‘Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not what I’m saying at all.’ He shook his head, as though clearing it of something irritating. ‘You provide moral backbone for her, and I am very grateful for that. However, you do not have sole charge over her.’
‘I’ve had sole charge for the past eighteen months!’
‘The situation has changed.’ He sighed. ‘You’re being obstinate,’ he said. ‘Why? Are you afraid of what will happen to you when Amy is told who I am?’
Leigh shot him a bewildered look from under her lashes. No, she had not been afraid of that at all. In fact, the thought had never crossed her mind. It began to cross it now.
What would be her position once his fatherhood was established? Right now, his hands were more or less tied. He was obliged to endure her presence because he knew that Amy depended on her, but he had already made deep inroads into his daughter’s affections. Amy responded to him.
On weekends they would disappear for hours on a stretch, and Leigh would come across them in the office, playing on his computer or sitting in front of a chess board while he patiently explained the rules of the game. They seemed to click without any effort at all.
She had no idea if this was because of their natural bond or whether their minds just worked along the same lines. Both were logical people who enjoyed things that adhered to a clean, clear, mathematical guideline.
Roy, she thought, had been wonderful with her. He’d taken her for walks and played ball in the garden, but she’d been five and a half then. Time had passed, and there was a great deal of difference between a five-year-old and a seven-year-old.
The time was fast approaching when Nicholas would become another important fixture in Amy’s life, and when she learned that he was her father what would her, Leigh’s, role be?
A time scale had never been mentioned and Leigh had never thought to ask. She had been too focused on the present, on just making sure that each day passed smoothly. But what if her role was purely transitional? What then?
‘What will happen?’ she asked now.
‘You’re young. You have your life stretching out in front of you.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t expect you’ll want to live under this roof for the rest of your life.’
‘I hadn’t thought,’ Leigh mumbled uncomfortably. Was she supposed to suggest a deadline as to when she would be ready to move out? And what when she did? She didn’t want to lose touch with her niece.
‘I’m not suggesting that you pack your bags,’ Nicholas told her, watching her closely.
Not yet, she thought miserably.
Maybe he had an agenda, though. Fiona was discreetly tucked away at the moment, an unobtrusive third party. Were they both waiting until the time was right? Her gut went into spasms at the thought of Fiona taking over the nurture of her niece. She would make a lousy mother. Couldn’t he see that? What, she thought, had she condemned Amy to?
She stood up and felt a little wobbly on her feet.
‘I think it’s time I headed off to bed now,’ she muttered under her breath. She felt ill. Whether it was from the drink or from the implications now buzzing in her head she wasn’t sure. She leaned for a moment against the back of the chair to steady herself, and when she glanced at him she saw that he was looking at her with an expression of consternation on his face.
‘I’ll help you up,’ he said, standing and moving across to her.
‘I’m fine!’
‘No, you’re not. You’re white, like a sheet.’
She felt his hand on her arm and she made a desultory effort to brush it away. She didn’t want him near her. She felt giddy and frantically worried that Amy was now doomed to see her beloved mother replaced by an ogre like Fiona.
She had visions of house rules that included no loud laughter and no talking during meals and a boarding school tucked away somewhere in the remote countryside of Devon—somewhere so far away that it would be very difficult for her to ever see her niece again. Of a finishing school in Switzerland, where Amy would be disciplined into a miniature replica of Fiona.
‘Take your hands off me!’ she snapped at Nicholas, struggling to forcibly remove his hand from her arm.
‘What the hell is the matter with you?’
‘I just want you to leave me alone!’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ He bent slightly, and before she knew what he was going to do he scooped her up as easily as if she weighed nothing.
Leigh wriggled in embarrassment and horror. His hands against her seemed to burn through her jumper and travel through her T-shirt until they collided with flesh. Since he showed no inclination to deposit her on the ground, she gave up the unequal battle and allowed herself to be taken up the stairs into her bedroom and placed on her bed, from where she eyed him nervously as he loomed above her.
She didn’t dare relax, even though her body felt weak and boneless, so she adopted a half-sitting position against the pillows and continued to stare at him, wishing he would leave.
He didn’t. He sat on the bed next to her, and she pushed herself up a bit further against the headboard.
‘Two gin and tonics might have been a little optimistic,’ he drawled. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you weren’t accustomed to alcohol?’
The shame of it all. Her cheeks flamed.
‘I thought it might be nice to try a change from my usual diet of orange squash and lemonade,’ Leigh retorted tightly, and Nicholas laughed under his breath.
‘That would explain it, then,’ he told her, shaking his head slightly and still grinning. She could have hit him. ‘Are you going to be fit to climb out of your clothes and get into your pyjamas?’
‘Are you suggesting that you lend a hand?’ she answered back, stung by his amusement. ‘All part and parcel of your role as my employer?’
‘You’re a stubborn minx, do you know that?’
‘I am nothing of the sort. You’re just an overbearing, demanding, unbearable...’ Her voice spluttered into silence, and they looked at one another in the shadowy half-light of the bedroom. His face seemed more angled in this light. She could not quite make out the colour of his eyes. They appeared darker, more brooding. The curve of his mouth, half smiling at what she had just said, was frighteningly sensual.
