by Sara Craven
'Indeed she is.' Phoebe forced a smile. She felt totally bruised—traumatised by the events of the past twenty- four hours. But, she told herself bleakly, she had no one to blame but herself.
She couldn't even remember dragging on her clothes and escaping to her room last night. Yet she must have managed it somehow, because, at some time in the small hours, she'd become aware that she was lying, cold and shivering, on top of her bed, the pillow soaked with her tears.
She'd undressed and got under the covers, staring dry- eyed into the darkness, trying to come to terms with what had happened and failing miserably.
She'd behaved like a fool—worse than a fool. She'd fallen headlong into Dominic's arms, bewitched by his kisses, seduced by his caresses. She'd put her mind on hold and let her senses take over. And now she had to endure the consequences.
Some time, during the course of the day, she would have to face him. To know that he was remembering, as she was, the totality of her surrender. That she'd more than justified his opinion of her. Warm and willing, she thought, and shuddered.
And how would he ever believe that it was only his lips and his hands which could have swept away her defences? That she'd given herself because she loved him, and love created trust?
But he wouldn't have to believe it, she reminded herself painfully. Nor would he want to. He'd engineered that little bout of lovemaking to prove a point. Nothing more. He'd made no promises. Offered no commitment. And once the encounter was over, and the real world had jogged his consciousness, he'd walked away without a backward glance.
And now I have to deal with the real world, too, she acknowledged with a small, inward sigh. Which is taking Tara to school, and coping with her understandable excitement about her mother. Even if I can't share it.
'Is Daddy cross with me?' Tara asked.
'No, why should he be?' Phoebe braked gently for a set of traffic lights.
'Because I had to fib to him about Uncle Tony,' Tara said in a small voice. 'I didn't want to, but Uncle Tony said I mustn't say a word about him being here or he'd stop Mummy coming to see me. And Daddy kept asking and asking me.'
'Listen, poppet,' Phoebe said gently, 'I think it would be an excellent plan to put Uncle Tony out of your mind for good. He had no right to ask you to tell fibs, and Daddy would be cross with him rather than you, so don't worry any more.'
'All right.' Tara brightened again. 'I wonder how soon Mummy will be here?'
'Too soon for me,' Carrie said bluntly, dealing briskly with the potatoes for lunch. 'I can't understand Mr Dominic agreeing to let her come here.'
'It's just for Tara,' Phoebe offered. 'Serena Vane is her mother after all.'
And I know another, thought Phoebe, staring out over the rainswept orchard.
Lunch over, she had another go at dressing Tara's dolls. She was sitting in the drawing room, head bent, absorbed in tacking together a tiny pair of cord trousers, when a slight sound made her glance up.
Dominic was standing in the doorway, watching her. Phoebe looked back at him, aware that a blush she couldn't control was bathing her entire body in heat. She put down her sewing, before she yielded to temptation and stabbed herself through the heart with the needle.
'Did you want to speak to me about something?' Formality was the keynote, she told herself. Behave as if last night was just a figment of the imagination.
'There are things that need to be said.' He paused. 'About last night...'
Phoebe's hands twisted together in her lap so tightly that her knuckles ached. So much, she thought, for good intentions.
'There's nothing to discuss.' There was a slight huskiness in her voice. 'You set out to prove something, and you succeeded. I have zero will-power, just as you said. Now, can we forget the whole embarrassing episode?'
'It's not that simple.'
'Why not? I'm hardly going to sue you for sexual harassment. And I don't intend to swap girlish confidences with Miss Vane either.'
'How very reassuring.' His tone had an edge to it. 'For God's sake, Phoebe, can't you see how impossible the whole situation is?'
'Do you want me to go and pack?' She hadn't thought she could hurt so much, and live.
He bit his lip. 'No—at least, not yet. I feel we should let our-current arrangement stand. Unless, of course, you feel you must...?'
'No.' She stretched her lips in a smile. 'I—I'll stay until the New Year, as I promised. And you don't have to worry. I don't need any further demonstrations of how stupid I can be.'
'Phoebe, for God's sake.' He sounded raw.
'I've also found out why Tara lied about Tony,' she went on, as if he hadn't spoken. 'He put pressure on her. Claimed he could cancel her mother's visit if she gave him away.'
