A Nanny for Keeps

by Liz Fielding

  Jacqui stopped herself. Clearly this was not the kind of conversation that your average nanny had with six-year-olds in their care.

  But then she was no longer a nanny.

  And Maisie, who was not exactly your average six-year-old, responded with a casual shrug. ‘You didn’t listen when I told you I knew the way,’ she pointed out. ‘I didn’t think you’d listen about the door.’

  Why, Jacqui silently appealed to whatever deity was responsible for the welfare of lapsed nannies, was there never a midden handy when you needed one?

  ‘Come on.’ And, not hanging around to debate the matter, Maisie opened another door, leaving Jacqui with no choice but to abandon the warmth of the kitchen and follow the child into a draughty inner hallway from which an equally draughty staircase—the kind constructed for servants to use in the days when people who lived in houses like this had servants—rose to the next floor. ‘It’s this way.’

  ‘What is?’ she snapped as the cold emphasised the dampness of her clothes. Then, closing her eyes and reminding herself that Maisie was only six, that she was the adult and needed to get a grip, said, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.’

  ‘S’OK.’

  No, it wasn’t. It was just the latest in a long series of mistakes she’d made that day, the biggest of which had been to respond to Vickie’s call. Fooling herself into believing that it would give her a chance to convince the woman that she meant it when she said she was finished as a nanny. She’d broken all the rules and she’d been punished for it, but not as hard as she was punishing herself. And then Vickie had said that she had a package for her and she’d discovered she wasn’t quite as detached, or as strong as she thought.

  She took a deep, calming breath, opened her eyes and discovered she’d just made mistake number ump-teen, because while she wasn’t paying attention Maisie had disappeared.

  ‘Oh, terrific!’

  Clearly six months working in an office had dulled her instinct for trouble. Computers didn’t get into mischief, or disappear, the minute you took your eyes off them. She’d lost the precious edge that kept her in control…

  Looking around, she had half a dozen doors to choose from and, picking the nearest, she opened it to find a large pantry lined with shelves and stacked with enough of the basic essentials to feed a large family for months. But no Maisie.

  As she moved to the next door the phone in her hand began to squawk loudly. She glanced at it and realised that in her mad dash after the runaway princess, she hadn’t stopped to disconnect her call to the office.

  She put the phone to her ear and without preamble said, ‘Vickie, you’ve got a problem…’

  ‘Jacqui? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Vickie, it’s me, Jacqui,’ she confirmed, opening door two on a butler’s pantry. ‘Jacqui,’ she repeated, ‘who you’ve sent on a fool’s errand.’

  Door three, slightly ajar, revealed a small and very hard-used sitting room. Two elderly cream Labradors were in possession of the sofa and from the quantity of pale hair clinging to the fabric, considered it their personal property.

  ‘Relax, boys,’ she said, in response to anxious wags from two tails. Then, returning to her theme, ‘Jacqui,’ she continued, since Vickie had clearly cottoned on to the fact that she was seriously irritated and had decided to let her get it all off her chest in one go without interruption, ‘who will be invoicing you for a new exhaust.’

  ‘A new exhaust!’

  She’d been sure that one would get a reaction.

  ‘Jacqui, who’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with a precocious six-year-old who not only dresses like a princess, but also thinks she is one…’

  At which point she stopped of her own volition as she belatedly realised what was going on.

  What a simpleton!

  Vickie had said that the new nanny she’d picked for Ms Selina Talbot was on holiday prior to taking up her appointment. Clearly Jacqui was the nanny she’d picked; she just hadn’t told her yet, hoping that she could snare her with her wiles…

  What a fool! She’d even remarked on the coincidence and still hadn’t twigged. ‘Take her to her grandmother’s house…’ That was all she’d been asked to do. Not ‘take her to her grandmother’. There never had been a grandmother, not in this hemisphere anyway.

