A Nanny for Keeps

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Right.’ And he was beside them in a heartbeat, sweeping Maisie up in his arms. ‘Early to bed, early to rise… So that we can go shopping. School kit, yes? Still sure you want to go?’

  Maisie giggled and Jacqui, whose first instinct was to follow them upstairs, paused at the kitchen door and, when her absence wasn’t noticed, collected the tray from the library, washed the mugs.

  Then she tidied the mud room, putting the boots in size order.

  When, after that, Harry still hadn’t reappeared, she went upstairs, glancing in at Maisie as she passed.

  She’d fallen asleep while Harry read to her, but he hadn’t moved, clearly unable to take his eyes off her. He’d said he was a risk, but there was nothing wrong with a man who could look at a child with such tenderness, such love and she apologised to her hormones for ever doubting their good taste. They clearly recognised a good man when they saw him.

  After a moment, feeling like an intruder, she turned away. She’d done the job she been asked to do. Seen Maisie to a safe haven. It was time to leave.

  ‘Don’t go, Jacqui…’

  She paused, glanced back. ‘I didn’t think you’d seen me.’

  ‘I didn’t need to see you. I felt your presence.’ He stood up, looked at Maisie for one long moment then joined her at the door. ‘Don’t go, Jacqui.’

  About to ask how he knew what she was thinking, she decided against it. He’d been reading her thoughts since the moment she arrived; her only defence was not to think them.

  ‘Maisie doesn’t need me now,’ she said. She was free of her promise. ‘She has you.’

  ‘And if I tell you again that I need you?’

  She reminded herself that she’d made him no promises. That despite the unexpected appeal of a misty hilltop she was supposed to be in Spain. That all he needed, all he was asking for, was her help with Maisie.

  ‘You’re like all men,’ she said, making light of it. ‘You just can’t handle shopping.’

  His gaze didn’t waver. ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘I’ll stay for a little while,’ she conceded, knowing that she was a fool. Then, more to convince herself than because she believed it, ‘Maisie’s never been to school before. She might find it…challenging.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  He was standing close enough to touch, close enough to kiss. Just one would have been enough for her to swear her life away and, mind-reader that he was, she suspected that he knew it.

  He did neither and she did it anyway.

  ‘It’s a promise.’

  How long was a little while? When each moment was precious it seemed unbearably brief. She’d spent the day with Harry and Maisie shopping for ‘ordinary’ clothes. School kit first, then they’d got a bit carried away and bought a pile of the ordinary stuff that little girls needed. The kind of shoes that a child could play in. A pair of her own wellington boots in the right size to live in the mud room. Warm jackets, mini cargo trousers, T-shirts, socks…

  ‘You know Maisie must have all this stuff at home,’ she finally objected when yet another ‘essential’ was added to the shopping basket.

  ‘Really?’ Harry shook his head. ‘I didn’t notice anything like this at Hill Tops, did you?’

  ‘No, I meant…’ Then she caught on and very nearly hugged him. She restrained herself—she’d been doing rather too much of that in the last few days, which had to be bad, because she’d never felt the least desire to hug Emma’s father—and instead put another pair of socks in the basket and contented herself with a smile.

  He did not smile back. She swallowed and, unable to quite handle the directness of his gaze, turned to Maisie.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  She did her best to steer everyone in the direction of proper food, but Maisie wanted a burger and Harry said, ‘Just this once.’ And that was that.

  Just as it was ‘that’ when he overrode her insistence that he should be the one to take her to school the next day.

  ‘We’ll both go; that way the head teacher will know you.’ Which was such a reasonable point that she couldn’t possibly object.

  But as Maisie, looking so small in her little grey skirt and red sweatshirt, walked away from them and was swallowed up in a throng of children eager to find out who she was, somehow their hands were interlinked in the tightest clasp.

  ‘She’ll be all right, won’t she?’ Harry asked, not looking at her.

  ‘It’s the other kids you should be worrying about,’ she said, not looking at him as she blinked back a tear.

