A Nanny for Christmas (3 page)

She lifted her chin and prayed her voice wouldn't let her down. She probably couldn't equal his own level of contempt in the look she sent him, but, by God, she was going to try.

'The reason—Mr Ashton—is called Tara, and for the past week she's been spending a regular part of the day totally unsupervised in Westcombe.'

The dark brows snapped together. 'What kind of dangerous nonsense is this?'

Phoebe shook her head steadily. 'No nonsense at all. I only wish it were. The girl who looks after her has been allowing her to have tea on her own in the cafe where I work while she meets her boyfriend.' She paused. 'He has a motorcycle,' she added without expression.

There was a heavy silence. Dominic Ashton was still staring at her, but Phoebe had the feeling that he wasn't seeing her at all.

He said, half to himself, 'I'm going to get to the bottom of this,' and strode towards the door.

Phoebe put up a detaining hand. 'If you're going to look for Cindy, she's not here. At least I don't think she is. She didn't turn up to collect Tara as arranged. And her car is still in the market car park.'

He stopped. Looked down at her. Aware and refocusing, his face suddenly haggard.

She had hated him for six years, for his lack of understanding—and compassion. She had never in the whole of her life expected to feel sorry for him, yet, somehow, she did.

Here he was, in the middle of some business empire, with computers, modems and machinery as far as the eye could see, and just briefly he'd lost his power. He too was naked and bewildered, in a situation he couldn't control.

His voice was quiet. 'I accept what you say—everything you say. But I still think I should check—don't you?' He hesitated. 'Please sit down, Miss—?'

'Grant,' she said. 'Phoebe Grant.'

He nodded, as if storing it for future reference. 'I'll have my housekeeper bring you some coffee.'

'I think she's got her hands full giving Tara her supper.'

'Yes, of course,' he said abruptly. 'I wasn't thinking.' He looked at her again, frowning as if puzzled. 'Where exactly did you say you'd met my daughter?'

'In the Clover Tea Rooms. I'm a waitress there. She sits at one of my tables.' She hesitated. 'I followed her out one afternoon and saw Cindy meet her. That's how I know about the boyfriend. Not through Tara.'

He looked at her as if she were mad. 'What possible difference can that make?'

'Tara promised not to say anything. She's frightened of breaching a confidence.'

'My God,' he said. He pointed at a cupboard. 'You'll find a decanter and glasses. Help yourself to some brandy, and pour one for me. You look as if you need it, and I know I do.'

She said huskily, 'I'm afraid I don't drink.'

'Then perhaps you should start.' The grey eyes examined her critically. 'Or are you always this pale?'

Phoebe looked down at her feet. 'I have a taxi waiting. I'd really like to leave.'

'And I'd be obliged if you'd stay. After all, you marched in, issuing some pretty dire and extremely personal accusations. I'd like the chance to defend myself. But first I need to talk to Tara.' He paused. 'Well?'

Still avoiding his gaze, Phoebe nodded jerkily, and walked to an armchair beside the cheerful fire burning in the grate.

As she heard the door close she felt herself go limp.

'He doesn't remember me,' she whispered to herself. 'He didn't even recognise my name, although in fairness I only gave half of it.'

'Who are you?' he'd demanded with bitter intensity six years before.

And, through a haze of shame and nausea, she'd mumbled, 'Phoebe.'

Of course, she'd looked very different too. Her nondescript brown bob had been concealed under a curly blonde wig then, and her skin had been plastered with make up.

I thought I looked so glamorous—so sophisticated, she thought sorrowfully. And, instead, I was just being set up.

She shivered, and stretched out her hands to the fire. The burning logs smelled sweet, and the chair was deep and magically comfortable. It would have been very easy to lean back and give herself up to the luxury of the moment. But she couldn't afford to relax.

Dominic Ashton might not have recognised her, but she knew him down to the marrow of her bones. And, when she left here tonight, she wanted him out of her system for good.

If Tara had admitted from the first that her name was really Ashton, would she have the guts to come here and face him tonight? she wondered. Probably not.

But why had Tara told such a pointless fib in the first place? And where had the name 'Vane' come from?

I don't need to know, she reminded herself firmly. I did what I set out to do and made sure Tara was safe. That's as far as it goes. The state of the relationships in this house is none of my business.

