Читать книгу His Child: The Mistress's Child / Nathan's Child / D'Alessandro's Child - Catherine Spencer, Anne McAllister - Страница 13

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘TIM, darling—please don’t eat any more—you’ll be sick!’

‘One more, Mum-mee!’

Lisi lunged towards him, but he had crammed another chocolate in his mouth before she could stop him. She took the stocking away from him firmly. ‘That’s enough chocolate!’ she said sternly. ‘We’ve got tea to get through next.’ And her face fell.

Rachel leaned across the table, holding a bottle of port. ‘Have a glass?’ she suggested. ‘You haven’t got far to go, and it is Christmas Day!’

‘You don’t need to remind me,’ said Lisi gloomily. She looked down at her son, who was busy licking chocolate off the inside of the wrapper. ‘Put that down, darling, and go away and play with Blaine until it’s time to go!’

To her relief, Tim went scampering off, and, after a swift glance at her wrist-watch, Lisi curled her feet up underneath her. Another hour until the avenging Caprice appeared on her doorstep. ‘I could just go to sleep.’ She yawned.

‘On Christmas Day? Show me the mother of a child under ten who couldn’t, and I’ll show you a liar!’ chortled Rachel, and then a look of concern criss-crossed her brow as she glanced across at her friend. ‘You okay?’

Lisi shrugged. ‘As okay as anyone can be when they’re having their arm twisted.’ She had told Rachel everything. She had seen no cause not to. There was no longer any point in keeping anything back. People would know—or guess—soon enough when she and Tim started traipsing down the lane for cosy afternoons and evenings with him!

‘I still can’t believe he’s bought The Old Rectory,’ said Lisi crossly. ‘And what is even more unbelievable is that he railroaded his lawyers into rushing through the deal. They complete in the New Year,’ she finished. ‘What a wonderful way to start the year—Philip Caprice firmly ensconced in my old family home.’

‘I think it’s rather romantic,’ sighed Rachel.

‘Romantic?’ squeaked Lisi.

‘Mmm. I can’t imagine Dave doing something like that—even if he could afford to.’

‘But you wouldn’t want him to, would you?’ asked Lisi, raising her eyebrows in surprise. ‘I thought you said that if you never saw him again, it would be much too soon?’

Rachel shrugged and swirled her port around in the glass, so that it looked like a claret-coloured whirlpool. ‘I suppose not. It’s just that sometimes I get lonely—well, often, actually—and Christmas is the worst. Even if Dave wasn’t the most wonderful husband in the world, at least he was there. I guess I miss having a man around the place.’

And that was the difference between them, thought Lisi—she had been content enough with her single status. Not that she had been anti-men, or anything like that—she just hadn’t particularly missed having a partner. Until she reminded herself that she had never actually had a partner.

‘I’d better think about making a move,’ she said reluctantly, thinking how warm and cosy it was by Rachel’s fireside.

Rachel nodded. ‘You’ll need to change.’

‘Will I hell? There’s nothing wrong with this dress!’

‘Except that Tim has smeared chocolate all over it,’ commented Rachel, with a smile.

Lisi looked down at her dress to see several brown, sticky thumbprints! She smiled at her friend. ‘We’ve had a wonderful time today,’ she said softly.

‘Me, too.’

‘Sure you won’t come over for a drink later on?’

Rachel pulled a face and giggled. ‘And face the daunting Philip Caprice after what you’ve told me about him? Er, I’ll take a rain check, thanks, Lisi!’

Lisi packed up their presents in a carrier bag and wrapped Tim up warmly in his little duffle-coat and the brand-new bobble hat and matching scarf which Santa had brought him. She kissed Rachel and Blaine goodbye and they set off home in the crisp air.

Although it was only just past four, it was already pitch-black and there was a curious silence which had descended over the whole village. But then it was Christmas Day. Everyone was inside, making merry with their families—falling asleep after their big lunches, or playing games or watching weepie films on television.

She let them in and thought how cold the house was. Better light a fire. She drew the curtains and knelt in front of the brand-new toy railway track and began to push one of the trucks around it with her finger. ‘Choo-choo,’ she chanted. ‘Choo-choo!’

‘Me, Mum-mee! Me play with the train!’

She smiled. ‘Go on, then, and I’ll light the fire.’