  And when—shock, horror—it turned out that there was no sweet and cuddly old lady standing by to offer hearth and home, only a deeply grouchy male who wouldn’t let them past the front door, Vickie was counting on Jacqui’s nurturing back-up system to kick in and take over. Knew she’d abandon her holiday to look after the child until her mother returned. After all, what else could she possibly do?

  ‘Jacqui? Are you still there.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m still here, but not for much longer. I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake, but you’ve finally been rumbled, Vickie Campbell, and I’m telling you, it won’t work.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  She sounded so innocent! As if she really hadn’t a clue…

  ‘Your devious little plan to get me back on your books, earning you money, darling, that’s what! I won’t do it any more, Vickie. I told you. I can’t—’

  ‘Jacqui, you seem distraught. Have you had an accident? Is Maisie all right?’

  ‘Maisie? Excuse me? You’re worried about Maisie?’

  Actually, good point. Where was Maisie? She opened another door. This time it was a small, untidy office. A small, untidy, unoccupied office. She wasn’t sure which of a number of feelings claimed priority: gratitude that she had so far avoided the resident ogre, irritation with Maisie for doing a disappearing act or just plain annoyance at herself for being so gullible.

  ‘I’m worried about both of you,’ Vickie said, reclaiming her attention and settling the matter. This was all her fault.

  ‘Me too, but mostly I’m worried about missing my flight,’ she said. ‘It was a cheap last-minute deal and I won’t get a refund from the airline. I’m giving you due warning that I’ll be looking to you to make good my losses.’ Then, syrup-sweet, ‘I do hope Ms Selina Talbot will understand why a simple two-hour job has cost her so much.’ Finally, giving up the search and resorting to lung power, she called, ‘Maisie! Where are you?’

  ‘Jacqui? Have you lost her?’ Vickie was beginning to sound genuinely worried, which was marginally cheering.

  ‘Only temporarily. I’ll have her safe and sound by the time you arrive to pick her up.’

  ‘Me? I can’t pick her up, I’ve got a meeting with the bank…’ Then, when Jacqui didn’t fill the silence with reassurance, ‘Where are you, exactly?’

  ‘Exactly? I’m in the inner hallway at High Tops, Maisie is somewhere at High Tops, too, but exactly where I don’t know. The one person who isn’t at High Tops is Maisie’s grandmother.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Where is she?’

  ‘In New Zealand.’

  ‘What’s she doing in New Zealand, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘At a guess I’d say she’s having a holiday…’

  ‘OK, OK, I’m sorry—’

  ‘Don’t be sorry. Be here. It’ll take you an hour and a half and if you leave now there’s a chance I’ll make my flight and if that happens I might even forgive you. Eventually.’

  ‘Jacqui, be reasonable. I can’t leave right now—’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to. The clock’s ticking. You’ve just wasted a minute—’

  ‘Give me ten minutes! I’ll try and get hold of Selina, find out what’s going on.’

  ‘Nice try, but I’ve got you sussed and I’m telling you now, there is nothing you could say, nothing you could offer that would induce me to accept a post as Maisie Talbot’s nanny.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘The ogre was a nice touch, by the way. Where did you find him? No, don’t tell me. He was left over from the local Christmas production of Jack and the Beanstalk. Typecasting. With that scowl he wouldn’t even need make-up.’

 
; ‘OK, just give the phone to a nurse so that she can tell me which hospital you’re in—’

  ‘Jacqui! Where are you? I’ve got my tights all twisted up…’

  Maisie’s yell for help from the floor above jerked her back to reality. ‘High Tops, Little Hinton, Vickie. Not quite the minor diversion I was led to believe, but they’ll give you directions—and submit you to the third degree—in the village shop. Just watch out for your back axle on the way up,’ she advised. ‘The potholes are deep and once you leave civilisation the natives aren’t exactly—’ as she turned for the stairs she realised that she was no longer alone. The ogre, no doubt alerted to her presence by Maisie’s yell for help, was blocking her way ‘—welcoming.’

  Jacqui prided herself on being a thoroughly modern, sensible young woman who never succumbed to nervous palpitations or fits of the vapours, whatever the provocation, but her heart noticeably lurched at his unexpected appearance—apparently out of thin air.

