A Nanny for Christmas (11 page)

She swallowed, clutching the basket of clothes as if it were a shield. Because if he touched her she didn't know what she would do. How she would react. And the realisation frightened her, sent her mind spinning.

It was as if she was joined to him by some intense, mutual need that she had never thought to experience, and that she couldn't begin to understand.

He hadn't moved a muscle, but all the same she felt— taken. Stamped for ever by some mark of possession.

Then, as if the invisible cord between them had been slashed with a knife, she was just as suddenly free again, her legs shaking under her, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

He said laconically, 'Get your coat. I'll see you on the front drive in five minutes.' And he turned and went, leaving her staring after him.

After she'd left the clothes basket in the kitchen, explained to Carrie where she was going and fetched her jacket from her room, she had an excuse to be breathless when she joined him on the drive.

He was waiting beside the little Peugeot she'd last seen in the car park beside the market.

'You'll have the use of this while you work for me.' He handed her the keys. 'Let's see what you can do.'

'You want me to drive?' Phoebe gasped.

'You told me you had a licence. I need to check your general competency if you're going to be driving my daughter.'

'Yes—yes, I see.' She slid behind the wheel, waiting nervously while he took his place beside her. 'It's been a while...'

'Then take your time.'

To her relief, the engine responded immediately, and she moved smoothly away.

'Where exactly are we going?' she asked as she threaded her way through the lanes. She was glad she had to concentrate so hard on what she was doing. It helped divert her attention from Dominic's physical proximity to her in the confined space of the car.

'To Westcombe Park School first, and then into Westcombe itself, where Tara has her piano lesson. Her teacher lives in Derwent Street.'

'Of course.' Phoebe nodded. 'That's just a few doors away from the tea rooms.'

'And probably why Cindy thought she could risk leaving Tara to fend for herself,' he returned flatly.

'Yes—but there was no real harm done.'

He said drily, 'I wish I could agree.'

There was a brief silence, then he continued. 'May I say, by the way, how much I approve of the transformation?'

Phoebe felt her face warm slightly. She said stiltedly, 'I—I have to talk to you about that.'

'That has an ominous sound,' he said lightly. 'Don't you like Carrie's choice for you?'

'That's not the point. I—I don't want anyone else buying my clothes.'

'But your own stuff went up in flames,' Dominic pointed out reasonably. 'And I really couldn't allow you to spend the rest of your life in my robe, however beguiling you looked,' he added silkily.

A remark Phoebe considered it safer to ignore. 'All the same,' she said stubbornly, 'I wish you hadn't done it. It will take me ages to repay you.'

'Consider it part of the job,' he said dismissively. 'Uniform supplied.'

'This is nothing like a uniform, and you know it.' Phoebe swallowed. 'Please let me have the receipts, and I'll pay for the things as and when I can.'

'Please don't sound as if you'll be going round with a begging bowl,' he said caustically. 'I saw the fire officer today, and he confirmed that the cause of the fire was the faulty wiring, so you probably have a claim against your landlord.'

'I doubt if he'll see it that way.'

'He may not have a choice.' Dominic paused. 'And there is, of course, the question of your salary. We haven't really discussed that yet.'

He mentioned a sum that nearly caused her to stall the car.

'But you can't possibly pay me that much,' she protested. 'I'm not even qualified.'

He said slowly, 'It's what I was paying Cindy. And you have a warm heart and a sense of responsibility— both attributes that she signally lacked. I think you're worth it. That's on top of your board and lodging, of course,' he added, almost as an afterthought.

'Oh, this is ridiculous,' she said heatedly.

'I quite agree. We're going to end up in the ditch.'

'Oh, hell.' Phoebe hurriedly righted her steering. 'You know what I mean.'

'Yes, I do,' he said slowly. 'And I'm wondering why you have such a low sense of self-esteem.'

She bit her lip until she tasted blood. 'I—wasn't aware I had.'

'Another fib,' he said gently. 'You don't trust me enough to tell me the truth. But I can wait.'

You'll wait a long time, she thought wildly. What would you say, I wonder, if I told you that it was all because of you—and only you? Maybe, on the day I leave for ever...

