‘Coffee, please. Decaf if they have it.’ He felt like he could do without any more caffeine; two coffees down and his heart was running at a canter.
She gave the order, then said, ‘You’re my father?’ Her tone was businesslike, a clarification, a coolness in her voice that gave him a bad feeling.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Why didn’t you come sooner? I’m fourteen now.’
‘Two reasons.’ He paused for a second. He’d thought about this meeting so many times and yet still found himself uncertain about how to put the failings of his life into words. ‘I loved Madeleine, so much that I didn’t want her to know who I really was. When she became pregnant, that changed everything; I had to tell her. She ended the relationship, and we agreed it was best for you that I wasn’t around. My life was, uh . . .’
‘She said you were a criminal.’
He was hurt that Madeleine had described him like that and yet she’d been right. He’d never been to prison, never been troubled by the police, but he was a criminal. He couldn’t even claim the dubious justification of having worked for governments; the people he’d worked for had paid more and asked for worse than any government agency would ever have done.
‘Yes, until maybe four years ago, I was a criminal.’ He felt like a liar. The work for Mark Hatto didn’t trouble him, even killing to keep Ella alive. But what he’d done for her—killing Novakovic, leading her to Bruno—that had been too close to his old life, close enough for him to feel guilty for not mentioning it, for not admitting that those four years had culminated in one bloody fall from grace.
‘You said there were two reasons.’
He nodded.
‘I was scared.’
She looked skeptical and said, ‘Of a little girl?’ She was teasing him, with a slight smile that encouraged him. He had been scared, though—so scared of loss that he’d preferred to make himself invulnerable in the first place by always keeping life at arm’s length.
The waiter brought his coffee, hot chocolate for Isabelle. Lucas could see him smiling slyly at her, as if making clear that he’d want an explanation at some later date. She dipped a finger in her drink and tasted it and then said, ‘Why did you stop being a criminal?’
He found the word grating now but certainly didn’t want to have to explain the exact nature of the things he’d done.
‘Partly because I could. Partly so I could sit here one day and tell you I’d given up.’
She smiled, her first real smile since he’d sat down, and said, ‘You thought about me?’
‘Not at first. The last four or five years, though, more and more, every time I saw a kid I thought might be your age. I’d never seen a picture, didn’t know your name. I came here last summer but . . .’
‘She told me you came. We had a fight.’ As an afterthought, she added, ‘Nothing serious.’
He smiled, pleased that she’d fought with Madeleine for sending him away, even if she dismissed it now.
‘You look just like her. I’d been worrying that I wouldn’t recognize you but I knew the second I saw you. Short hair but otherwise you could be her double.’
‘My eyes are blue, like yours.’ No sooner had she said it than she looked over his shoulder and said, ‘Excuse me.’ She got up, looking ruffled.
Lucas turned in his seat and followed her progress to the door of the cafe, where she intercepted a boy. It looked like one of the boys he’d seen her with the previous summer but he couldn’t be sure.
Isabelle had her back to Lucas and as she talked; the boy looked mischievously over her shoulder, trying to get a good look at him. He wondered if this was who she’d planned to meet and what she was saying to him now.
When she came back, she said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Was that who you were waiting for?’
‘Yes. And no, he isn’t. We’re friends.’ He smiled at her defensiveness and neither of them said anything for a moment, a pause that seemed to embarrass her. ‘So, what do you want to know about my life?’
He sipped at his coffee, which he guessed was a decaf because it tasted much worse than the others had, and then he said, ‘I already know a little. I know you have a brother now. I saw him last summer.’
She smiled. ‘Isn’t he adorable? Louis. He’s five years old.’
‘Louis. After your grandfather.’
She looked surprised, saying, ‘You know my grandparents?’
‘I met them a few times. I liked them. Are they still alive?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She looked suddenly intrigued and said, ‘What about my other grandparents?’
‘They died a long time ago. I don’t even remember them.’
‘Oh. Do you have brothers or sisters?’
He shook his head, feeling like a disappointment. For years, she’d probably imagined this whole other side to her family and now she was faced with the stark truth, that he brought only himself, half a person.
‘And Louis’ father?’