  He just was so physical. So heart-poundingly male. So clearly irritated to find himself under invasion.

  And from somewhere—she very much feared it was her own mouth—came a small, but expressive, squeak. The kind of squeak that a mouse might make on coming face-to-face with not so much a well-fed domestic moggy, as a very wild and very hungry tiger…

  ‘You’re still here,’ he said, rescuing her from this bizarre train of thought. It was a statement, not a question. He clearly wasn’t pleased to see her, but it was also plain that he wasn’t altogether surprised.

  ‘Maisie needed the bathroom,’ she said. ‘Obviously I wouldn’t have just walked in, but I’m afraid she rather took matters into her own hands…’ or should that have been feet? ‘…and used the back door.’

  ‘Leaving you with little choice but to follow. I’m familiar with the way she operates. She learned it from an expert.’

  ‘It is her grandmother’s house,’ Jacqui pointed out, hating the fact that she was apologising when he was the one who was behaving boorishly. Maisie had every bit as much right to be there as he did. And what was he doing there, anyway?

  ‘Unfortunately,’ he replied, ‘as you can see, her grandmother isn’t here to take care of her.’

  ‘There’s clearly been some misunderstanding.’

  ‘That’s something you’ll have to take up with Sally. I’m fully occupied looking after her four-legged waifs and strays while her mother’s away.’

  Which answered that question.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m doing my best,’ she said, showing him the phone in her hand, giving it a little wave to indicate that her intentions were good even while she was wondering where he’d appeared from so suddenly.

  Obviously she’d known he was in the house somewhere and common sense suggested that he would hear Maisie’s cry for help. Not that there was a great deal of sense—common or otherwise—in evidence. But how on earth had he got behind her?

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ve got something of a crisis going on down in the cellar.’ And he turned away from her to push open a door that was concealed in the panelling. Beyond it a flight of worn stone steps led down beneath the house.

  With her imagination working overtime and her heart doing a fair imitation of a pile driver, she didn’t ask what sort of crisis. She really didn’t want to know. She just wished he’d go back to it. Whatever it was.

  ‘Jacqui! Where are you?’

  The giant glanced up the stairs. ‘You’d better not keep her highness waiting,’ he advised, clearly recognising an imperative command when he heard it.

  ‘No.’ She backed in the direction of the stairs. ‘You’re right,’ she said, aware that she sounded like someone attempting to soothe a beast with an uncertain temper; one who, given half a chance, would almost certainly bite. Absolutely ridiculous, of course. While he clearly wished he’d never set eyes on her, there was nothing overtly threatening in his manner. It was just the fact that he was unnervingly…big. And here.

  Although, come to think of it, she should be grateful for that. If the house had simply been locked up, she’d have had no option but to turn straight round and drive back to London. And wave goodbye to any chance of her two weeks in the sun. Not that a rise in temperature was likely to ease her heartache, but she needed to get away from family and friends tiptoeing around her. Treating her as if someone had died.

  And they could probably do with the break, too.

  ‘I’d, um, better go and help Maisie,’ she said, taking another step back. It was one too many and she stumbled against the bottom of the stairs, lost her balance and dropped her phone as she grabbed for the banister in an attempt to save herself.

  Her hand closed on air but, just as she accepted that nothing could save her, the giant reached out and caught her, holding her suspended in what, despite all her misgivings, appeared to be a very safe pair of hands.

  Safe…and very large.

  It was utterly foolish to imagine that they were actually spanning her waist; her waist was not of the cinched-in hand-span variety, but a rather more practical model that came equipped with a pair of sensible hips useful for propping small children on. But for one giddy moment she felt as if they did and finally understood why sane, level-headed women had allowed themselves to be laced into agonisingly small corsets in pursuit of the appearance of fragility.

  Gazing up into a pair of gold tiger’s eyes, she felt very fragile indeed. Utter nonsense, of course, and she knew that she really should make an effort to stand up before she did untold damage to the poor man’s back.