  And OK, maybe she should have left after that first day, when Maisie hurtled out of school saying that it was, ‘Brilliant!’ And, ‘Your name is on the mummys’ reading rota and I’m going to be a fairy in the end-of-term play and you’ve both got to sit in the front row so that you can see me.’

  But then Jacqui’s sister called to see how she was enjoying her holiday and, when she explained what had happened, gave her a lecture about allowing herself to get sucked into caring for another child when she was supposed to be on holiday—all heavily laden with unspoken but unmistakable never-learning-her-lesson overtones—and she was more than a little ticked off.

  She wasn’t staying forever.

  Only until the end of school term.

  No way would she swap the joy of seeing Maisie in her first school play for all the sangria in Spain.

  And then Vickie phoned and said that Selina Talbot had faxed through a desperate apology, along with permission for her to leave Maisie with Harry.

  ‘No need to stay a day longer, darling. I’ve been on to the travel agents and they’re getting back to me with flight times this afternoon. Selina’s paying for upgrades, too.’

  ‘That’s kind of her, but actually, Vickie,’ she said, ‘I think I’ll give Spain a miss this year. I like it here.’

  ‘But you can’t stay!’

  ‘I can’t?’

  ‘Selina is very unhappy that you stayed. She won’t pay you for another day.’

  ‘Vickie—darling—I can do what I like. I don’t work for you or Selina Talbot.’ And she hung up.

  She looked up, knowing that Harry would be there. He was leaning against the door, something close to a smile lighting his eyes. Almost laughing, but not quite.

  ‘It’s just until the end of term,’ she said primly. ‘I can’t miss the school play.’

  ‘Maisie will be pleased.’

  And what about you, Harry Talbot? she asked herself.

  But he wasn’t saying anything. Wasn’t flinging himself at her. No more reaching out for her. No more ‘comfort’ in a mug of hot chocolate.

  He was just there.

  Driving them both to school every morning, although the potholes had been filled in and her car was back in the coach house so she could easily have done it herself.

  A fixture at mealtimes. Breakfast with Maisie, then, after the school run, appearing at lunchtime from the yard, or the fields, or the library, ready to share a sandwich if she’d made one. Ready to make one and share it with her if she’d been busy helping Susan.

  Pushing the cart around the supermarket when she wanted to go shopping and quite happy to demonstrate that he could cook as well as she could when the fancy took him.

  He didn’t disappear the minute supper was done, either, but stayed to help with the clearing up, chatting to Maisie about her day. Making coffee. Joining in the ritual of bath times and taking turns with her reading bedtime stories.

  She’d hung back, sure that he would want this special time all to himself, but he’d insisted.

  And once Maisie was in bed they spent the evenings in the library in front of the fire, reading, music playing softly in the background.

  Maisie was right. Hill Tops was a wonderful place to stay now that the mist had evaporated and the sky was a clear eggshell-blue against the beauty of the valley.

  There were daffodils and lambs everywhere and, besides, someone had to keep an eye on those stupid chickens who
would keep going broody and laying their eggs in secret, oblivious to the dangers in their desperation to hatch their chicks.

  But it was Harry, looking up and meeting her eyes, as he turned the page of a book; Harry, helping Maisie with her spellings; Harry, matching his long stride to Maisie’s little legs as they walked the hills so that he could teach her the names of wild flowers who made it the place she never wanted to leave.

  ‘I had an email from Aunt Kate this morning,’ he said. It was the last day of term and they were driving down to the school to watch the school play. Neither of them had said anything about her leaving in the morning, but she’d packed her bag so that she had no excuse to delay.

  She was glad she had. It was going to be hard enough without dragging it out and this sounded very much like a hint that her ‘little while’ was up.

  ‘Did she say when she’s coming home?’

  ‘No. She likes New Zealand and she doesn’t want to leave her sister. She’s staying on indefinitely.’

  ‘Oh.’ Then, forgetting her own feelings as she realised what this must mean, ‘Oh! Will she sell the house? Will you have to find somewhere else to live?’

