A Nanny for Christmas (8 page)

'When he married, of course, I hoped he'd settle here. But Miss Vane preferred London, because of her work.' Carrie sighed faintly. 'It's a house that needs a family in it, and that's the truth.'

'Well, now it has Tara,' Phoebe said gently.

'Yes.' Carrie gave the nursery door a guarded look. 'But for how much longer? Miss Vane allowed Mr Dominic to have custody of the child because it suited her at the time, but he hasn't heard the last of her by a long chalk.' She shook her head. 'Oh, no. And that Cindy has caused him more problems.'

'Is she out of hospital?'

'Yes, and nicely set up in her boyfriend's flat,' Carrie said darkly. 'She needs her ears boxing, if you ask me. Mr Dominic's been ringing all the agencies trying to find another nanny, but they all say the same—there's no hope of finding anyone suitable until the New Year. And what's to happen in between?'

Her lips thinned. 'Miss Sinclair, of course, wants him to place the child as a weekly boarder at that school she goes to.'

'But she's far too young,' said Phoebe, appalled.

Carrie wagged her head philosophically. 'Well, they seem to take them practically from the cradle—mostly for people who have to work abroad.'

'But that isn't the case with Tara. Oh, you must be wrong.'

'Well, it's bound to be a worry for him. His work takes him away sometimes, and I'm not as young as I used to be—though I'm not quite as past it as some would say,' she added grimly. 'And he has to make sure the little one's properly cared for otherwise his ex-wife might start proceedings to take her back.'

'I'm sure things will work themselves out,' Phoebe said, with no real conviction that they would. Nor could she believe she was actually standing here discussing details of Dominic Ashton's private life, and future plans, with his housekeeper.

I'm not interested, she argued with herself. And quite definitely not involved.

She forced a smile. 'In the meantime, I'd better play Snakes and Ladders with Tara while I have the chance.'

When Phoebe returned to the nursery, Tara said se-' verely, 'You've been a very long time. I'm going to have the red counter. You can be blue.'

'Fine by me.' Phoebe sat down beside her at the big square table, and the game began.

Like most young children, Tara was far keener to climb the ladders than she was to slide down the snakes, and there were a few jutting lips and sullen expressions before the game came to an end. On the other hand she was quick to spot a little judicious cheating on Phoebe's part to help her win, and told her to stop or it wouldn't be fair.

When the game was over, Phoebe found a pack of cards, and they played a couple of uproarious games of Snap and a quieter hand of Beggar My Neighbour.

After which, Carrie appeared in the doorway. 'Time for your bath, Tara.'

The little girl pouted mutinously. 'No, I don't want a bath. I want another game.'

'Well, you certainly won't have one if you're going to behave like that,' Phoebe said sternly. 'It's already well past your bedtime, and there's school tomorrow.'

'I hate school. I want to stay up till Daddy comes.' Tara banged her hand on the table.

'Temper,' said Carrie, shocked.

Phoebe leaned forward. 'Listen, poppet. If Daddy finds you're not in bed when he comes back, he'll be angry with Carrie and with me. And he'll never let me come back to play games with you again.' My God, she thought. What am I saying? 'So you have to choose.'

Tara gave her a long look. 'Will you come back and play tomorrow?'

'I can't promise that. But it will be soon. Only you must have your bath now, and go to bed.'

'When I'm in bed, will you read me a story?' Tara wheedled.

'Just one,' Phoebe said severely.

'The one about Winnie the Pooh and the Heffalump?' Tara asked hopefully. 'The book's on my special shelf.'

Phoebe smiled at her. 'Mine, too.'

In the end, seeing how stiffly Carrie bent to turn off the taps, she found herself joining in with Tara's bath- time too. It was a wet and messy affair, featuring a green-spotted rubber frog which leapt out of the water after being firmly held down, showering everyone within range.

'And just who is supposed to be the grown-up out of the pair of you?' Carrie enquired with mock severity.

Phoebe calmed proceedings down by showing Tara how to lather her hands and blow wobbly, multicoloured bubbles through her fingers.

'That was the best bathtime ever,' Tara told her solemnly as Carrie enveloped her in a big towel. 'Cindy always used to say "Hurriupforcrysake".'

'Well, I expect she had a lot of work to do after you were in bed,' Phoebe returned noncommittally. This nanny business, she thought uneasily, is a minefield.