She efficiently dealt with the logs and paper until the blaze was spitting and glowing. She put the big fire-guard in front of it, and went into her bedroom to change.

She had just stripped off her dress and was standing in her bra and pants when there was a knock at the front door and she glanced at her watch in horror. He couldn’t be here! Not yet. But who else would it be on Christmas afternoon?

Saying a few choice words underneath her breath, she dragged on her dressing gown and opened the front door to find his tall figure dominating her view, blotting out the moon completely. He was carrying presents, but she barely gave them a second glance. Not only had he demanded this visit—he didn’t even have the courtesy to be on time!

‘You’re early!’ she accused.

He thought that no woman had the right to look as sexy as that—not when she was wearing an old flannelette dressing gown which had clearly seen better days—but Lisi did. Maybe it was something to do with the fact that he knew only too well what fabulous curves lay beneath its rather shapeless covering. Or because, for once, she had let her hair fall free and unfettered, spilling in abundant ebony streams to her waist. He had only ever seen it loose once before and he felt the blood begin to sing in his veins as he remembered just when.

‘And a very happy Christmas to you, too,’ he replied sardonically. ‘I left my parents slightly ahead of schedule because they predicted snow—’

‘Where?’ asked Lisi, theatrically peering at the sky and then at the ground. ‘I don’t see any snow!’

He tried to take into consideration the fact that she had obviously been changing. ‘My apologies,’ he murmured. ‘And now, do you think I can come inside? It’s getting pretty chilly standing here.’

She held the door open ungraciously, but as she closed it on the bitter night she reminded herself that she had vowed there would be no unpleasantness. Not in front of Tim. And especially not today, of all days.

Philip lowered his voice. ‘Have you told him?’

She bit her lip. ‘Not yet.’

He looked at her in disbelief. ‘Hell, Lisi—it’s been a week!’

She shook her head. ‘I just couldn’t work out how to do it—it’s not something you can come out with very easily and explain to a child of three. ‘‘By the way, darling—you know that strange man who turned up on the doorstep on your birthday? Well, he’s your daddy!’’’

‘There’s no need to make it sound so—’

‘So like the truth?’

He sighed. ‘So when are you going to tell him?’

‘Not me, Philip. Us. You, mainly.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you! I’ll leave you to do the talking—I’m sure you’ll put it in the most diplomatic way possible.’ Hot tears stung at her eyes and she turned away before he could see them. ‘I just haven’t got a clue what to say. Tim!’ she called. ‘Tim!’

‘Is it Faver Chrissmas ’gain?’ squeaked a little voice and Tim came pelting out and almost collided with the tall figure in the hall. He looked up at him with huge aquamarine eyes.

So like Lisi’s eyes, thought Philip. ‘Hello,’ he said.

‘You’re Mum-mee’s friend!’ announced Tim triumphantly.

‘That’s right! And I’ve come to have tea with you both—if that’s okay with you?’

‘Did Faver Chrissmas bring you lots of presents?’

‘Not lots,’ said Philip gravely. ‘Some.’

‘I got lots!’

Philip smiled. ‘Do you want to show me?’

Tim nodded excitedly and eyed the brightly wrapped parcels in Philip’s arms with interest. ‘Who are those presents for?’ he asked coyly.

Philip laughed. ‘They’re for you. We’ll open them when Mummy has changed out of her dressing gown.’ He shot Lisi a questioning look and she realised that she had been standing there just gawping.

‘I’ll go and get changed.’ She nodded, wondering just how he had always had the knack of seeming to be in charge!

She shut the bedroom door behind her, her heart thundering just with the knowledge that he was here, such a short distance away, and that she was standing in her underwear and looking at it critically in the mirror.

A functional peach-coloured bra and knickers which didn’t even match—but who cared? She certainly wasn’t planning for him to get a glimpse of them.

But you would like him to, wouldn’t you? taunted a mischievous voice in her head, and she shook her head at her reflection in the mirror.

She still wanted him, yes—but things were complicated enough as they were. Resuming a physical relationship with him would only add to those. She gave a wry smile as she pulled on a pair of old blue jeans and an ice-blue sweater. Who was she kidding? As if a few short hours in someone’s arm could be defined as a relationship.