Dominic frowned. 'But Tara didn't know her mother was coming. Not until I told her so this morning.'
'Actually, she did. She mentioned the possibility to me way back, although I think she'd rather lost faith in it latterly.'
'I should have known,' he said grimly. 'Serena does so little on impulse.' He paused. 'It seems I owe you an apology—one of several.'
'No,' she said quickly. 'That's—all right.' Don't say you're sorry you touched me, she pleaded silently. Oh, please don't say that. 'If it's any consolation, Tara hated doing it,' she added.
He said bleakly, 'When I'm ready to be consoled, I'll bear it in mind.'
There was a blast of cold, damp air sweeping into the house as the front door opened suddenly.
From the hall, Hazel Sinclair called impatiently, 'Dominic? Dom, darling, where are you?'
Dominic turned towards the door, but before he could head her off she was in the room.
'I saw your car on the drive.' Smiling, she advanced on him, holding out her hands, encouraging him to kiss her on both cheeks, Continental-style. 'You didn't let me know you were home, bad boy. I thought, as I was passing, I should drop off these tickets for the school Christmas show. It's next Wednesday,' she continued vivaciously. 'Carols, solo items, a nativity play, and mince pies and punch afterwards.'
'That's kind of you,' he said politely. 'But I don't think we can make it.'
'Oh, darling...' She drawled the word to three times its normal length. 'You're not sulking, are you, because your Tara didn't get the lead?'
He gave her a meditative look. 'You know about that, do you?'
'Well, naturally. I am a governor, after all. And I gather Mary Poppins over there did make some kind of fuss. She really shouldn't interfere in the school's internal affairs.'
'Well, it won't be necessary for much longer,' Dominic said pleasantly. 'I'm enrolling Tara at Fitton Magna Primary School next year. I don't really care for Westcombe Park's internal affairs either.'
Hazel's laugh held no amusement. 'You do know you're being quite absurd? The whole thing's a storm in a teacup. Tara can't expect to be favoured because of her mother.'
'Indeed not, but I don't think favour comes into it. She's been deliberately excluded from the entire production.'
'I'm sure there's a very good reason.'
'Perhaps you'd like to tell me what it is?'
She shrugged. 'How on earth would I know?'
'You don't like Tara, do you, Hazel? You were very angry the other day when she called you a name. This wouldn't be your revenge, by any chance?'
'I hope,' Hazel said with dignity, 'that I'm not that petty.'
'I hope so too,' Dominic returned civilly, 'but I'm not convinced.'
'Dominic, darling.' She tried to laugh, but it didn't quite work. 'I can't believe we're having this conversation. You're—almost being insulting. Now, we'll forget all -this nonsense and we'll go to the show together on Wednesday. And, to prove there are no hard feelings, I'll talk to Mrs Franks. Tara can play one of the villagers.'
He shook his head. 'I'm sorry, Hazel, but Serena will be here, and Tara will want to spend her time with her mother.'
'Serena.' The name was choked out of her. 'What are you talking about?'
He shrugged. 'Sh
e's coming here for Christmas.'
'And you're letting her—after everything that's happened?' Her voice rose almost to a shriek. 'You must be mad.'
'Tara resides with me, but Serena is allowed access,' he said levelly. 'She's choosing to exercise that right over Christmas. I'd need a damned good reason to stop her.'
'But you've got one,' she said eagerly. 'We've been invited skiing, remember? We can fit Tara in somewhere...'
Phoebe tried to shrink under the sofa cushions. Oh, God, she thought. This is awful.
'As one of the villagers?' Dominic asked with irony. He shook his head again. 'It isn't going to happen, Hazel, but I'm sure you won't lack for company.'
For a moment, Phoebe thought Hazel was going to lose it completely, and braced herself for the explosion.
Then the other woman turned, and almost flung herself out of the room. A moment later they heard the roar of her car engine, and the splutter of gravel as she took off.
'That,' remarked Phoebe 'wasn't very kind.'
His face was wintry. 'Perhaps I'm not feeling very kind. But, considering the way she's treated Tara, it was benevolence itself. Even telling me she'd seen Tony at the school was an attempt to make trouble.'
