A Nanny for Christmas (17 page)

Tony had used and betrayed them both, she thought, but Dominic's suffering had to be greater than her own. His scarring deeper, and more bitter. The treachery he'd endured was unforgivable.

And all I saw was the anger and contempt, she thought wretchedly. I never noticed his pain—his humiliation. Never stopped to ask why he'd overreacted so violently. I only thought of myself.

Not that it would have made any real difference, she acknowledged, sighing. She and Dominic had been fated to meet at totally the wrong moment in their lives.

And now there would never be a right one. Because Dominic's course in life was set, and Hazel Sinclair would be sharing it with him, for good or ill.

She turned onto her side and wept for the hurt of it all, the waste and the sorrow.

But she wept silently, so as not to disturb Dominic's sleeping child.

Because, ultimately, caring for Tara was all she had. The one gift of love that she dared offer him. And the only one that he would accept from her.

When really she wanted to give him her heart and soul.

'
W
HAT'S
Uncle Tony doing here?' Tara asked over breakfast the following morning.

'That's what we'd all like to know,' Carrie muttered as she filled the toast rack.

'I'm sorry,' Phoebe said, not for the first time. 'I didn't know what to do. He just—walked in, you see.'

'He'd have walked out again if I'd been here,' Carrie said grimly. 'And what Mr Dominic will say, I've no idea.'

'Doesn't Daddy like Uncle Tony?' Tara was round- eyed. 'Mummy likes him. He came to see us in London.'

Phoebe pretended not to see the speaking glance Carrie was directing at her.

'Uncle Tony's just passing through,' she said briskly. 'And I think it might be better to let him do just that, and not bother Daddy about him. Especially if they don't get on very well.'

Tara considered that, her head on one side. Then she asked, 'Why did you sleep with me last night, Phoebe?'

'It's a very big bed. I was afraid you might get lost.' Phoebe smiled at her. 'Did you mind?'

'No, it was like having a sister.' Tara sighed as she spread honey messily on her toast. 'I've always wanted a sister.'

'Two like you in the house? More than flesh and blood could stand,' Carrie said gruffly, and Tara, not fooled in the least, gave her a serene smile.

Perhaps the prospect of siblings would help reconcile Tara to her father's marriage to Hazel Sinclair, Phoebe told herself as she collected the little girl's things ready for school. That was if Hazel wanted children. She certainly had no interest in Tara. Quite the contrary, in fact. But maybe she'd be different with her own.

As she came down to the hall Tony came out of the drawing room, and stood smiling up at her.

'So there you are.'

'Top marks for observation,' Phoebe said shortly, trying to edge round him, but he was deliberately blocking her path to the door.

'Taking Tara to school? I'll come with you.'

'There's no need for that.'

'Probably not, but I'm coming anyway. I'd like to spend part of the day with someone who's pleased to see me,' he added with something of an edge.

'Under the circumstances, you can hardly expect the red carpet.' Phoebe contributed some edge of her own.

As she unlocked the car, Tara came racing out.

'Uncle Tony, are we going out for a treat?'

'Nothing I'd like more, angel.' He lifted her and swung her round. 'But Nanny says you have to go to school.'

'Oh.' Tara directed a pleading look at Phoebe. 'Do I have to?'

'Absolutely.' Phoebe found herself stiffening with distaste at the sight of Tara in Tony's arms. She met his eyes over the child's head, and realised he knew exactly how she felt and relished it.

'Tell you what, sweetpea, why don't I take you to school this morning in my car?'

'No,' Phoebe said swiftly, and forcefully.

'Lighten up, Feeb.' He was laughing at her openly now. 'Don't be a spoilsport all your life.' Still carrying Tara, he strode towards the raffish sports car parked on the driver.

'Sorry it's only a two seater,' he called back over his shoulder. 'See you later.'

'It's not your fault.' Carrie poured Phoebe a consolatory cup of coffee. 'He was always the same—selfish, headstrong, and hell-bent on getting his own way. He'll seem glamorous to the child at first, but the novelty will soon wear off for him, mark my words.'

'I should have stopped him somehow,' Phoebe said wretchedly. 'I don't want him playing games with her emotions.' She saw Carrie's surprised look, and added defensively, 'I don't think he's a suitable companion for a child.'