'One story,' she said, finding the place in the book. 'Then you must go to sleep.'

Tara shook her head. 'I have to wait for Daddy to say good night to me.'

Phoebe bit her lip. 'The thing is, chicken, Daddy's gone out for the evening, and may not be back until very late.'

'Why?'

'Because when you're having fun you don't always want to come home straight away. You know that.'

'But Daddy knows I wait for him.'

'Yes,' Phoebe agreed carefully, 'and that's marvellous for him. But he does have a life that isn't—just in this house with you.'

'Doesn't he want me?' It was the most desolate question Phoebe had ever heard. She put a gentle arm round the little figure.

'Of course he does.'

'Mummy didn't want me,' Tara said woefully. 'Bridget's mummy said so.'

Phoebe's hands fastened, in her imagination, round the throat of Bridget's mummy.

'And I heard Cindy say,' went on the little voice, 'that Mummy had to choose between me and a man she was seeing, and she chose him.'

Phoebe found herself at a loss for words. 'I'm sure it wasn't that simple,' she managed eventually.

There was a silence. Then Tara added, 'What will happen if a lady that Daddy's seeing says he has to choose, and he picks her instead of me?'

'That,' Phoebe said steadily, 'will not happen. Because your father's already made his choice, and nothing will change that.'

'How do you know?'

'Because he loves you, and he would never break his word to someone he loved.' Phoebe could hardly believe she'd just said that. That she was actually defending Dominic Ashton, the monster who'd ruined six years of- her life.

She took a breath. 'You see, he decided, with your mother, that it would be better for you to stay here than go to Hollywood. And that's all there is to it.'

'I'd have liked Hollywood,' Tara said indignantly. 'Mummy said I'd be called Tara Vane, and she'd get me a part in a film. And I could have my ears pierced,' she added with a sigh.

In spite of her concern, Phoebe felt her lips twitch.

'Well, I expect Daddy will let you too—in about ten years' time. Now, am I going to read you this story?'

'Ooh, yes.' Tara wriggled down in the bed.

Phoebe kept her voice deliberately low, and, gradually, the magic that a man had created for his own small son seventy years ago had its special effect. Before Pooh and Piglet had discovered the truth about Heffalumps, Tara's eyelids were drowsy. And as the story ended she was on the edge of sleep.

As Phoebe gently shut the book a small hand reached out and took hers.

'Don't go,' Tara murmured, and her eyes closed.

This, Phoebe thought fiercely, staring into space, just isn't fair. I don't need it. Any of it.

But she stayed where she was, all the same, watching the child's relaxed face and listening to her quiet breathing.

From the corner of her eye, she was aware of the faintest of movements from the doorway. Without turning, she said softly, 'Carrie, have you come to take over?'

'It's not Carrie.'

Phoebe's heart thudded violently as she heard the amused note in the deep voice, and she twisted in her chair, her face a picture of disbelief.

'You're back already? But you can't be.'

'Then I'm a mirage,' he said equably, treading quietly across the carpet.

Phoebe, against her will, saw the dark face soften into disarming tenderness as he bent to drop a kiss on Tara's tumbled curls. Another intimate insight she could have done without, she reflected bitterly.

'I .think you can leave your post.' The smile was transferred to Phoebe. 'Carrie says you're wonderful with her, which is praise indeed.'

'It's not difficult.' Phoebe preceded him to the door, crossly aware that her breathing was flurried. 'She's a very lovable child.'

'In spite of her parents?' he added silkily. 'Wasn't that the inevitable rider?'

Phoebe didn't look at him. 'That's really none of my business.'

'Rubbish.' Dominic closed the night-nursery door with care. 'You obviously have very strong views. I can sense them seething behind that straight face of yours like a log-jam.'

'Very well,' said Phoebe, nettled. 'I think Tara feels chronically insecure.'

'Since Cindy went?'

'Before Cindy ever came,' she said impatiently. 'Tara deserves better than a succession of professional staff who are just passing through, however qualified they may be. She needs a—a permanent influence in her life. Someone to give her emotional stability.' She paused, flicking a glance at his enigmatic face. 'You did ask,' she added defensively.

'Yes, I did.' He paused. 'Actually, I agree with you, and I've made it my current priority.'

Hazel Sinclair, I suppose, Phoebe thought, feeling oddly dejected. And how will Tara react to that?

She said sedately, 'I—I hope you had a pleasant evening.'