She raked the brush through her hair, tempted to tie it back—but decided that she couldn’t leave him sitting out there waiting for her for much longer, so she left it loose.

She walked back into the sitting room to find that he was playing trains with Tim, and when he looked up his eyes were quietly smouldering.

‘Is—everything okay?’ she asked.

He steeled himself against the impact of her beauty, and jerked his head towards the roaring fire instead. He stood up and came to stand beside her, lowering his voice into an undertone so that only she could hear. ‘Do you usually leave Tim here on his own, while you titillate yourself in the next room?’

For a moment she didn’t quite get his drift, and when she did her mouth set itself into a mulish line. So he thought he could walk back into their lives and start criticising her skills as a mother, did he?

‘I was hardly titillating,’ she answered icily, gesturing to her casual clothes with an angry, jerking motion. ‘Just getting changed out of a dress which Tim had liberally smeared with chocolate.’

‘Lisi, he was alone in the room with a fire—for heaven’s sake! Do you really think that’s safe for a three-year-old?’

The injustice of it stung her. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on,’ she said, between gritted teeth, and marched out to the kitchen.

He followed her, as she had known he would, but remained standing in the doorway so that he could keep an eye on the toddler who was still engrossed in his new train-set.

He saw the fury in the stiff set of her shoulders. ‘Listen, I wasn’t meaning to be judgemental,’ he said softly.

She clicked the kettle on and turned round, her eyes spitting pale blue fire. ‘Like hell you weren’t!’

‘I was only just pointing out—’

‘Well, don’t!’ she said, in a low, shaking voice. ‘Do you think I’ve brought him up in a house which has a fire and not taught him that he is never to go near it?’

‘Listen—’

‘No, you listen! What do you think it’s like as a single parent living with a little boy? Have you ever stopped to think about it?’

‘Actually, no—but then it wasn’t number one on my list of priorities. Until now.’

She met the quizzical green stare fearlessly. ‘Even taking a bath has to be planned with all the attention you would give to a military campaign!’ she declared. ‘As for going to the bathroom—well, you don’t want to know!’

He glanced back towards Tim and then at her again. It had never occurred to him. Why should it? People rarely considered the practical problems of child-rearing unless they were contemplating taking the plunge themselves. He sighed. ‘You’re right. I had no right—’

‘No, you didn’t!’ she agreed furiously. ‘You have only to take a look at him to realise that he is a happy, contented little boy. The world is full of dangers, Philip—and I have had to teach him about them all. Never to talk to strangers. Never to approach a dog that might bite him. The fact that the roads aren’t safe—’ She saw him flinch, and wished she hadn’t chosen an example which would remind him of Carla. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shook his head. ‘The cotton-wool remark still holds true. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

‘No, you shouldn’t!’ She pointed to the kitchen cupboards with an air of frustration. ‘I’ve had all these cupboards child-proofed so that he can’t get into them. I don’t leave bottles of bleach lying around the place for him to find—and there’s a stair-gate at the foot of the stairs! Please credit me with a little more sense and caring, Philip! He has had it drummed into him from the word go that fires are dangerous and must be treated with respect and caution—and that Mummy is the only person who touches the fire.’

He watched her warm the pot and then make the tea. He had been lucky in a way, he guessed. She could have been the kind of mother who didn’t care—who saw Tim as a mistake who had taken away her youth and her freedom. But she had created a home for him, a warm and loving home, he realised.

She was right. You had only to look at the child to see that he was happy and contented and well cared for. Stimulated, too—to judge from his conversation.

‘Can I do anything?’ he asked.

She couldn’t resist it. ‘Better go back in and keep your eye on Tim,’ she said sweetly. ‘I can manage here.’

He nodded, and his gaze swept over her, beguiling her and capturing her in its intense green light. ‘And we’ll tell him?’

Lisi swallowed. She couldn’t keep putting it off. They couldn’t keep putting it off. ‘I have no choice, do I?’ she asked quietly, but noticed that he didn’t bother answering that—he didn’t need to—just turned away and walked back into the sitting room.

She carried the tea-tray through and brought in Christmas cake and mince pies and slices of Stollen.

Philip looked up as she began to unload it all onto the table and gave a rueful smile. ‘Not sure if I can eat again—at least until the New Year.’