  She didn’t have to. He was more than capable of doing it for her and before she knew it she was upright, her face pressed against the soft wool of his shirt, immersed in the heady scents of clean laundry, fresh male sweat, hot oil…

  A lot of men—and she’d worked, very briefly, for some of them—would, at this point, have taken advantage of the situation, pulling her up close to cop a cheap feel. The giant, however, wasted no time in putting clear space between them.

  His very capable hands did remain firmly about her waist, but there was nothing about his manner to suggest it was anything but a precautionary measure while she regained her balance and caught her breath. Not very flattering, actually, considering it was taking a lot longer than it should have done. She put it down to the fact that it was an unusual experience to be looking up at anyone, even a man and she had to admit, as giants went, on closer inspection he was well worth looking at.

  It wasn’t just his extraordinary eyes, or the breadth of his shoulders, although they were built on an impressive scale. Or even his height. Now she was standing on the same level as him, his size didn’t seem quite so overwhelming. It was true that even in high heels she’d still have to look up, but not that far, and for the first time since she’d outgrown all the girls in her class at school—and all the teachers—she felt as if she was in the right place. Which was madness, as he’d be the first to remind her. She should move…

  Before she could put the thought into deed, he said, ‘OK now?’

  ‘Fine,’ she managed, although without much conviction and he didn’t immediately release her.

  ‘Sure?’

  She found herself considering a feeble whimper…

  ‘Really,’ she insisted, pulling herself together and standing up straight.

  ‘You could do with something for your nerves, Jacqui Moore,’ he said, finally letting her go.

  ‘It’s been a trying day,’ she replied. It wasn’t getting any better and she shivered as the damp, clinging to her clothes and hair, made itself felt.

  ‘Any day that involves my cousin tends to be that way.’ Then, ‘You’re cold.’

  ‘A bit. It’s the damp. The mist is very penetrating. It can’t be healthy, living in a cloud.’

  ‘There are worse places, believe me, and the hill fog does have certain advantages. Unwanted visitors, for instance, rarely outstay their welcome.’

  ‘That I can believe and you can trust me w
hen I say that I’ve no wish to trespass on your hospitality a moment longer than necessary,’ she replied stiffly. Whatever had she been thinking of…? ‘I’ve got a plane to catch.’

  ‘Then you’d better stop dithering around, falling over your own feet, and get yourself sorted out, hadn’t you?’

  Charming. Just charming. But then the giant in her fairy story hadn’t been a bundle of laughs, either, she reminded herself. Definitely not the kind of bedtime reading she’d have inflicted on any child in her care.

  ‘I’d better sort out Maisie before I start making phone calls,’ she said, getting back to reality and making a move to retrieve her cellphone. No matter how inconvenient he found the situation, his little niece was her first priority.

  He beat her to it, picking it up and handing it to her so that she got a good look at those hands. And nearly dropped it again as his long fingers brushed against hers.

  ‘You’d better dry yourself off, too, while you’re at it. You’ll find plenty of towels in the bathroom.’

  She tried to speak, intent on demonstrating that if his manners were lacking in polish she at least knew how to behave, but was forced to clear her throat before she could manage a simple, ‘Thank you, Mr…’ Which might have worked if she’d known his name. ‘Mr…Um…?’ she prompted.

  ‘Talbot,’ he replied.

  She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. As if she cared. She wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in his given name but common civility required she call him something other than ‘um’, since she was clearly going to be there for longer than either of them wanted. If he preferred to keep it formal, she wasn’t going to object.

  ‘It runs in the family,’ he added.

  ‘Right,’ she said, firmly resisting the temptation to point out that just because Selina was his cousin, it didn’t follow that he would have the same name. She was sure he knew that and was simply taking the opportunity to renew hostilities.

  Clearly he’d only saved her from falling to avoid giving her any further excuse to delay their departure. Tough. Now she was in the house she was going nowhere until she’d sorted out Maisie’s immediate future.