'You mentioned the restaurant's reputation,' he returned, his mouth twisting. 'It's been living on it for some time, at a guess. The pudding, at least, was edible, so we decided to quit while we were ahead and come back here for coffee.'

'Oh,' she said, rather blankly. 'Then I'll get out of your way.'

'No,' he said. 'You'll have coffee with us, then I'll run you home.'

'But Miss Sinclair...'

'Brought her own car, remember? Any more objections?'

Plenty, she thought, in which I shall probably be joined by Miss Sinclair.

Hazel's smile was glittering as they entered the drawing room. 'What amazing devotion to duty,' she drawled. 'I can see you're bent on becoming a family treasure.'

'On the contrary,' Phoebe walked to one of the sofas which flanked the wide fireplace and sat down. 'In the New Year, I shall be looking for a job in my own profession.'

'More waitressing?' Hazel's eyebrows rose.

'No,' Phoebe said levelly. 'I'm sorry to shatter your illusions, but I'm a qualified librarian.'

'Ah,' Dominic said quietly, as if some unspoken question of his own had been answered.

'Then why on earth waste your time in some potty little cafe?' Hazel demanded.

Dominic looked at Phoebe with an odd smile. 'Because she doesn't see it like that. She's with people she likes in pleasant surroundings—right, Miss Grant?'

'Perfectly correct.' Phoebe was relieved to see Carrie coming in with the coffee-tray. It was disturbing to realise what close attention Dominic Ashton must have paid to their conversation the other night.

But he was not to be allowed a similar opportunity this evening. As they drank their coffee Hazel switched the focus to herself and kept it there, switching from playful, almost girlish chatter to adroitly handled affectionate reminiscence and back again.

A skilful performance, Phoebe decided judiciously. If she's not quite sure of him yet, she means to be. And she gave a little sigh which she hastily turned into a smothered yawn as Dominic turned to look at her.

'Tired, Miss Grant?'

'Oh, no,' Phoebe lied quickly, aware of a less than playful glance from Hazel. 'Please don't break up the party on my account.'

'I think I'm going to have to. I have a big day tomorrow.' He smiled at Hazel. 'I did explain.'

'Darling, I totally understand. Such a pity you have to drive all the way to Westcombe and back first.' She put a red-tipped hand on his arm and smiled into his eyes. 'Never mind; next time I'll cook for you, sweetie, and we'll make sure we have the whole evening to ourselves. Now, walk me to my car—if Miss Grant will excuse us, of course?' she added sweetly.

'With pleasure,' said Phoebe in equally honeyed tones, and with considerably more sincerity.

When Dominic returned, some ten minutes later, he was putting his handkerchief back in his pocket.

Wiping off the lipstick, thought Phoebe, strongly tempted to say, You missed a bit.

'Ready, Miss Grant?'

He sounded a trifle curt, which was understandable, she conceded, under the circumstances. He'd had a lousy but expensive meal, and her presence had fouled up the after-dinner entertainment.

On the other hand, he'd had an unpaid babysitter, and she hadn't asked him to take her home. And Hazel Sinclair was undoubtedly a bitch.

An imp of pure malice stirred within her.

'I'm glad I wasn't after the job of family treasure,' she remarked pensively as they drove through the starlit lanes. 'I think it's been taken.'

'Miss Sinclair,' he said icily, 'is a very old friend.'

'But so well preserved,' said Phoebe brightly.

There was a silence. 'Are you always so rude about comparative strangers?' he asked with dangerous calm.

'Invariably,' said Phoebe, not giving a hoot.

To her surprise, an unwilling laugh was forced from him. 'Were you ever spanked as a child?' 'Lots of times, but probably not enough to suit you, - Mr Ashton.'

'You took the words out of my mouth,' he murmured.

The Range Rover turned sharply to the left, and Phoebe sat up. 'You've taken the wrong turning. Westcombe's the other way.'

'We're not going straight there. We're going to the Green Man in Cottring for a drink.'

Phoebe's lips parted in an outraged gasp. 'I don't want a drink. What the hell is this?'

Dominic sighed impatiently. 'Then stay thirsty,' he said. 'Watch me drink instead. It's not important. There's something I want to talk to you about.'

'Why can't we talk now—on the way home?'

'Because I need to concentrate on driving and serious conversation gets in the way.' He paused. 'Can you drive, by the way?'