She forced herself to be conversational. They were shortly to drop the biggest bombshell into Tim’s life—let him see that his mother and his father didn’t actually hate one another.

‘Did your mother feed you up?’

He nodded. ‘It’s my first Christmas here for years—in Maraban they don’t celebrate it.’

Tim looked up. ‘Where’s Malaban?’ he chirped.

‘Maraban,’ corrected Philip, and his eyes softened as he looked down at the interested face of his son. ‘It’s a country in the Middle East. A beautiful land with a great big desert—do you know what a desert is, Tim?’

He shook his dark head, mesmerised.

‘It’s made of sand—lots of sand—and only the very toughest of plants can grow there.’

‘What telse?’ asked Tim. ‘In Malaban?’

Philip smiled. ‘Oh, there are fig trees and wild walnut trees, and the mountain slopes are covered in forests of juniper and pistachio trees—’

‘What’s st-stachio tree?’ piped up Tim. ‘Like an apple tree?’

Philip shook his head. ‘Not really. A pistachio is a nut,’ he explained. ‘A delicious pale green nut in a little shell—’

‘He’s too young for nuts!’ put in Lisi immediately.

He guessed that he deserved that, and nodded. ‘Oh, and there are lots of animals there, too,’ he said. ‘Jackals and wild boar and rare, pink deer.’

Tim’s eyes were like saucers, thought Lisi. He probably thought that Philip was concocting a wonderful fairy-tale land, and, come to think of it, that was exactly what it sounded like.

‘Do you live there?’ asked Tim.

‘I did. But not any more.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it was time for me to come back to England.’

‘Why?’

‘Tim—’ began Lisi, but Philip shook his head.

‘I used to work for a prince.’

Lisi looked at Tim—now he really did think that this was a story!

‘A real prince?’

‘Uh-huh. Prince Khalim. Only the prince got married and so it was time for me to move on.’

Tim nodded solemnly. ‘Will you play trains with me?’

He met her eyes across the room. Now, they urged her, and Lisi knew that she must begin this particular story. She took time pouring tea, and gave Tim a beaker of juice, and then she went to sit down on the floor next to both of them and cleared her throat.

‘Tim, darling?’

A train was chugged along the track by a small, chubby finger.

‘Tim? Look at Mummy, darling.’

His long-lashed eyes locked on hers and she felt the almost painfully overwhelming love of motherhood. She steadied her breathing. ‘Do you remember that once you asked me why you hadn’t got a daddy?’

Philip stilled as Tim nodded.

‘And I told you that he had gone away a long time ago and that I wasn’t sure if he was ever coming back?’

Again Tim nodded, but this time Philip flinched.

‘Well…’ She hesitated, but in her heart she knew that there was no way to say this other than using clear and truthful words which a three-year-old would understand. ‘Well, he did come back, darling and…’

Tim was staring up at Philip. ‘Are you my daddy?’

He felt the prick of tears at the back of his eyes as he nodded. ‘Yes, Tim,’ he answered, his voice thickening. ‘I am.’

Tim nodded, and bent his head to push the train around the track once more.

‘Tim?’ questioned Lisi tentatively, because she couldn’t see the expression on his face, and when he lifted it it was unusually calm and accepting, as if he were told things like this every day of the week.

‘An’ are you going ’way again? To Malaban?’ he asked casually, as if it didn’t really matter, but Lisi could tell from that oddly fierce look of concentration on his little face that it did.

Philip shook his head, unable to speak for a moment. ‘No, Tim,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to buy a house in the village and see you as many weekends as your mummy will let me.’

He met her gaze with a question in his eyes.

So if I don’t let him, then I’m the big, bad witch, she thought bitterly.

‘An’ are you and Mummy getting married?’

The silence which greeted this remark made Lisi as uncomfortable as she had ever felt in her life. She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, darling—nothing like that!’

‘Why?’

Oh, why had she brought him up to be so alert and questioning? To pursue every subject until he was satisfied with the answers?

‘Because not all mummies and daddies live together, now, do they?’ she asked gently. ‘Blaine’s daddy doesn’t live with Blaine’s mummy any more, does he?’

‘That’s ’cos he’s livin’ with a witch!’

‘A witch?’ squeaked Lisi in confusion.

‘That’s what Blaine heard his Mum-mee say!’