'You can't be sure of that,' Phoebe protested.
'I can,' he said. 'As I've told you, I've known Hazel for a long time. It didn't work between us then, and it never will. And now, of course, everything's changing anyway.''Why?'
'Because Serena's coming back.' His tone was matter- of-fact.
Phoebe stowed her bag of sewing back under the sofa. 'It's time I fetched Tara,' she said, and left.
She actually arrived at the school gates with five minutes to spare, and settled down to read her book while she waited, until disturbed by a peremptory rap on the driver's window.
She looked round, and saw, with a sinking heart, Hazel Sinclair glaring in at her. Reluctantly, she wound down the window.
'I suppose you think you've been very clever,' Hazel said thickly.
'You couldn't be more wrong,' Phoebe returned with total sincerity.
'You may think you've wormed your way into Dominic's life, but you won't have a prayer once Serena gets to work.' The other woman's tone was vicious. 'He's never got over what she did to him. He can't handle a serious relationship with anyone else when he's still carrying a torch for her. That divorce is in name only, and you'd better believe it.'
Phoebe prayed that no trace of her inner pain was showing on her face. 'Thanks for the warning,' she said. 'But it's not necessary. I'm the nanny, and nothing else. I'm there just for Tara.'
'You look ever so funny,' Tara said, climbing into the car a few minutes later. 'Are you going to be sick?'
'Not-until after Christmas,' said Phoebe, and started the engine.
Serena Vane arrived the following Tuesday. Phoebe, despising herself for her own curiosity, watched the chauffeur-driven limousine draw up on the gravel.
The chauffeur came round to open the rear passenger door and Serena Vane got out, slowly and gracefully. She was taller than Phoebe had realised, with a mane of reddish-blonde hair. She was wearing a coat in supple cream suede, with boots to match.
Serena stood, looking appraisingly up at the house, and, though Phoebe knew she could not be seen, she shrank further behind the sheltering curtain.
The chauffeur was taking things from the car—a set of Louis Vuitton cases, and, incongruously, a large cardboard box with carrying handles. Miss Vane directed him to carry it all into the house, and walked ahead of him up the steps and out of sight.
Phoebe gave a small, unhappy sigh, and went to sit at the nursery table with her book. Whatever kind of family reunion would now be taking place downstairs, she wasn't expected to be part of it.
It was nearly an hour before Carrie, po-faced, came to fetch her.
'She wants to meet you. She's all sweetness and light, and I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her. She's brought Tara a puppy, of all things, and it's piddled in the hall already,' she added darkly.
It was Dominic whom Phoebe looked for first when she entered the drawing room. He was standing beside the fireplace, his expression unreadable but his eyes fixed unwinkingly on his former wife. A golden Labrador puppy was asleep at his feet.
Serena Vane was ensconced on one of the sofas, with Tara adoringly at her side. The coat had been removed to reveal an equally expensive cream boucle dress. Her lips and nails were painted an exotic deep crimson, and the eyes which examined Phoebe were so dark a blue as to seem almost black.
'So you're Phoebe,' said the lovely voice. 'You're the kind girl who's been taking care of my greatest treasure. I simply can't thank you enough. It's so dreadful, being thousands of miles away and imagining her with strangers.'
'It—it must be,' Phoebe stammered, feeling totally banal.
Dominic said, 'Shall I ask Carrie to bring in tea for us all?'
Serena laughed up at him. 'Tea, darling? Don't say there's no champagne to welcome me home.' She gazed round the room, giving a rapturous sigh. 'Oh, I've been away far too long.' She gave Tara a quick hug. 'But Mummy's back now, sweetie. And everything's going to be all right.'
She gave Dominic another swift smile. 'And you don't have to worry about Christmas; I've got it all arranged. I've ordered everything and they're bringing it later this afternoon. A tree, food, wine—everything.'
'But we've got a tree,' Tara pointed out, puzzled.
'Yes, sweetie, I noticed.' The lopsided angel was sent a disparaging look. 'But wait until you see the one I've bought. I'm sure we can find somewhere else for that one,' she added dismissively.
'And Carrie's done all the food,' Tara went on.
