A Nanny for Christmas

by Sara Craven

  'No,' she said. 'I wouldn't.'

  'Of course,' he said. 'You have to babysit.'

  'Yes,' she said. 'But that makes no actual difference. Even if I were free, I wouldn't come with you.'

  He sighed theatrically. 'Well, that's me told. And yet once you'd have walked over broken glass to get to me. How fickle you are.'

  'No,' she said. 'I just grew up, that's all.'

  He was still smiling, but there was no amusement in the blue eyes. 'Then I shall eat alone.'

  'They do rooms as well,' she threw after his retreating figure.

  But it was sheer bravado, she acknowledged once she was alone. Inwardly she was shaking like a leaf, unable to credit what had just happened.

  It was like some macabre joke, she thought numbly.

  She found she was wandering round the room, walking from the fireplace to the window, over to the tree to make some minor adjustment, and back again.

  Calm down, she adjured herself, swallowing. Or you're letting him win. He can't hurt you any more...

  Only-that wasn't strictly true, she reminded herself wretchedly. He could do a lot of damage, if he wanted.

  Dominic clearly had no illusions about him, but he trusted her, and she wanted it to stay that way. She couldn't face his contempt. Not again. Because this time it would destroy her for ever.

  She sat down and picked up the paper, but the words swam before her eyes in a meaningless blur.

  When the phone rang suddenly, she nearly jumped out of her skin. She went out into the hall and picked up the receiver with trembling hands.

  'Hello?' she said uncertainly.

  'Phoebe?'

  She gasped. 'Oh, Dominic, it's you. Is—is something wrong?'

  'I was just about to ask you the same thing,' he returned.

  She bit her lip. 'No—everything's fine,' she returned constrainedly. 'I was just surprised to hear from you again.'

  'I wanted to talk to you when Tara was out of the way.' He paused. 'That is allowed under the agreement, I hope? You don't feel you have to fetch Carrie as chaperon?'

  In spite of herself, she laughed. 'I think we can trust ourselves.'

  'I was going to mention this last night, but other events intervened. There's a craft shop in Midburton with an amazing dolls' house for sale. I wondered about buying it as Tara's Christmas present. What do you think?'

  'It sounds really good. Has it got furniture?'

  'No, they make that separately. I want you to go over there and have a look, and reserve it if you approve. Pick out some furniture too, and tell them to send an invoice to my office. They're expecting you, so they won't sell it over our heads.'

  'Oh, I'd love that.' Phoebe remembered her own dolls' house, and the hours of pleasure and happy daydreams it had brought her. 'That makes up for—' She stopped abruptly, aware she was on dangerous ground.

  'Makes up for what?' He sounded concerned.

  'Oh—general dreariness,' she invented hastily. 'You know.'

  'What happened to the splendid day?'

  'It—ended.'

  'So did mine. It's pretty depressing here too.' He paused. 'I wish I was at home.'

  'So do I,' she admitted unguardedly.

  'Why, Phoebe.' There was laughter in his voice, but no mockery. 'Can I take it you're missing me?'

  'I was thinking of Tara,' she said primly.

  A slight sound made her turn her head. To her horror, she saw Tony standing in the doorway which led to the kitchen quarters.

  'I—I'd better go,' she told Dominic.

  'Condemning me to my hotel room and cable television? That isn't very kind.' His voice sounded odd, almost wistful—but the telephone distorted everything.

  'I'm sure there are lots of things you could do.' Phoebe was burningly aware of the eavesdropper a few yards away. 'I've load? of jobs myself.'

  'Then I'm sorry I disturbed you.' He was courteous, but there was no more laughter. 'Please don't forget about the dolls' house.'

  'I'll see to it first thing tomorrow, after I've taken Tara to school.' She was about to add. Maybe I can get some tiny dolls and dress them for her, when she realised he'd rung off.

  Slowly she replaced her own receiver.

  'YoOir esteemed employer, I presume, ringing for a little bedtime chat? How cosy. Is this a regular occurrence?'

  Phoebe bit her lip. 'I thought you'd gone to the pub.'

  'No, I decided to make myself a sandwich instead. I didn't want to come back and find I'd been locked out,' Tony returned silkily. 'Is Carrie back yet? I need a bed making up.' 'No, she isn't,' Phoebe told him shortly.

  He tutted. 'Then you'll have to do it yourself, nanny dear. Unless you'd like me to share your bed?' he added, eyeing her speculatively.

  'No, I wouldn't,' Phoebe said calmly. 'And what makes you think Dominic will allow you to stay under his roof?'

  'It is Christmas—the time of goodwill. Or do you think I'm stretching brotherly love too far?'

  'Yes, I do.'

  'Then it's a good job he isn't here.' He made an impatient gesture. 'Look, Phoebe, I need somewhere to sleep for a couple of nights. Help me out on this, and I won't tell Dom your dark secret. Is it a deal?'

  'I suppose I can't really stop you,' she said tautly. 'But you can make up your own bed.'

  He winced. 'The years haven't improved you, Phoebe. You never used to be this hard. Where are you sleeping?'

  'That's none of your business.'

  He shrugged. 'Please yourself—but don't blame me if I lose my way, and come blundering in during the night.'

  'All right,' she said curtly. 'I'm sleeping in Dominic's room.'

  His brows rose. 'Really, darling? How Freudian. Or is this the usual arrangement? In spite of everything, have two lonely hearts begun to beat as one?' He whistled. 'It would explain the intimate phone call.'

  'It's to keep Tara company,' she said flatly. 'And she'll already be asleep, so keep out.'

  Tony shrugged again. 'Fine. But you don't know what you're missing.'

  Phoebe flayed him with a look. 'On the contrary,' she said. 'I know exactly.'

  She went out of the room and up the stairs. She collected a few necessities from her own room, then went softly down to Dominic's and tiptoed in.

  Tara was indeed fast asleep, and did not stir when Phoebe gingerly lifted the covers and crept in beside her.

  She felt deathly tired, but sleep was elusive. As soon as she tried to relax, her mind went into pandemonium over the evening's revelations.

  All those years, she thought. All those years I hated Dominic. Blamed him for cruelty and insensitivity when all the time he must have been totally traumatised himself.

  What must he have felt—finding his wife with his own stepbrother? she wondered helplessly. And then, after all that, to find himself the victim of a sadistic practical joke.

  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.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  'WHAT'S Uncle Tony doing her
e?' 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 wr
yly.

  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.