She felt her pulses quicken and every nerve in her body seemed to have awakened and become acutely sensitised to his proximity.
He leaned slightly and propped himself up, with his hands on either side of her.
‘You can be so flattering when you put your mind to it,’ he murmured.
Leigh opened her mouth and discovered that she couldn’t say anything. Her vocal chords had seized up. What if Amy were to burst in on this little scene? she thought. But Amy’s bedroom was separated from hers by the sitting room in the middle and, anyway, there was no chance of her waking up. She could sleep through an earthquake. Besides, what scene? Leigh thought.
‘I just resent—’ she began. He dipped his head, and as her eyes closed his mouth touched hers. Strong, cool lips pressed hers open and found the inviting warmth of her tongue. He moved one hand to cup her face, and she gave a spontaneous little groan as his kiss deepened, and his questing mouth became hungrier, pushing harder so that she was pressed against the headboard.
All thought and reason had taken flight. She curled her fingers into his hair, arching her body until she felt as though she were being absorbed by the urgency of his mouth.
When his hand left her face and dropped to her waist her breathing quickened.
Then she felt his fingers spread underneath her jumper, underneath the T-shirt, flat against her stomach, travelling upwards until they were caressing the small, firm swell of her breast. She moaned, a gentle sound, and wriggled slightly as his thumb found her aching nipple and teased it into a responsive peak.
Her entire body was melting, or at least that was what it felt like. Dissolving. She could feel the moistness between her thighs and she ached for his hand to explore there, to touch her, to open her
up with his fingers.
But he didn’t. He sat back and looked at her with shock, and it was only then that her mind began to function once again. She thought with horror at what had very nearly happened. They stared in silence at one another, then he said roughly, ‘I have no idea what happened there.’ He pushed himself off the bed, and his withdrawal from her was like having a bucket of ice cold water flung over her.
All trace of dizziness had vanished. ‘No,’ she managed to say in a whisper.
‘I must have taken leave of my senses.’ He raked his fingers through his hair and prowled around the room, before standing in front of her once again. ‘I can only apologise—’ he began, and she cut him short before he could continue.
‘Don’t!’ She didn’t want to hear what an awful mistake he had made. She didn’t want him to say what he was so obviously thinking—that she was the last woman in the world he could ever be attracted to, but he had touched her in a moment of madness and she had responded. ‘It was a mistake.’ Her voice was clear but unsteady. ‘It won’t happen again, and I don’t want a post-mortem on the incident.’ ‘Incident’ seemed to reduce it to what it was—a momentary lapse that could be papered over and then safely ignored.
She had yanked down her jumper, but her T-shirt underneath was still rucked up above her breasts. Her voice and her head were saying one thing, but she was humiliatingly aware that her nipples, still hard and throbbing, were craving the feel of his fingers, the wetness of his mouth.
She was sorely tempted to ask him, coldly, whether he saw sex as part of her nanny duties, but that would have been wildly hypocritical because she knew that she had wanted him—probably a lot more than he had wanted her. The knowledge only added to her mortification.
‘I think it’s best if you leave,’ she told him quietly. He looked at her in silence for such a long time that she began to feel uncomfortable. What was he thinking? No, she didn’t want to know.
When he finally did leave the room she remained where she was for a long time, staring at the closed door and desperately trying not to pin down her thoughts because she was terrified of what she would find.
Eventually, she slipped off the bed and lost herself in a long, hot bath. But a long, hot bath could not wash away what had taken root in her mind.
Over the next week, when she saw him in the evenings in the company of Amy, her mouth politely responded to his questions but underneath she could feel the stirring of her body at the memory of what had happened.
He showed no acknowledgement in his face that anything had taken place between them, and for that she was grateful.
She immersed herself in sufficient things during the day to keep her mind on harmless things. She almost forgot that Fiona existed until, on the Friday night, as she was pouring herself a glass of milk in the kitchen, she heard footsteps behind her. She swung around, already composing her features into a bland, smiling, unrevealing mask.
She had expected Nicholas so Fiona was almost a relief. The other woman had obviously just returned from work. She was wearing an emerald green suit, totally unsuitable, Leigh thought, for icy pavements and howling winds but, then, she supposed that fashion buyers did not frequent the Underground, and only actually trod on pavements so that they could hail a taxi.
Leigh swallowed her milk with extraordinary speed, and set down the empty glass on the kitchen counter.
‘We haven’t crossed paths for quite a while,’ Fiona said, depositing her bag on the table and folding her arms.
‘I don’t think that Nicholas is about.’ Why bother with polite chit-chat?
‘No, he’s out with clients.’
So, Leigh thought with a jealous pang, she knows his whereabouts. I’m only the nanny. Of course he won’t give me a typed itinerary of his comings and goings.
‘I was just on my way out,’ she said hedging towards the door. ‘I only came down for a glass of milk.’
‘Milk. How virtuous. Accompanied by a few cookies, no doubt?’ There was no pretence of amicability in Fiona’s voice, and the hard, smooth face was antagonistic.