  ‘Would that worry you?’

  ‘Me? Why are you asking me?’

  ‘Because it’s important to me. I want to know how you feel.’

  ‘Maisie loves it.’

  ‘That’s a major consideration,’ he agreed. ‘What about you? Do you love it here, too? Despite the chickens.’

  ‘I’m getting used to the chickens,’ she said, carefully. ‘But that’s a consideration, too, isn’t it? What will happen to the animals if you leave?’

  ‘The pleasure of telling Sally that she’ll have to find new homes for those wretched donkeys might be worth it.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, going for a matching grin and falling way short. If the feeling didn’t come from inside, nothing could make a smile look right. ‘You’re so hard.’ Then, ‘It’s a wonderful place to live, Harry, but it’s the people that make a place special.’

  ‘I think so,’ he agreed.

  ‘What will you do if you go?’

  ‘The right question, Jacqui, is what will I do if I stay?’

  ‘OK, that, too.’

  ‘I was thinking about reopening the medical practice in the village. With new houses, more people, there’s a need.’

  ‘Then you’ve answered your own question. It’s your family home. Maisie’s your family. And there’s plenty of room for her mother to visit when she…’

  ‘When she needs some new photographs for some celebrity magazine?’

  ‘I was going to say when she’s feeling maternal. I’m sure she loves Maisie in her own way.’

  ‘Yes, of course she does.’ Then, ‘Oh, good grief, we should have set off earlier.’

  The village was packed with cars, four-wheel drives and trucks parked nose to tail. Even the pub car park was overflowing and Harry took the last place as he squeezed the Land Rover into a space opposite the church.

  Only then did he turn to her and say, ‘I have one more.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Question.’

  ‘Harry—’

  ‘In the light of your assertion that people are more important than places, will you stay?’

  She was prevented—saved—from having to answer him by her mobile phone. ‘It’ll be the t-temp agency,’ she stuttered, fumbling for it in her bag. ‘I called them and asked them to find me something for next week.’

  ‘Unpack your bag, Jacqui,’ he said, taking the phone from her before she could even see the caller ID. He turned it off, put it in his jacket pocket. ‘You don’t need a temporary job. I’m offering you one for the rest of your life. All you have to do is say yes. But not now.’ He climbed out, opened the passenger door. ‘Come on,’ he said, lifting her down as if she were a feather. ‘Maisie will never forgive us if we’re late.’

  It was as well that he was there to help her down. Her legs were so shaky that she’d never have made it on her own.

  Stay? For the rest of her life?

  The afternoon was a joy. The little ones portrayed nursery rhymes—Bo Peep’s lamb was the genuine article, which was, Jacqui thought, courageous. It was perhaps just as well that the teacher stopped there and that the cow jumping over the moon was made of cardboard. Someone stood on Wee Willie Winkie’s nightgown and the seam gave way, leaving him standing in his tiny Y-fronts. And the house that Jack built fell down. Maisie, in full fairy fig, complete with wings and wand as the fairy who brought them all to life, was a star.

  It was an age before they could finally get away. Everyone wanted to say hello, invite Maisie to play. Harry in turn announced an Easter-egg hunt at Hill Tops, which had Maisie whooping with excitement and demanding every detail on the way home. Was it like a party? Would Jacqui make a cake? Could everyone come?

  By the time they reached the top of the lane she was wrung out. This was so unfair. She was being manipulated, backed into a corner by Harry. If he needed her to stay and look after Maisie he should just come out and say so. And she could say no.

  ‘We seem to have visitors,’ Harry said as he slowed. ‘The gate’s open.’

  ‘Who…?’ And then she saw ‘who’ and she was flinging herself from the Land Rover before he brought it to a stop. Scooping up the small girl who, fair hair flying behind her, hurtled into her arms.

  ‘Emmy! My darling! What are you doing here?’ Then she looked at the Gilchrists, standing beside their car, looking desperate, and knew why they were there. At which point, heart sinking, she knew there was only one answer to Harry’s question. She wanted to stay but she was about to be called on a promise.