Philip bit back a smile. He suspected that the word had been ‘bitch’. ‘I would like to get to know you a little better, if that’s okay with you, Tim. And Mummy and I will be great friends, won’t we, Lisi?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed, but her eyes flashed him a different message entirely. ‘Definitely.’

‘So what have you got to say to all that?’ asked Philip, and, unable to resist it for any longer, reached out his hand to ruffle the silky blackness of the little head.

Tim put his train down and looked up at her. ‘Can I have more chocolate, Mum-mee?’ he asked.

The question shattered the tension in the atmosphere, and Philip and Lisi both burst out laughing, their eyes colliding in a brief expression of shared joy that made her heart thunder beneath her breast. It’s just relief, she told herself fiercely—nothing to do with her. Tim has accepted him, and he’s got what he wanted.

Though she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t half hoped that he wouldn’t.

She put more logs on the fire and then watched while Philip wholeheartedly entered into playing with Tim. For a man with little or no experience of children, she was forced to the conclusion that he was very good with them. If Tim’s reaction was anything to go by.

He stared wide-eyed while Philip made a horse out of some balloons and then blew up some others and let the air whizz out of them in a sound which had Tim collapsing in peals of giggles.

She had taken all the remains of the tea back out to the kitchen, and when she returned it was to find them playing rough and tumble on the rug and she realised that there were some things that fathers could do, which mothers never could.

They both looked up as she walked in, both flushed with pleasure but tinged with a kind of guilt—identical expressions on their faces. How could I ever have thought that they weren’t alike? thought Lisi with a touch of despair. The colouring might be hers, but Marian was right: he did have bits of Philip—lots of Philip—in him. Of course he did.

Gently, Philip lowered Tim back down onto the carpet, from where he had been sitting on his shoulders, and stood up.

‘Am I interrupting your routine, Lisi?’

So I am the bringer of routine and order, and he provides the fun, does he? thought Lisi. Or was she being unfair?

Philip saw the look of discomfort which had pleated her brow and understood exactly what had caused it. She had agreed to let him get to know Tim, but she had probably not anticipated what a success it would be.

Neither had he.

A different child might have refused to answer him. Or spoken in sulky monosyllables. Not chatted so openly and with such obvious interest. And much of that must be down to her.

‘It’s your bathtime, Tim,’ she said, with a quick glance at her watch, and then forced herself to meet Philip’s gaze. ‘Unless you’d like to?’

He would like to. He wanted to bath his son more than he had wanted anything in a long time, but he recognised that Lisi might now be feeling the outsider. He shook his head. ‘No, you do it. He’s used to you.’

‘Philip do it!’ demanded Tim, unwilling to lose sight of his new friend.

Philip shook his head. ‘I have to make a few phone calls,’ he said.

She carried Tim to the bathroom and wondered who he was phoning on Christmas Day. Obviously somebody very close to him. He had told her that he wasn’t married—but that didn’t preclude a girlfriend, did it?

But he kissed you, a voice reminded her. He kissed you passionately and told you that he still wanted you—would he betray a second woman if he got the opportunity?

He isn’t going to get the opportunity, she told herself as she squirted bubble bath into the running water and watched it become big, foamy clouds. No matter how much she wanted to—it wasn’t right. There was too much bitter history behind them and only potential heartache lay ahead if she was crazy enough to give in.

She let Tim splash around in the bath for ages, wondering whether Philip would stick around. He might just get the message and go. But he was still there, talking in a low voice into his mobile phone as she carried a sleepy, pyjama-clad Tim past the sitting room to his bedroom and tenderly put him into bed.

‘Have you had a lovely Christmas, darling?’ she asked him softly.

‘Yes, Mum-mee.’ His eyes opened wide. ‘Is Philip coming tomorrow?’

She sincerely hoped not, but she made herself smile a placating smile. ‘We’ll see. Okay?’

He nodded against the pillow, letting his eyelids drift down, and then automatically stuck his thumb in his mouth.

He was almost asleep, but story-telling was sacrosanct and Lisi put her hand out and pulled out the nearest book, which just happened to be Cinderella. How very appropriate, she thought wryly, and began to read.