But she couldn't help reflecting that clearly the last time she'd seen Dominic Ashton he'd been a married man—Tara would already have been born. Now, it seemed, he was a widower. He'd had more to concern him in the past six years than a trivial prank, however cruel. And the damage caused to herself seemed positively inconsequential compared with what he must have suffered.

Oh, pull yourself together, she thought impatiently. You've allowed yourself the statutory glimmer of compassion. The fact remains that Dominic Ashton was a sadistic, heartless swine six years ago, and the evidence suggests he hasn't undergone any material alteration.

It seemed an eternity before he came back. And, she saw, he was carrying a tray with a silver coffee-pot and two cups which he set down on the desk.

He said, 'I think we should both take a deep breath and start again from scratch.'

Phoebe scrambled awkwardly to her feet, aware that her skirt had ridden up, revealing more of her long black-clad legs than she wished.

She said rather breathlessly, 'There's really no need for that, Mr Ashton. I did what I thought was necessary, and now I'd just like to leave. My taxi's waiting.'

He shook his head. 'I paid him and sent him away.'

'You did what?' Her voice rose. The realisation that she was as good as trapped here with him made her shake inside. 'You had no right...'

'Oh, please,' he said impatiently. 'Clearly I have every right to establish just what's being going on. And when we've talked I'll run you home myself. It's the least I can do.'

My God, she thought. That's one positively diametric change from our last meeting. You tossed me out then without any regard for what might happen to me. I was little more than a child, and you treated me like a whore.

She said crisply, 'Another cab will be fine. I don't want to drag you away from your important business.' She put ironic emphasis on the last two words.

His brows lifted in swift acknowledgement. 'You really don't think a great deal of me, do you, Miss Grant? Would it earn me some Brownie points if I swore to you that I truly believed when I came home tonight that Tara was safely upstairs in the care of her highly paid nanny?'

'Nevertheless,' Phoebe said stiffly, 'she wasn't your first priority. You didn't actually check.'

'Touche,'
he said gravely. 'Now, would you like to drink this coffee, or throw it over me?'

In spite of herself, she felt her lips twitch. He grinned back at her, and she realised it was the first time she'd ever seen him smile.

Realised, too, with a sense of shock, what a powerful attraction he could put out when he tried.

Thank God I'm immune, she told herself as she accepted the cup with a formal word of thanks and reseated herself.

'May I recap on a few points?' Dominic Ashton handed her the cream jug. 'You actually saw Cindy with this guy—how many times?'

'Only once—yesterday. I followed Tara into the street to see where she went. To make sure that she was all right.' Phoebe stirred her coffee.

'It hasn't taken Cindy long to get fixed up,' he said grimly. 'We only moved down here three weeks ago.'

Phoebe moved a restive shoulder. 'I suppose she is allowed a social life.'

'Naturally. She has most weekends off, and usually each evening too. The whole point of moving my business down here was so that I could spend more time with Tara.'

'But I thought—' Phoebe stopped abruptly.

'What did you think?'

She drank some coffee. 'That you'd have to be away a lot on business.'

'Well, it does happen, of course. I was away overnight earlier in the week. But Tara understands, I think. At least I hope she does.'

I wouldn't count on that, Phoebe thought. Aloud, she said slowly, 'She seems very mature for her age. Very self-possessed.'

'In some ways, perhaps.' He looked down at his cup. 'She's had to grow up quickly.'

'Yes.' She hesitated. 'It must have been hard on her— losing her mother like that.'

'You make it sound as if she's been deliberately careless,' he said lightly.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp of outrage. She said thickly, 'I hope you don't refer to your late wife quite so casually in front of Tara.'

'I try not to refer to her at all,' he said curtly, his grey eyes scanning her stormy face. 'And when you talk of my "late" wife, are you referring to Serena's chronic unpunctuality, or are you under the misapprehension that she's departed this life?'

Phoebe nearly spilled her coffee. 'You mean she isn't dead?'

'Good God, no,' he said derisively. 'Only the good die young, Miss Grant. On that assumption, Serena should outlive all of us.'

'Oh, Lord.' Phoebe was scarlet with mortification. 'It's just that Tara said she didn't have a mother, and I assumed...'