'Sweetie.' Serena's voice became slightly metallic. 'Don't keep trying to spoil all Mummy's lovely surprises, or I shall be sorry I came.' She paused. 'Would you like to see what else I've brought you?'
'We usually exchange presents on Christmas morning,' Dominic put in quietly.
'Oh, I can't wait that long.' Serena pointed to a large flat box tied with ribbons. 'It's in there.'
'It' turned out to be a fun fur coat. Watching Tara parade up and down in it obediently, Phoebe decided it was tacky and hateful, then berated herself for being a bitch.
The puppy decided to wake up, and began to wander round the room.
'He wants to go out,' Dominic said abruptly. 'Come on, Tara, we'll take him into the garden. Carrie won't want any more messes in the house.'
'Poor Carrie,' Serena said as the door closed behind them. 'I wonder if she's still adequate for the job.'
'Very much so,' Phoebe returned evenly.
'Well, I shall have to judge that for myself.' She glanced round. 'Heaven knows when this room was decorated last. I shall have to take the entire house in hand.'
'Over Christmas?' Phoebe asked in bewilderment. 'I know it's different in the States, but here everything closes down until New Year.'
'Then I shall just have to be patient.' Serena leaned back against the cushions, crossing her endless legs. 'But I've got plenty of time.' The crimson lips parted to reveal perfect teeth. 'I told Dominic I was coming for Christmas, but that isn't strictly true. I've had a lot of time to think things over, and I've decided that we should reconcile—for Tara's sake.'
Phoebe felt as if a hand had closed round her throat and was squeezing the life out of her. But her voice sounded surprisingly normal. 'Does Mr Ashton know this?'
'Not yet.' Serena stretched languidly, full breasts thrusting against the boucle dress. 'Actually I thought I'd tell him tonight—in bed. That's always the best time.'
The dark blue eyes swept over Phoebe. 'Now go and find some champagne, will you, dear? I want to celebrate.'
The lopsided angel's bearing had not improved during her transfer to the nursery, Phoebe thought sadly as she made sure the fir tree was secure in its pot, before she went to bed.
During the afternoon, two vans blazoned with the names of famous London stores had arrived, and
Serena's Christmas had been duly unloaded, to Tara's bewilderment and Carrie's silent outrage.
As a consequence, the drawing room was now occupied by a six-foot, glittering artificial tree, a symphony in gold and silver.
During dinner, Serena had turned up her nose at the beautifully roasted haunch of venison, protesting that nearly everyone was turning to vegetarianism these days.
But not teetotalism apparently, Phoebe thought drily, having observed how much champagne the lovely Serena had put away.
She had also noticed how totally absorbed Dominic seemed in his ex-wife. How his eyes never seemed to leave her for a moment. The idea of a reconciliation was becoming less absurd by the minute.
He's like a puppet, Phoebe told herself unhappily. All she has to do is twitch the strings.
The final straw came when Phoebe went into the drawing room after dinner and found a tell-tale pile of chewed wood and torn fabric on the rug. The puppy had unearthed her sewing from beneath the sofa and destroyed Tara's dolls. Phoebe could have wept as she hastily bundled the damp scraps onto the back of the fire before Tara, who'd been allowed to stay up for dinner, saw them.
All in all, it's been one hell of a day, she thought wretchedly, turning off the nursery light.
She looked in on Tara before she went to her own room. The little girl had become horrendously overexcited, had made a scene about the puppy not being allowed to sleep in her room and had had to be dissuaded from wearing her fun fur to bed. But now she was fast asleep.
I ought to feel glad for her, Phoebe thought, a lump in her throat. This is what she's always wanted—her mother and father together again. But I can't. I can't...
There was another irritation when she arrived in her room and discovered she'd left her bag, and the book she was reading, downstairs in the small sitting room, where she'd spent the rest of the evening, having .decided she could take no more 'happy families' in the drawing room.
At first she determined to do without them. But it was unlikely she would get to sleep immediately, she realised. She had far too much on her mind.
I'll go downstairs and fetch them, she decided, tightening the sash of her robe.
Moving quietly on slippered feet, she descended the stairs to the main landing and paused in the dim light, hearing a door open somewhere.