I don’t look very much like her.’

‘No, you look like your father,’ Verity agreed, her heart suddenly jolting against her ribs as the restaurant door opened and the subject of their conversation walked in, accompanied by a woman whom Verity didn’t recognise but who she guessed must be his ‘friend’ Myra.

‘What is it?’ Honor asked her innocently.

‘Your father’s just walked in,’ Verity told her warningly, but to her surprise, instead of reacting as she had expected, the little girl simply dimpled a wide smile that caused sharp alarm bells to ring in Verity’s brain.

‘You knew he was coming here,’ she breathed.

‘It’s the “in” place to be seen, but Myra won’t be very pleased that we’ve got the best table,’ Honor told her sunnily.

No, she certainly wasn’t, Verity acknowledged,

quickly assessing the other woman’s angry-mouthed expression, and, what was more, Verity suspected that it wasn’t simply the fact that the best table wasn’t free that was angering her. Their presence—full stop—Verity rather guessed had a very definite something to do with the other woman’s ire.

In any other circumstances the sternly condemnatory look Silas was sending her would probably have had her scuttling for the exit, Verity reflected ruefully, but she could hardly leave Honor to face her father’s wrath alone, even if perhaps she did semi-deserve it.

Silas was heading for their table, having bent his head to say something first to his girlfriend, who was now standing glaring viciously, not so much at her as at Honor, Verity recognised with a strong surge of protection towards the young girl.