Dominic Ashton shrugged. 'It doesn't matter, and in many ways Tara's right. Serena and I have been divorced for the past two years, and she's pursuing her career in California. It was agreed that Tara should remain with me.'

Phoebe said numbly, 'Serena Vane—of course—the actress. I should have realised.'

'I thought you did know. After all, you addressed me as Mr Vane when you came bursting in here.'

Phoebe looked at the floor. 'I—I'm sorry. That must be very—disagreeable.'

'Extremely,' he agreed calmly. 'But during the period of our marriage I became used to it, if not resigned.'

'I saw her in
Tess of the D'Urbervilles
on television,' Phoebe blurted. 'She was wonderful.'

'Yes,' he said. 'Acting is what Serena does best. And I don't blame her for wanting to try her luck in Hollywood.' He paused. 'But I didn't want that life for Tara. Any more than I wanted her to be called that absurd name,' he added, his mouth twisting. 'But Serena was convinced, just before the christening, that she was going to be cast as Scarlett O'Hara in some remake of
Gone with the Wind
that never actually transpired.'

He swallowed the rest of his coffee and put down the cup. 'But I suggest we make a joint vow to make no more assumptions. We're clearly not very good at them. You were convinced that I was an uncaring absentee father, and I assumed that because Cindy was pleasant and came with glowing references that she'd be reliable too.'

'What are you going to do about her?'

He shrugged. 'I'll have to find her first. All her clothes and personal things are still in her room, so I guess she'll be back, sooner or later.'

'And she left the car in the car park.' Phoebe paused for a moment, then said diffidently, 'Perhaps you should phone the local hospitals—and the police. I mean—she could have had an accident.'

'At this precise moment, I'd be glad to hear she'd broken
her damned neck. But you're right. I'll start ring
in
g
round after I've taken you back.'

She said with a touch of desperation, 'It would save a lot of time and trouble if you'd just get me a taxi.'

'You brought my daughter safely home. I want to do the same for you.'

Which, of course, was unanswerable, Phoebe thought, gritting her teeth.

She said, 'I'd like to say good night to Tara, first, if that's all right.'

'Of course. Whenever you're ready.'

Halfway up the stairs, she began to tremble. What room was Tara going to be in? If it was—that room, then she couldn't go through with it. But then it wouldn't be. Then, as now, it would be the master bedroom.

It was still a relief when they went past the door, Phoebe staring blindly ahead of her. At the far end of the landing, there was another flight of stairs curving away to the left.

'This has always been the nursery suite,' Dominic Ashton said as he led the way. 'Cindy's bedroom is up here too, and a big playroom, and there are two bathrooms, and a kitchenette to make hot drinks and snacks. It's quite self-contained.'

Phoebe murmured something indistinguishable.

Tara was in bed, looking mutinous.

'Carrie said I had to have an early night. But I wanted to come downstairs and play Snakes and Ladders with you and Phoebe.'

Dominic ruffled her hair. 'I'm on Carrie's side. You've had enough fun and games for one day, madam.'

Tara turned pleading eyes on Phoebe. 'Will you come another time and play with me—please?'

This, thought Phoebe, was not part of the plan.

She gave Tara a constrained smile. 'I can't promise anything. I—I do have to work for my living. And you have Cindy to play with.'

'Not any more.' Tara grinned naughtily. 'I heard Daddy tell Carrie that Cindy would come back over his dead body.' Her eyes brightened. 'Daddy, why can't Phoebe be my nanny instead?'

There was a silence. Then Dominic said easily, 'I'm sure she has a hundred reasons. I'll leave her to tell you some of them while I make a few phone calls.'

'Don't you really and truly want to be my nanny?' Tara asked when they were alone. 'I thought you liked me.'

'I do like you.' Phoebe sat on the edge of the bed. 'But it isn't that simple. I have a job already.'

'But it's much nicer here than it is in that cafe,' Tara urged. 'You'd have a lovely bedroom. Would you like to look at it?' She began to scramble out of bed, and Phoebe restrained her firmly.

'And I have a home, too.'
With a roof that leaks and wiring on the blink and a nosy landlord.
'Your father will soon find someone else to look after you.'