‘Yes, that’s right, accompanied by a few cookies.’ Leigh sighed wearily, not wanting to embark on a vitriolic clash of words.
‘Is that the image you’re taking such pains to convey? The milk and cookie girl who never wears make-up and dresses down in jeans?’
‘I’m not trying to convey any image,’ Leigh told her tightly. ‘Now, if you’d excuse me.’
‘It won’t work, you know. I’ve already told you that and I’m going to repeat it.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course you have so you can wipe that innocent look off your face. There are just the two of us in the kitchen now so no need to pretend. Nicholas has told me about the plans the two of you have made for Christmas.’
‘He has?’ Leigh stopped and frowned. Plans? What plans? This was news to her.
‘Yes, he has,’ Fiona spat out. ‘The three of you up in the country house. Very cosy. Log fires and Christmas tree, and Santa Claus, clambering down the chimney.’
Leigh looked at the other woman, astonished and then angrier by the second at arrangements which appeared to have been made without her consent. She wasn’t going to show any of this, however. Oh, no, she would wait until Nicholas came home and then she would ask him what the hell he thought he was playing at. Why bother to go through the motions of consulting her on anything when he had his own private agenda and planned to do precisely as he pleased?
‘Don’t think that I’m going to sit on the sidelines while you try and wheedle your way into his bed,’ Fiona said, her fingernails digging into her arms.
‘I have nothing to say to you about any of this,’ Leigh returned swiftly. ‘What you and Nicholas have... going...is none of my business, and that’s the way I intend it to stay.’ Over my dead body, she thought. Once and for all, I’m going to find out what’s going on. She knew that a deep, confusing, biting jealousy was spurring her on, but she didn’t care.
She walked out of the kitchen, ignoring the glittering rage in Fiona’s eyes, and resolutely stationed herself in the sitting room to wait for Nicholas’s arrival.
She switched on the lamp by the chair and after an hour fell asleep, to be awakened, much later, by the overhead light being turned on and the sight of Nicholas standing over her, his jacket slung over one shoulder and one hand thrust into the pocket of his trousers.
‘What time is it?’ She surfaced groggily, rubbing her eyes. When he told her that it was after eleven she sat up straighter as her mind focused and she remembered what she was doing down here.
‘Get to bed,’ he said roughly, as she put her hands to her hair and tried to fashion it out of its rumpled state into something a little more orderly. He turned away, but she stopped him before he could leave.
‘I want to have a word with you,’ she said coldly, and he half turned to look at her.
‘What about? Surely it can wait until tomorrow morning.’
‘No, I don’t think it can.’
‘Well, what is it?’ He remained leaning against the doorframe, looking at her, and she wondered what he was seeing. A young, unsophisticated, gauche ex-art student, she supposed, dressed in very unprepossessing jeans with an oversize white shirt slung over them, curled up on a chair. She though of Fiona in her emerald green suit and felt the same surge of the anger that had assailed her earlier in the kitchen.
‘I had a visit from your...lodger. She tells me that you’ve apparently made plans for us for Christmas. Without even bothering to consult me! I’m sick of this, Nicholas!’
‘You waited up to tell me that?’ He made it sound as though she had waited up to tell him that she had chipped her fingernail.
‘Yes! I happen to think it important that I’m at least consulted before you go...arranging things behind my back! And then telling the whole world about it before you choose to inform me!’
‘They weren’t plans,’ Nichol
as grated. ‘I happened to tell Fiona that I was thinking along those lines. I had every intention of filling you in when I next saw you.’
‘Filling me in? Don’t you think that Amy and I might have made alternate arrangements?’
‘Have you?’
‘I was thinking about spending Christmas Day with Carol and David, our old next-door neighbours,’ Leigh said. ‘We spent Christmas there last year and it was very pleasant.’
‘Well, think again. This year you’re spending it with me.’
‘Thanks very much for your willingness to discuss the subject,’ she snapped, feeling thoroughly weary and exploited.
‘Look.’ He walked towards her and sat on the edge of the low, square table in front of her. ‘What’s the problem here? I would like to spend Christmas with my daughter.’
‘There’s no problem,’ Leigh told him coolly. ‘I would just appreciate it if you allowed me to have some say in the matter, instead of being informed of things via your lodger, or girlfriend, or whatever she is.’
She gave him a glassy-eyed stare. ‘What is she, exactly, by the way?’
‘I don’t see the relevance.’
‘Well, I do. Are you planning on forming some little family unit once I’m out of the way?’
‘Don’t be absurd.’ His face had hardened. He didn’t want her prying into his private life, but she was damned if she was going to maintain a tactful silence just to accommodate him.
‘I am not being absurd, and I think I deserve an answer. Amy is my niece, and I’m not asking this out of curiosity but because her welfare has to be taken into account.’ And Fiona, she thought viciously, would make about as good a mother substitute as a black widow spider.
‘If it makes any difference whatsoever, Fiona is the daughter of my parents’ friends. She’s been living in Paris for the past eight years, and when she got a transfer to London it was suggested by her father that I put her up until she found somewhere else to live.’
A Daughter For Christmas Page 10