Читать книгу A Nanny For Christmas - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

PHOEBE wanted to run away, harder and faster than she’d ever done in her life. But for dazed seconds she wasn’t able to move, or think. She could only stare at him. At the nightmare made flesh, and standing in front of her.

He’d hardly changed at all. She was capable of recognising that, at least. The thick dark hair, untouched by grey, still waved untidily back from its widow’s peak. He would never be handsome. His nose was too beaky, his mouth and chin too firmly uncompromising, and the grey eyes under the cynically lifted eyebrows too piercing. But he was even more of a force to be reckoned with than at their last disastrous encounter.

She was the one who’d changed, she realised with a reviving jolt of the same anger which had driven her into this room. She wasn’t a naive, betrayed sixteen-year-old any longer.

The real vulnerable child was upstairs, and she was all that mattered in this situation.

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 café 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 under-standing—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.’

‘Touché,’ 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 ringing 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 café,’ 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.’

‘I don’t want someone else.’ Tara sounded rebellious and fractionally close to tears.

Phoebe took her hand. ‘Look, I came to say good night, not have a fight. Everything will work out, poppet. You’ll see.’

Tara pulled her hand away and turned over, burying her face in the pillow. ‘I don’t like being on my own,’ said a muffled voice.

Phoebe sighed soundlessly. ‘Listen, if you’re a good girl, and stop fussing, I’ll come and play Snakes and Ladders with you one day. If your daddy will let me, that is.’

A transformed and beaming face was lifted from the pillow. ‘Will you come tomorrow?’

‘No, I have to go to work. Besides,’ she added with a touch of sternness, ‘Saturdays and Sundays are your special time with your father, aren’t they?’

‘Ye-e-es.’ Tara wriggled a bit. ‘But he wouldn’t mind if you were there too.’

‘Oh, I think he might,’ Phoebe said lightly. And I certainly should. ‘Cuddle down now, and I’ll tuck you in.’

Tara obeyed. ‘You sound like a nanny,’ she said.

Phoebe bent and swiftly kissed a pink cheek. ‘That’s the easy part,’ she said.

She closed the door softly behind her, and started down to the floor below. All the doors were shut there too, but she could remember what the rooms were like, she thought, her footsteps faltering a little. Especially one of them. The one with the big four-poster bed with a canopy over it. The one she’d been taken to...

Out of the past, she could remember someone saying, ‘It looks like a bloody altar.’

And Tony’s voice drawling, ‘Then let’s supply the virgin sacrifice.’

She shivered violently, trying to blot out his voice as well as the more potent memories of his lips on hers, his hands moving over her, undressing her slowly...

‘Is something the matter?’ Dominic Ashton’s voice, speaking sharply, broke across her reverie.

She realised she was standing, rooted to the spot, outside his bedroom. He was at the top of the stairs, staring at her.

He said, ‘I’ve never heard that this house is haunted, but you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘No—no, I’m fine. I—I thought I heard Tara calling,’ she improvised rapidly.

He said abruptly, ‘I’ll sleep up there tonight, in case she needs anything.’

Phoebe walked ahead of him down to the hall. ‘You don’t think there’s a chance Cindy will turn up?’

‘I know she won’t,’ he said grimly. ‘You were quite right. She’s in hospital—and the boyfriend too. I’ve just been on to the casualty department at Westcombe. They had an accident on the bike—hurrying back for Tara, apparently.’

Phoebe gasped. ‘Are they badly hurt?’

‘Tom ligaments for him, and a broken collarbone for her. It could have been very much worse. I’ll call in there after I’ve dropped you off, with a dose of unpleasant medicine for the pair of them.’

She said quickly, ‘Don’t be too angry with her, please. She’ll know how stupid she’s been, and be feeling really bad about it. And anger’s such an awful thing—when you’re frightened and ashamed, any way...’ Her voice tailed into silence.

‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘That was certainly a cry from the heart.’ He held out her coat for her. ‘Do I really seem so formidable?’

‘I—I was speaking generally.’ Phoebe slid her arms into the sleeves and began to fumble with the buttons.

‘Were you?’ His grey gaze was searching. ‘I’d have said you had something very particular in mind, and—’

To her intense relief, his analysis was interrupted by a sharp peal of the doorbell.

Dominic Ashton’s brows rose. ‘Now, who can this be?’ he said, half to himself.