She waited until she was certain that he was sound asleep, then reluctantly made her way back to where Philip lay sprawled on the floor in front of the fire, his phone-call finished. He had, she noted with surprise, put all the toys neatly away, so that the room for once didn’t look as though a bomb had hit it. She had never had anyone do that for her before.

She hovered in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do. She could hardly ask him to leave. ‘Can I get you a drink of something?’

He heard the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. ‘One for the road?’ he suggested sardonically.

She shrugged. ‘If you like.’

He shook his head, got to his feet and went over to where she stood. ‘No, thanks. You must be tired.’

Again she had the sense of him dominating the room, of his raw masculinity exuding from every pore of that spectacular body. In an effort to distract herself, she said, rather awkwardly, ‘It went well, I think, didn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ He was aching to touch her, but he realised that he owed her something. ‘Thank you, Lisi,’ he said simply. ‘For letting me.’

She wasn’t going to read anything into what he said. This was a purely practical arrangement, solely for the welfare of Tim. ‘I had no choice, did I?’ she questioned tartly. ‘I imagine that if I’d refused you would have sought some kind of legal redress.’

Her brittle words extinguished the warmth he had been feeling, but did absolutely nothing to put out the fire in his groin. He knew he shouldn’t do this, but something drove him on—a need to see that cold, frozen look wiped clean off her beautiful face.

He reached his hand out to cup her chin, his thumb and his forefinger stroking along its outline almost reflectively.

Lisi shivered. Where he touched her, he set her on fire. She knew that she should move away but something was stopping her and she wasn’t sure what. ‘Please don’t,’ she whispered.

Her lacklustre words belied the shining darkness in her eyes and the need to kiss her overpowered him. ‘You want me to,’ he whispered back.

‘No—’

But he kissed the word away with his mouth, feeling its unresisting softness become as hard and as urgent as his.

She rocked against him—all the cold and the hunger and frustration she had experienced letting itself go as his mouth explored hers with a thoroughness guaranteed to set her on the path to inevitable seduction. She felt the prickling sensation as her breasts grew heavy and aroused, and a long-forgotten molten sweetness began to build up at the very core of her.

Her mind was spinning. She wanted to burrow her hands up beneath his sweater and to feel the warm bare silk of his skin once more, but she had been a mother for too long to let her own wishes be paramount. For one split-second she imagined what could—would—happen next, if she didn’t put a stop to it.

They couldn’t possibly let things progress naturally and make love in front of the fire—Tim might walk in at any second. Which left going to her bedroom and the embarrassment of silently getting undressed, of having to keep their voices—and moans—low, just in case they woke Tim.

She tore herself away.

What was she thinking of? She didn’t want to make love to him!

He had never been so frustrated in his life. ‘Lisi—’

‘No!’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I am not going to have sex with you, Philip. The first time was bad enough—’

‘I beg to differ,’ he murmured, thinking how magnificent she looked when she was angry.

She carried on as if he hadn’t interrupted. ‘When I discovered you were married I felt like hell—but at least I thought that you had been so overcome with desire that you had been unable to stop yourself. Desire for me,’ she finished deliberately.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to work out exactly what she was getting at. ‘I’m not sure that I understand you, Lisi.’

‘It didn’t even have to be me, did it? I was just a vessel for your more basic needs!’ she carried on wildly. ‘Anyone would have done! Your wife was sick and you were frustrated—that’s what really happened, isn’t it, Philip?’

He went rigid. ‘My God,’ he said, in disgust. ‘You really know how to twist the knife, don’t you?’ He picked up his overcoat and walked to the front door and opened it without another word.

She wanted to call after him, to take back the hateful words which had seemed to come pouring out of her mouth like poison, but one look at the icy expression on his face as he turned round made her realise that it would be a futile gesture.

He gave a cold, hard smile. ‘If your idea was to insult me so much that I would go away and never come back again, then you have just very nearly succeeded,’ he said.

And, bizarrely, the thought that her hurt pride and resentment might have cost Tim a relationship with his father wounded her far more than anything else. ‘Philip—’

He shook his head. ‘Please don’t say any more—I don’t think I could take it. I’d better just tell you that this particular campaign won’t work. You see, Tim is far more important to me than the obvious loathing you feel for me. I’m here, Lisi—and I’m here for the duration. Better get used to it.’

And without another word, he was gone.