  She put Emma down, although the child continued to cling to her hand, and encouraged Maisie—who had instantly claimed the other—to take Emma to see her pony. Emma was sufficiently impressed by the fact that Maisie had a pony to allow herself to be persuaded to let go.

  Then she introduced the Gilchrists to Harry.

  ‘Harry, this is Jessica and David Gilchrist. I used to work for David as Emma’s nanny.’

  ‘Jacqui told me all about you,’ he said. His smile wouldn’t have fooled anyone who knew him. And, producing a key for the front door—which, although they didn’t know it, put them firmly in their place; friends never used the front door in the country—he invited them in. ‘There’s a fire in the library; why don’t you make yourselves comfortable while I make some tea?’

  David Gilchrist lifted his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by a man who made tea for visitors when he had an employee at hand to do it for him.

  The new Mrs Gilchrist just looked desperate.

  ‘Jacqui,’ she said, as soon as Harry had gone, ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake. Can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Of course. You didn’t need to come all this way to tell me that.’ She anticipated denials that they’d flown from Hong Kong specifically for the purpose. When she didn’t get them, her heart sank even further. ‘How did you know where I was?’

  ‘Mrs Campbell told us. She said she was going to phone and let you know we were on our way.’

  ‘My cellphone was switched off. We’ve been at Maisie’s school play. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long.’

  She shook her head as if it didn’t matter. ‘You are so good with children.’

  ‘There’s no magic to it, Jessica. They’re people, just like the rest of us.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy. Emma…’ She shook her head, staring at her hands as they twisted her scarf into a knot. ‘I can’t cope with her. She hates me. I’m asking you, begging you to come back. She told me that you promised her you’d always be there if she needed you.’ Then, as if aware that she’d stepped over some invisible line, ‘You’ll have your own flat, your own car, we’ll pay whatever you ask. Hong Kong is a wonderful place—’

  Jacqui covered her hand, stopping her. ‘Do you think that after what happened I could, would, ever do this for money again?’
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br />   Jessica looked up then, confused. ‘But you’re here. Mrs Campbell said that it was just temporary. We’re offering you a good, permanent job—’

  ‘You heard her, Mrs Gilchrist. Jacqui is not for hire. And, despite anything Mrs Campbell might have told you, she’s not Maisie’s nanny.’

  All three of them turned to look at Harry standing in the doorway, a tray in his hands.

  ‘Then what is she?’ David Gilchrist demanded.

  ‘To Maisie she’s her proper mummy. To me—’ he paused, looked straight at her, spoke straight to her ‘—she’s the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. Warmth on a cold winter’s night. Comfort. Joy. Quite simply she makes my world complete.’

  Jacqui was barely conscious of David Gilchrist’s knowing, ‘I see.’

  Harry’s soft, ‘No, Gilchrist, you haven’t the slightest idea.’

  ‘We’re wasting our time here, Jessica. There are hundreds of nannies looking for the kind of job we’re offering.’

  ‘Haven’t you learned anything?’ Harry, asked, dangerously quiet. ‘Caring for a child isn’t just a job—’

  David Gilchrist got to his feet and, taking his wife’s arm, said, ‘Let’s go.’

  Jacqui leapt to her feet. ‘No! Wait…’ She turned to Harry, silently pleading for him to understand.

  And Harry Talbot, who had laid his raw, unprotected heart on the line to keep her at his side, knew it was going to be broken all over again.

  Then she said, ‘Harry, will you take David and check on the children? Make sure they’re not getting into any trouble? I need to talk to Jessica.’

  ‘I thought you were going with them.’

  ‘Because I promised?’ Jacqui, leaning on the gate to watch the Gilchrists’ car out of sight, waving one last time to Emma, reached back for his hand.

  He took it gladly. Held it as if he would never let it go.

  ‘Because you promised,’ he said.

  ‘Emma doesn’t need me. She has a mummy. Someone who’ll care for her because she loves her, not because there’s a cheque in the bank every month.’