Carrie patted her hand. 'Try not to worry,' she advised. 'He'll be off before you know it, and we can have some peace again.'

As soon as Carrie had gone upstairs to change the towels, Phoebe rang Westcombe Park School. To her surprise and relief, she learned that Tara had been deposited at the school and was now in her classroom, instead of heaven knew where on some jaunt.

And Tony himself returned some ten minutes later.

'Coffee,' he remarked. 'How civilised. I notice Dom's dragon didn't offer me any breakfast this morning.'

'Just what the hell are you playing at?' Phoebe blazed at him. 'Tara is in my care, and you had no right to go against me like that.'

'Afraid I'd kidnapped her?' He gave her a malicious grin. 'No chance. She's a charmer, of course, like any daughter of Serena's would be, but a little of any child's company goes a long way with me.'

'I'd like you to leave her alone.'

'No sooner said than done.' He poured himself some coffee and came to sit opposite her. 'I shall be moving on presently.'

'Moving on?' Phoebe repeated in bewilderment.

'You sound disappointed, honey pie. But in spite of the flawless hospitality I have to tear myself away.'

She eyed him warily. 'That isn't the impression you gave last night.'

'Well,' Tony said lightly, 'perhaps I've had time to think since then. Time to realise that my presence here really wouldn't be welcomed by my dear stepbrother. You see, I have some tact.'

'Why did you come here in the first place?'

He waved an airy hand. 'Family business, darling. But it can wait.' He drank some coffee. 'It's been fascinating to meet you again, in spite of this distressing waspish- ness you've developed. And do remember that my visit is our little secret.'

'What about Tara and Carrie?' she countered. 'Are they supposed to keep quiet about it too?'

'Oh, Tara's no problem. We have an agreement, she and I. And Carrie's always hated me. She can be easily persuaded to forget I was ever here.'

'It's all perfectly simple, really,' Phoebe said with heavy irony.

'So let's keep it that way.' He finished his coffee and pushed his chair back. He smiled at her, his eyes fingering on her breasts. 'Goodbye, honey pie. Enjoy your nights in Dom's bed. Something tells me there won't be many of them.'

Phoebe was still sitting, staring into space, when Carrie returned ten minutes later.

'I thought I heard a car. Has he gone?'

'Yes,' Phoebe agreed frowningly. 'He has.'

'So that's all right, then,' Carrie said comfortably.

Is it? thought Phoebe, troubled. I wish I could be so sure.

She tried to put Tony's mysterious appearance, and equally enigmatic departure, out of her mind for the trip to Midburton.

The craft shop was at the end of a small precinct, which it shared with a perfumery, a silversmith and a boutique selling hand-painted silk scarves.

The dolls' house was even better than Phoebe had hoped, spacious and solidly built in a traditional design, with gables and mullioned windows. The whole of the front was on hinges, and the main door and windows all opened.

'It's beautiful,' she told the woman who ran the shop. 'I'd love it myself.'

The other woman laughed. 'I'm glad it's going to a good home. We were all so glad when Mr Ashton came back to Midburton.' She lowered her voice. 'Such a shame about his marriage breaking up. She used to buy her scent in the shop next door, and she was the most lovely thing I ever saw. So charming and natural. Such a
giving
person.'

'So I gather,' Phoebe agreed without expression. 'May I look at the furniture now?'

'It's all hand-made.' The woman passed her a card. 'This is the name of the craftsman if you want to place any special orders. Some people like those big four- poster beds, but we don't keep them in stock.'

'I don't think so.' Phoebe forced a smile. She lingered over her selection, concentrating on basics because Tara would obviously want to choose some things for herself at a later stage.

'If you want to leave the house and furniture until Christmas Eve that will be fine,' the woman offered as she totted up the bill. 'It's often a problem to hide something as big as this.'

'Thanks,' Phoebe accepted gratefully. 'But I'll take some of these little jointed dolls with me now.'

'This is one very lucky little girl.' The woman was wreathed in smiles as she showed Phoebe to the door.

Not in every way, Phoebe thought wryly.

While she was in Midburton, she decided, she might as well do the rest of her shopping. It was an odd sensation actually having money in her pocket, for once, instead of having to count every penny.

