'How did you get back so quick?'
'Well. . .'
'No, it doesn't matter. I guess you want to walk Stephen to school. Call in on your way back. I will have the coffee ready and I want to hear every little detail.'
Stephen continued chattering nineteen to the dozen as they headed for the primary school two hundred yards away and for the first time in his young life Willow was barely listening to what he was saying, feelings of fright and panic already consuming her. She tried to tell herself it was a local paper, very few people read it, and she was worrying for nothing, but mixed in with her fear was guilt.
She glanced down at her son's beaming, excited face and wondered if she had made the right decision all those years ago. Stephen had not looked particularly like Theo when he was born. His eyes had been a deep blue, but within months they had turned dark brown. Most of the people in the village, because of his black curly hair, had automatically said he looked like Willow. But as he had grown older the baby curls had some how straightened out, and his skin tone had become much darker than hers. More and more Willow could see his father in his features.
'Anyway,' Stephen said, 'when the man asked who my father was, Tess told him to stop, and then he left.'
'What?' Willow exclaimed, the mention of father registering like a bullet to the brain. 'Well, that was very wise of Tess.' She smiled down into his suddenly serious face, and felt even worse.
'Mum, you know you said my father married someone else and then vanished to the other side of the world but you didn't know where? Well, now you are going to make a lot of money, do you think we could look for him? Today is the last day at school, and next week is half-term holiday, so we could start looking from tomorrow.' He looked at her with such innocent, trusting eyes her heart turned over in her breast.
'Well, I don't see why not,' she conceded, and then felt terrible for lying to him. But was it a lie? She had always known deep in her heart that at some point Stephen would want to meet his dad, and the event of the last twenty-four hours had simply reinforced her belief.
Smiling down at Stephen, she added, 'In any case, a holiday will do us both good.' The idea of taking Stephen away somewhere for a week suddenly seemed a brilliant idea. By the time they returned the press would have hopefully forgotten all about them. Part of her problem solved for the moment, she was relieved to see Stephen's friend Tommy run towards him as they approached the schoolyard, Stephen's thoughts of his father evaporating as he eagerly joined in his friend and vanished into the school building, without a backward glance.
'Well,' Tess exclaimed, 'tell all! Is the gorgeous Mr Carlavitch as handsome and sexy in the flesh? And is he going to make you rich? And, most important, did you fancy him?'
Sitting at Tess's kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee,
Willow laughed. It was either that or cry. 'I don't know,' she responded honestly. 'He was quite attractive I suppose.' She had had another man entirely on her mind during that time, and still had.
'Are you all right?' Tess frowned. 'I thought you would be ecstatic winning the award and everything, yet you look a bit done in.'
'Yes, I am a bit,' Willow said, getting to her feet, grateful for the excuse to get away and be alone with her turbulent thoughts. 'I did travel half the night in a car, you know. Thanks a million for looking after Stephen, I really appreciate it. I think I will just nip into the village for some milk, and then go home to rest for a while.'
'Of course. I don't know what I was thinking of. I'll catch you later.'
'I'll pop back i
n after I collect Stephen from school this afternoon. Actually, I am thinking of taking him away tomorrow for the half-term holiday, down to Falmouth like we did last year, and a trip to France for a day or so. He likes the boat trip and he deserves a treat; he has been so good.'
'Good idea. But in that case you will need all the sleep you can get.' Tess chuckled.
But when Willow returned to her cottage thirty minutes later sleep was the last thing on her mind. After she'd accepted the congratulations of what appeared to be half the village, clustered around the post office, someone had complimented Willow on the picture in one of the national tabloids. In horror she had scanned the photo. It was her, all right, standing in the foyer of the hotel the day before. But alongside the picture of her was another one of Stephen, obviously thanks to the miracle of a computer and modern technology. When she read the article she felt sick.
Willow moved around her much-loved home, scrubbing and cleaning in a frenzy of activity, anything to take her mind off her troubles. She paused for a long moment in Stephen's bedroom, a sad smile curving her lush mouth. The Thomas the Tank Engine wallpaper he had loved when a toddler had been replaced by cool blue paper, posters of his favourite cars adorned the walls, and a computer stood on his desk. At eight he was clearly growing up, and she had buried her head in the sand for far too long. His demand today that they go and look for his dad had proved that.
Fearful for the future and what it held, she gave up any idea of lying down to rest, and walked back downstairs. She had a horrible premonition that Stephen might get his wish a lot sooner than he expected. She knew Theo Kadros was still in London. She tried to tell herself she had nothing to worry about-—a man like Theo only read the financial papers. But she could not shrug off the fear that somehow he was going to discover her secret.
A stony-faced Theo glanced through the Financial Times waiting for the car that was to take him to his meeting, but his mind was not on business. He had called Henkon Publishing and asked for Willow's address and been turned down flat.
'Sir.'
'Yes,' he snapped at the hotel manager.
'I know this is not the kind of newspaper you usually read, but I thought you might be interested.' He wasn't the manager of a top-class hotel without having a good brain and good insight where people were concerned. He had a shrewd idea that Mr Kadros might be very interested and hopefully very appreciative of his suggestion. 'It is a very good picture. Don't you think?' He handed the paper to his boss folded at the correct page.
Theo glanced at the picture, and then at the smaller one next to it, and looked again. His dark eyes widened incredulously, and then blazed black with fury. His lips tightened into a hard, bitter line creating a ring of white around his mouth as he read the accompanying article.
Who would have guessed that the winner of this year's Crime Writers' Prize, J. W. Paxton, for his novel A Class Act Murder, would turn out to be not a man but a woman? The stunningly attractive Willow Blain, and yes, folks, that is her real name.
The film rights were sold only hours after the award ceremony to Mr Carlavitch, the famous American film producer.
Willow is also a single mother, but without a marriage behind her, living in Devon with an eight-year-old son she has brought up entirely on her own.