He went to the door and threw it open.

‘Darling.’ The woman who swept in with immense assurance was tall, with pale blonde hair swept back by a velvet Alice band. Her wine-coloured cape swirled around her. ‘Mummy and Daddy are having an impromptu drinks party—such fun—and—’ she gave a girlish laugh ‘—they’ve sent me over to scoop you up.’

Now that, thought Phoebe, her own troubles forgotten in sudden relish, is something I’d really like to see. Dominic Ashton didn’t seem a man who’d ‘scoop’ easily.

He said courteously, ‘Good evening, Hazel. That’s very kind of you all, but I’m afraid I’m not available tonight. We’ve had a slight domestic crisis.’

‘Oh, dear.’ The newcomer’s rather prominent blue eyes focused on Phoebe, taking in her ordinary appearance and the elderly waxed jacket she was wearing. ‘Have I arrived at an awkward moment? Are you in the process of firing a member of your staff? I can wait in the car till you’ve finished.’

‘No,’ Dominic said pleasantly. ‘Actually that’s not it. This is Phoebe Grant, who doesn’t work for me in any capacity. Miss Grant, may I introduce you to Hazel Sinclair, who’s the daughter of some neighbours of mine?’

Phoebe murmured, ‘How do you do?’ and, in return, was given a bright smile which revealed very white teeth.

‘All the better to eat you with, Grandma,’ she said under her breath.

The social niceties concluded, Hazel Sinclair returned to her prey. ‘So what’s the problem, my pet? Is there anything I can do to help?’

He shook his head. ‘I doubt it. Tara’s nanny’s made rather a fool of herself and ended up in hospital.’

‘Oh, these ghastly girls.’ She flung her hands in the air. ‘I really don’t know how anyone copes with them. And I have to say she always did seem rather—flighty to me. Now, what you want is an older woman, a nanny of the old school, who’d keep a firm hand on poor little Tara.’

‘Is that what you think she needs?’ Dominic asked mildly.

‘All small girls do, my dear.’ She tapped him roguishly on the arm. ‘Especially charmers like your Tara, who can twist their fathers round their little fingers. She’s a delight, but you must be careful not to—overcompensate for the fact you’re a one-parent family.’

‘I am aware of that,’ he said, a touch drily. ‘I thought until an hour or so ago that I’d got the balance about right. Until Miss Grant arrived to correct me, that is.’

‘Oh, really?’ Phoebe found herself subjected to a somewhat sharper scrutiny. ‘Are you some kind of social worker, then?’

‘No,’ Phoebe said. ‘I’m a waitress at the Clover Tea Rooms, in Westcombe.’

‘I see.’ Hazel Sinclair clearly didn’t. She gave a silvery laugh. ‘It’s not an establishment I’m familiar with, I have to say. Is it one of your haunts, Dominic? It doesn’t sound very likely.’

‘It isn’t,’ he said briefly. ‘But Tara likes it, apparently.’ He paused. ‘I don’t want to seem ungracious, Hazel, but I was just about to run Miss Grant back to Westcombe and then visit the hospital.’

‘Of course. I must be getting back myself. The first guests will be arriving.’ She smiled at him dazzlingly. ‘If you’ve time when you’ve completed all your errands of mercy, call round. So many people want to welcome you back after all this time. Besides, it’s essential for you not to be a hermit.’

‘I think I can promise that.’ He took the hand she’d archly extended and dropped a quick kiss on it. ‘Tonight just isn’t on, Hazel, but I’ll ring you next week and we’ll have dinner.’

‘I’ll hold you to that, darling.’ She bestowed a distinctly less radiant look on Phoebe. ‘Good night, Miss—er...?’

‘Grant,’ Phoebe supplied helpfully. ‘Clover Tea Rooms. Home-baking a speciality.’

As he closed the front door behind Hazel Dominic Ashton turned back to Phoebe with a wintry look.

‘You’re not quite as demure as you look, are you, Miss Grant?’

‘I don’t understand.’ Phoebe returned the look. ‘Is there a problem?’

There was a brief, oddly pregnant silence, then he said slowly, still staring at her, ‘Do you know, Miss Grant? I think there might be. I really think there might.’

He sighed, swiftly and sharply. ‘So—shall we go now?’

‘Please,’ said Phoebe. And thought, The sooner, the better.