The scent shop had special Christmas baskets crammed with bath foam, body lotions and other toiletries in exquisite old-fashioned fragrances like rose, lily and honeysuckle, and Phoebe chose one for Carrie.

For Lynn there was an array of the newest colours in nail enamels, prettily packaged.

In an art shop she found an enormous paintbox for Tara, with sensible sized brushes, and a thick pad of paper where she could create her masterpieces.

After all, she couldn't play with the dolls' house all day and every day during the long winter. She'd need some alternative form of interest.

But I won't be there to see it, Phoebe thought with a pang. I won't be there to supervise and praise her.

Only a short while before she'd been planning a new career—sorting out her life, her future.

Now, she knew, with pain, that everything she really wanted—all her happiness and true fulfilment—was in the house at Fitton Magna.

And she had to leave it behind.

She gave herself a mental shake, pushing her wretchedness to the back of her mind. It was still going to be Christmas very soon, and she had Dominic's present to buy. Even that presented a major problem. Any form of clothing, or even male toiletries, seemed too intimate somehow, unless she stuck to something safe but dull like socks and handkerchiefs, and they didn't appeal at all.

She wandered from shop to shop, examining and discarding-, getting more and more low-spirited, until she came across a small, independent bookseller. On display in the window was a handsomely presented reprint of a pre-war local history book, wonderfully illustrated, with a big section on Fitton Magna and its environs.

Not too personal, but clearly specially chosen, Phoebe decided jubilantly, discovering that it was a limited edition produced by a local printer.

And even when she was long gone the book would remain at the house, a tangible reminder that she had lived there. A remembrance of her, she thought wistfully.

The shop had some unusual wrapping paper and tags too, so, in spite of her emotional turmoil, Phoebe could feel well-satisfied with her efforts as she drove home.

She couldn't wait for Dominic to phone that night, and hovered expectantly for Tara to finish her conversation so that she could tell him, 'Mission accomplished'. But Tara came running back to inform her that Dominic had rung off without asking to speak to her.

'Oh,' Phoebe said blankly, feeling totally and absurdly put down.

'I think he was in a hurry. But he says he's coming back tomorrow night,' Tara added with delight, and Phoebe supposed she would have to make do with that.

The next twenty-four hours passed tranquilly enough, apart from Tara's unwillingness to go to school.

'It's boring,' she said rebelliously. 'All they do is practise the play, and I have to just sit there. And Judith, who got the part of the Virgin Mary, is
awful,'
she added broodingly.

Although sympathetic, Phoebe had to hide a smile. 'Why don't you write a nativity play of your own?' she suggested. 'Then we can all act it here.'

Tara's face lit up. 'With me as the Virgin Mary?'

'We wouldn't have anyone else,' Phoebe assured her.

'Daddy could be Joseph,' said the embryo playwright, 'and Carrie can be the innkeeper, and you can be all the shepherds.'

'Sounds good to me,' Phoebe agreed. 'But what do we do for the Wise Men?'

'We'll have to wait and see if Uncle Tony comes back,' said Tara.

God forbid, Phoebe thought devoutly.

Tony's unexpected intrusion into their lives lurked uneasily in the back of her mind, like an unanswered question. Or an unexploded bomb.

My first love, she thought with self-disgust. Only it was never love—merely infatuation. And how could I have been so blind—so self-delusional?

But she knew the answer to that. She hadn't known what love really was.

Not until now, she thought. Not until now.

It was late in the evening when Dominic finally returned. Tara, furious at not being allowed to stay up for him, had sulked her way to bed. And Carrie had turned down the oven for the rich beef casserole she'd prepared to the gentlest simmer, prophesying doom and disaster for it if he didn't come soon.

He looks tired, was Phoebe's first thought. And unhappy, too.

Perhaps his rescue plan had failed after all.

She followed him into the study. He paused in the act of unpacking his briefcase and looked at her, one brow lifted interrogatively.

No smile or word of greeting, she registered bleakly. She was wearing the moss-green needlecord shirtwaister that she'd bought during her expedition to Midburton. And suddenly she felt foolish, as if she'd dressed for a celebration only to find it cancelled.