‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘I’m well aware that the days of my being your sexual cup of tea are long gone. This way,’ she said coldly, and marched off through the front gate and along a path that led past the old school and across to an L-shaped cream brick building sitting where the playground had once been.
An increasingly frustrated Nicolas stalked after her, grudgingly noting that the surrounds of the new Rocky Creek primary school were a credit to the P & C. Covered walkways ran everywhere, protecting the children from rain as well as the hot summer sun. The gardens and lawns were both immaculate and alive, obviously having an excellent watering system.
‘Very nice landscaping,’ he remarked.
‘Gus’s money also pays for a gardener,’ she said.
‘Good old Gus.’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic!’
‘I wasn’t,’ Nicolas denied, although he recognised his mood had shifted to a darker place, that place where he was propelled when things didn’t go his way, or when he looked like he was failing at something.
Serina stopped walking and whirled to face him, her dark eyes stormy. ‘Look, I know what you think of Rocky Creek. It’s written all over your supercilious face. No matter how much the town’s progressed, you still think of it as a backwater with nothing here to interest you. Which is absolutely true. We don’t have an opera house or theatres galore, or mansions full of the rich and famous who hold dinner parties every day of the week. We don’t have expensive art galleries, museums or designer boutiques. We certainly don’t have super highways where you can drive at two hundred kilometres an hour in your two-hundred-thousand-dollar sports cars. What we do have, however, is people who care about each other. People who are loving and loyal, people who look after each other when times are tough and who are prepared to make sacrifices. Who don’t always think of their own selfish selves!’
Nicolas stood there, stunned by the savagery of Serina’s tirade.
She seemed a little stunned herself. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last, if a little grudgingly. ‘I guess that was rude of me. The thing is, Nicolas, I just don’t understand why you agreed to come all this way for a silly little talent quest. Other than your brief visit when your mum died, you haven’t darkened the doorstep of Rocky Creek for over twenty years!’
He looked deep into her eyes and ached to tell her the truth.
I came because I still want you, Serina. Because I wanted to make love to you again. I came because I just couldn’t stay away, not once I knew you weren’t married anymore.
But it wasn’t the right time, or the right place. It might never be the right time, or the right place, he realised grimly. Not if she felt this viciously about him.
‘I came,’ he said instead, quite truthfully as well, ‘because of your daughter’s very touching letter.’
And, right on cue, Felicity came flying down the path towards them.
Nicolas knew she was Felicity because it was like seeing Serina at that age, so great was the resemblance.
‘You’re here!’ Felicity squealed as only a twelve-year-old girl can squeal. She didn’t stop there, either, literally throwing herself against him so hard that he lurched backwards a step.
‘Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!’ she blurted, hugging him tightly around the waist before abruptly disengaging herself and throwing him a sheepish look from under her long lashes. ‘Sorry. I get a bit carried away sometimes. Don’t I, Mum… ?’
SERINA would have loved to turn tail and run at that point. It had already been getting to be too much for her, seeing Nicolas again. That had been why she’d let fly at him just now, because she’d needed some outlet for the tension building inside her.
Serina had expected today to be difficult. And she’d been right. But nothing had prepared her for what she’d just witnessed.
Seeing her daughter hug her biological father had produced a mixture of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Perversely, she almost felt jealous of Felicity. How she would love to hug Nicolas with such unashamed delight! At the same time a great wave of guilt twisted at her insides. She should never have passed Felicity off as Greg’s daughter. Never! She should have told the truth from the start. Instead, she’d locked herself into a secret that was going to crucify her now till her dying days.
Because she’d seen the flash of joy in Nicolas’s face when his daughter had wrapped her arms tightly around him, seen the gently indulgent way he’d smiled down at her. He was still smiling at her.
The unexpected realisation that Nicolas might have been a good father to Felicity was shattering.
But it was too late now. It had been too late from the moment she’d walked down that church aisle with Greg all those years ago. Her secret had to continue. Because in Felicity’s mind, Greg Harmon was her father, not Nicolas. She’d loved Greg, and she loved Greg’s parents—they were her adored Nanna and Pop. No, the secret had to be kept.
She had to pull herself together and not act like some guilt-ridden, broken-hearted fool, even if what she wanted to do was fall in a crumpled heap on this path and cry.
Amazing what a mother could endure when faced with the possibility of her child’s unhappiness. So Serina found a smile from somewhere and a voice that sounded close to normal.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being enthusiastic, Felicity,’ she said. ‘But it might be wise not to be too familiar with Mr Dupre. Otherwise people might say there’s favouritism if you come first in the talent quest tomorrow night.’
Too late Serina wished she hadn’t brought up that subject.
‘I’ve already thought of that,’ Felicity returned. ‘So I’ve decided not to enter.’
‘I think that’s a wise decision,’ Serina said, hiding her relief behind a genuinely warm smile.
‘But I was looking forward to hearing you play,’ Nicolas protested.
‘Oh, you’ll still hear me play,’ Felicity informed him quite happily. ‘I’m giving a special performance at the end of the talent quest. I don’t want to tell you too much except that it’s a tribute to a certain concert pianist who sadly can’t play anymore.’
Serina smothered a groan of despair. Not only was Felicity going to play for him, but she was also sure to choose one of Nicolas’s favourites, maybe even the Chopin Polonaise both of them had heard him play on the Internet. If today was proving difficult, tomorrow loomed as a nightmare!
‘Come on, Nicolas,’ Felicity said. ‘It’s time for you to meet everyone else.’
‘Felicity!’ Serina protested. ‘You shouldn’t be using Mr Dupre’s first name.’
‘It’s perfectly all right, Serina,’ Nicolas remarked.
‘No, it’s not,’ Serina protested. ‘It is my job to teach my daughter respect for her elders.’
‘In that case she can call Mrs Johnson, Mrs Johnson,’ Nicolas shot back, his face irritated. ‘I’m not yet forty and don’t consider myself an elder just yet. So if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be called Nicolas. Lead on, Felicity, my dear,’ he concluded, and actually took his daughter’s hand.
Felicity beamed with smug satisfaction whilst Serina felt like strangling her. And Nicolas. Perhaps it was a survival mechanism, but suddenly her mood changed from one of distress to a simmering fury. Whereas before she hadn’t been looking forward to having lunch with him, now she was. It would give her the opportunity to say all the