Westcombe Park School was a big square building in red brick. Lights blazed from the windows, and the road outside was busy with Land Rovers and Jeeps while the drivers—mostly women in Barbours and Puffa jackets— called greetings to each other.

Phoebe parked the car neatly and got out, feeling very much an outsider, although she spotted a few girls of her own age who were probably nannies too.

In the distance a bell pealed shrilly, and the children began to emerge from the school building in laughing, chattering groups.

Tara was one of the last to appear, and Phoebe noticed immediately that she was walking on her own, looking down at the ground.

She cupped her hands to her mouth. 'Hi,' she called. 'We're over here.'

The child looked up, and the wistful, slightly withdrawn expression vanished like magic.

'Phoebe.' She hurled herself across the road. 'You're staying. You really are. I wished so hard, and it's come true.'

'Well, I hope you don't regret it.' Phoebe returned her hug. 'I can be a real dragon.'

'Can we go home and play another game?' Tara asked eagerly.

'No, poppet. You have a music lesson, and then your homework to do.' Phoebe decided to get into dragon mode right away.

'Daddy—do I have to go to music?' Tara wheedled.

He pinched her nose gently. 'Yes, my love. Mrs Blake is expecting you.'

'But I want to show Phoebe all my toys.'

'There'll be plenty of time for that.' Phoebe ushered her into the back of the car and fastened her seat-belt.

'You won't go away?' the child asked anxiously. 'People always go away.'

Phoebe felt something twist inside her. 'I'll stay as long as you need me,' she said slowly.

Dominic touched her arm. 'I'd better introduce you to Mrs Franks, Tara's teacher.'

He took her across to a tall woman who'd been standing just inside the school gate, talking vivaciously to a small group of mothers. As she turned away Dominic intercepted her.

'Mrs Franks, this is Phoebe Grant, who will be looking after Tara for me.'

'Another young woman,' Mrs Franks said with a silvery laugh, raking Phoebe with a glance that managed to be inquisitive and dismissive at the same time. 'I do hope for your sake that she's rather more reliable than the last one, Mr Ashton.'

Her voice became earnest. 'You see, we do feel at Westcombe Park that a stable home background is so necessary for the well-being of the individuals in our little community.'

'Yes.' There was a touch of bleakness in Dominic's voice. 'I'm aware of that too.' He turned and strode back to the car. But Phoebe lingered for a moment.

'Is Tara settling in at school?' she asked.

'Naturally.' Mrs Franks bridled a little. 'We pride ourselves on making even the most awkward newcomer feel at home. Why do you ask?'

'It's just that she came out on her own,' Phoebe said rather lamely. 'And I wondered...'

'Isn't it rather soon to be making judgements?' Another tinkle of laughter. 'Generally children of that age find their own level without needing interference from adults.'

'I didn't mean to interfere,' Phoebe said quickly. 'I was just—concerned.'

'And a little over-conscientious, perhaps?' Phoebe was given a patronising smile. 'I think you can safely leave Tara to us during school hours.' Mrs Franks looked over Phoebe's shoulder. 'Ah, Mrs Dawson, I hoped I'd see you today. It's about Melanie's extra reading...'

Phoebe returned to the car. I probably am worrying for nothing she thought. And yet...

'Shall I come in with you?' Phoebe asked Tara as she parked the car in Derwent Street.

'I don't think she's reached audience standard yet.' Dominic sounded amused. 'We'll go for a stroll while she has her lesson.'

Mrs Blake, Tara's piano teacher, was a tall woman with a calm, humorous face, and Phoebe liked her immediately.

In return she received an appraising look and a firm handshake.

'I'm glad to have seen the last of your predecessor,' she told Phoebe quietly while Tara was finding her music and climbing onto the piano stool. 'Pretending that she'd be there to pick Tara up at my gate, and getting the child to lie for her.' She snorted. 'Unforgivable. She deserves her broken bones.'

Phoebe would have liked to linger in the cosy house, listening to Tara's lesson. The realisation that Dominic was waiting for her was a daunting one. She wasn't sure she wanted to go strolling with him. She seemed to be spending altogether too much time in his company as it was. Hands in pockets, she walked quietly at his side down Derwent Street, and out into the main shopping area.

The High Street had been decorated for Christmas, and a popular DJ from a local radio station had switched on the lights the previous weekend.

