And never had Ollie? No … never.
‘I am not the one who is claiming you as Oliver’s father,’ she pointed out to Caesar. ‘That was my grandfather’s decision.’
‘But since he did make that claim …’
Louise stopped him. ‘I suggest that you ignore it. Oliver has no need of an unwilling, doubtful father in his life who doesn’t want him, and I have no intention of pursuing any kind of claim against you. That is not why I have come to Sicily. There is only one thing I want from you, and that is your authority for the burial of my grandparents’ ashes in the churchyard of the church of Santa Maria.’
‘But you do believe that the boy is mine?’
Why was he asking her such a question when she had just told him that she was prepared to let him off the hook?
‘The only person I intend to discuss the matter of who might be Oliver’s father is Oliver himself—once he is old enough to be able to deal with the circumstances surrounding his conception.’
‘Surely it would be far easier simply for a DNA test to be done?’
‘Why? Or do I need to ask? That could only be for your benefit and not Ollie’s. You are obviously very sure that he isn’t yours.’
‘What I am very sure of is that I have no intention of allowing a child who might be mine—no matter how slender that possibility might be—to grow up thinking that I have abandoned him.’
His words shocked her—and all the more so because she could tell how heartfelt they were.
That cold feeling chilling right through her veins wasn’t anger, Louise recognised, it was fear.
‘And I have no intention of subjecting my son to a DNA test simply to put your mind at rest. If I were you I would simply accept that I have no intention of making any kind of claim on you as someone who might have fathered Oliver—and that means both emotionally and financially. Oliver is my son.’
‘And according to his late great-grandfather he is also my son. If he is then I have a responsibility towards him that I cannot and will not ignore. At this stage there is no need for Oliver to be upset or worried in any way—a DNA test is a simple enough procedure to carry out without him even being aware that it is being carried out. A simple mouth swab is all that is required.’
‘No.’ She wasn’t panicking. Not yet. But she was getting close to it, Louise recognised.
‘You have told me how important it is to you that you carry out your grandparents’ wishes with regard to their ashes. It is equally important to me that I know whether or not your son is also my son.’
He wasn’t saying any more, but Louise knew exactly what he was getting at.
‘That’s blackmail,’ she accused him. ‘Do you think I would want as a father for my son a man who would threaten blackmail to get his own way?’
‘I have every right to know if the boy is mine. Your grandfather obviously thought so, and he also obviously thought that the boy has a need for me in his life. He says as much in his letter. I do him the respect of believing that his claim on me on Oliver’s behalf is not about money or status, but about a child’s need to know its parentage. Can you sit there and honestly tell me, with your training, that you are prepared to deny your son that?’
‘To deny him what? Being recognised as the bastard son of a man who allowed his mother to be publicly denounced and shamed? A man who is no doubt hoping right now that the test proves negative? A man who can never be anything to him other than someone who at best deigns to recognise him as his child without giving him anything that he really needs? Even if you were to recognise Oliver as your son, what can that bring him other than an even greater feeling of awareness than he already has that he is “less” than other children? There will always be those in a community, both here and at home in London, who look down on him because of his illegitimate status, just as there will be those who will never allow him to forget how he came to be conceived. I will not have my son pay for my sins.’
‘You are making judgements that have no validity. If it turns out that Oliver is my son, then we shall discuss this matter again—and rationally—but for now I have to tell you that I intend to find out the truth about his parentage.’
He meant what he said, and he would somehow find a way to acquire the sample he would need, Louise suspected, true fear striking at her maternal emotions. Wouldn’t it be far better for her to agree to provide the sample he was so obviously determined to have rather than run the risk of him trying to acquire it in a way that might upset Oliver?
Her voice heavy with reluctance and resistance, she said, ‘If I agree to provide a DNA sample then in return I want your word that you will never approach my son with the results of the test—or indeed in any way at all without my permission and my presence.’
She was a very protective mother, Caesar recognised.
‘I agree,’ he confirmed. After all, the last thing he wanted to do was upset or damage the boy in any way. Before she could continue to raise further objections he added smoothly, ‘I shall arrange to have the necessary test kit delivered to you for return to me. Once I have the results …’
‘Wouldn’t it be simpler and easier for you to simply forget my grandfather’s letter?’ Louise suggested, in a last-ditch attempt to change his mind.
She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t plead with him, but now she wasn’t able to stop herself, she recognised helplessly, torn between anger against him and contempt for herself as she heard the slight tremor in her own voice.
‘That’s impossible,’ Caesar told her.
‘AND the only reason Billy won was because his father was there, watching us play and telling him what to do.’
Oliver had been complaining about losing his match with a fellow holidaymaker ever since Louise had picked him up from the children’s club earlier in the day, and was still complaining about it now, as they had an early evening meal together.
Resisting the maternal impulse to comfort her plainly aggrieved son with a maternal cuddle—Oliver now considered himself far too old for maternal cuddles in public—Louise tried instead not to feel guilty about the small subterfuge she had been forced to practise to take the necessary DNA sample from her son, explaining away the procedure by saying that she thought he sounded slightly husky and she wanted to check his throat and make sure he wasn’t coming down with one of the sore throats to which he was sometimes prone.
The sample, once taken, had been bagged up and handed over to the driver Caesar had sent to collect it. A man of Caesar’s position and wealth would have his own ways of making sure that the test was dealt with speedily, Louise suspected. She, of course, already knew exactly what the test would reveal. Caesar was Oliver’s father. She knew that beyond any kind of doubt. She knew it, but there was no way she had ever wanted Caesar himself to know it.
It was hard for her not to feel let down and even betrayed by the grandfather she had loved and respected so much, but she knew that he would have genuinely believed he was acting in Oliver’s best interests. Her grandfather had been a man of his generation and upbringing—a man who’d believed that a father should take responsibility for his children.
All