Phoebe had spent a miserable Christmas last year and had anticipated a similarly bleak prospect this year. Instead, she'd be able to see Christmas in the only real way—through the eyes of a child, she realised on a small surge of pleasure.

'At last—the glimmer of a smile,' Dominic remarked. 'You've been looking so serious I thought you wanted another of your little talks with me.'

She flushed. 'A lot of things have happened over the past twenty-four hours. You can hardly expect me to be turning cartwheels.'

'But you don't have to look as if you were about to be led out to execution either. Is the thought of caring for Tara really so traumatic?'

'No, of course not,' Phoebe denied, startled. 'She's a darling.'

'And you haven't found evidence that Carrie is practising voodoo in the coalshed?'

A reluctant chuckle escaped her. 'Now you're being absurd.'

'I was afraid of that. In which case, it must be me.' He paused, then said in a very different voice, 'What is it, Phoebe? What have I done?'

All the muscles in her throat tightened. She looked straight ahead of her. 'You've been—very kind,' she said stiltedly. 'Perhaps I just don't respond well to— sudden change.'

'But at least this time it's a change for the better—or should be. Unlike some in the past.' He was silent for a moment. 'And you're still grieving for your father?'

She hesitated. 'Yes. I think I grieve most for the fact that I wasn't there. That he died among strangers.'

'That wasn't your fault. And, though you may not believe me, there are worse fates.'

'What could be worse?'

He said slowly, 'To die knowing that someone you've loved does not love you in return. That you've invested your life—your energy—in worthless stock. That's a terrible loneliness.'

She remembered things Carrie had said, and knew he was talking of his own father. The passage of time hadn't softened the pain, or the anger.

'When I discovered I'd made the same mistake, I cut my losses immediately,' he went on, almost conversationally. 'I knew that even if I had to be alone for the rest of my life it would be worth it.'

'But you're not alone.' A sudden image of Hazel Sinclair imprinted itself on her mind, and was suppressed. 'You—you have Tara.'

'That,' he said, too gently, 'is not quite the same thing.' He paused. 'And what about you, Phoebe? You're not a child. You've been away to university. There must have been at least one significant other in your life. Maybe more.'

'No one—serious,' Phoebe hedged. No one at all, she thought.

'You mean those barriers of yours aren't just for me? But surely someone must have tried to get close—to solve the enigma?'

'Perhaps they were perceptive enough to realise there wasn't one. That I'm just—'

'An ordinary girl with no secrets?' he supplied drily. 'That's not perception. That's wilful blindness. And I give you due warning, Phoebe Grant—' his voice slowed to a drawl '—that I intend to search you out. To uncover all your secrets—every hidden depth.'

Her whole body seemed to shiver. She stopped dead, turning to stare unseeingly into a shop window festooned with Christmas cheer.

She said in a low voice which vibrated with anger, 'Well, let me warn you in return, Mr Ashton. Taking this job does not mean I'll allow any invasion of my privacy. I'm doing it for Tara—just for Tara. I will not be used for your amusement.'

'Did I give that impression?' he came back swiftly. 'I'm deadly serious.'

'And so am I.' Phoebe swung to face him. 'We are two separate people, Mr Ashton, who for a short time have to lead parallel lives. But one of the great things about parallels is that they don't meet. And that's the way I want it. For all your generous salary and beautiful home, I won't accept anything else.'

'I see.' He was quiet for a moment. 'Does this stipulation also preclude the friendship I once offered you?'

'You're my employer,' she said. 'I'm your daughter's temporary nanny. That's it. All of it.'

'You're certainly extremely vehement about it,' he commented wryly. 'Which makes me wonder exactly which of us you're most keen to convince.' He left that hanging in the air, and glanced at his watch. 'In the interests of parallelism, I'll see you back at Derwent Street in half an hour.'

Parallelism indeed, Phoebe thought, glaring at his retreating back. I bet there's no such word.

At least she'd drawn the parameters for the next few weeks, she told herself defiantly. And from now on she should be in no danger.

But, in that case, why was she suddenly trembling like a leaf? And why was she peering along the busy street, trying to catch a glimpse of Dominic's tall figure walking away from her?