The Nanny Affair. Robyn Donald

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      CHAPTER THREE

      THE sitting room was big, with a high ceiling and wide windows. Emma had a confused impression of comfortable sofas and chairs covered in pleasantly muted stripes, of pictures and flowers, of light gleaming on silver and mellow wood.

      Waiting for them were a man, about the same age as Emma, and his sister. They made a handsome pair—he with the easy grace and good looks of an actor, she only seventeen or so, with a soft, rather petulant mouth and huge green-blue eyes.

      ‘Rory and Annabelle Gill,’ Mrs Talbot said, introducing them. ‘Kane’s cousins. They’re spending the holidays with us.’

      Rory Gill greeted Emma with every appearance of interest, but his sister had no eyes for anyone but Kane. Poor kid, Emma thought compassionately; there was a schoolgirl with a crush if ever she’d seen one!

      After a perfunctory smile Annabelle emphasised, ‘Very distant cousins! Kane, if somebody doesn’t ride Asti soon she’s going to be too stroppy to catch, let alone mount. I’ll take her out for you if you like.’

      ‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,’ Kane said, smiling at her. ‘Emma’s agreed to exercise her.’

      Emma’s head came up and she met tawny eyes that were cool and hard and commanding. After a prickly moment she lowered her lashes.

      ‘Really?’ Annabelle directed an accusing, chagrined glare at Emma and said sharply, ‘I hope you’re a decent rider. Asti’s pretty toey.’

      ‘I manage,’ Emma said, noticing the tiny, hastily smoothed frown that pleated Mrs Talbot’s brows.

      ‘How on earth did you get that chance?’ Annabelle demanded.

      Kane said calmly, ‘I offered it to her.’

      And such was the power of his personality that no one said anything more about the subject, meekly following his lead as he began to talk of places that Emma might like to visit now that she was in the north.

      Nevertheless, Emma was pleased when the doorbell chimed, and the neighbours, mostly considerably older than her, and friendly, began to arrive.

      At dinner she sat beside Kane, and if it had been any other occasion she’d have enjoyed it very much, although she thought that the table decorations—formally arranged roses—and the silver and very expensive china were a trifle too fulsome for a dinner party in the country. Beautiful as it was, it looked like a setting from a glossy magazine.

      Still, that was a personal reservation, and there could be none about the food or the company. They talked about the happenings of the district, but also of politics and national events, books and films, so that she was able to hold up her end of the conversation.

      And it wasn’t Annabelle Gill’s narrow-eyed condemnation that ruffled her composure, either—she could deal with the Annabelles of this world. What made her uncomfortable were the times she looked up and found Kane Talbot watching her.

      He didn’t stare and he certainly didn’t leer; no, this was a speculative, probing regard, as though she was something new to his experience. He was probably more accustomed to sophisticated women, she thought with a rare flash of self-consciousness, picturing a blonde, long-legged Australian almost-fiancée with manicured fingernails, seriously good jewellery and Versace clothes.

      After the superb meal Mrs Talbot fended off compliments with a charming reference to her housekeeper’s skill i hard work. Kane’s mother was an excellent hostess, making sure that everyone was enjoying themselves, drawing out the shy guests, dazzling everyone with her wit and warmth.

      And yet, Emma realised reluctantly, although Mrs Talbot couldn’t have been nicer, whenever she spoke to her that all-embracing warmth dimmed behind a slight wariness.

      Later, as they were drinking coffee in the lovely sitting room, one of the men said to Emma, ‘You’ve got that Rottweiler of Mrs Firth’s under control, I hope.’

      Acutely conscious of Kane, Emma said, ‘He’ll be on a leash whenever I walk him, and he sleeps in the garage at night.’

      ‘Just keep him away from my sheep,’ the older man said jocularly. He meant it, however.

      Hoping she could deliver on the implied promise, Emma said, ‘Don’t worry. He’s very trainable.’

      Annabelle Gill, perched on the arm of her brother’s chair—to show off, Emma thought with unusual annoyance, her lovely long legs—said, ‘Did you read in the paper couple of days ago that Rottweilers are the most dangerous dogs in the country?’

      ‘To vets,’ Emma returned drily. ‘Closely followed by corgis and chihuahuas. I can vouch for that—I’ve been severely bitten by a chihuahua that looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in its tiny mouth. However, Lucky is not vicious.’

      They talked dogs for a little while, and inescapably the conversation drifted to sheep-worrying. Emma listened. She knew that farmers dreaded the sporadic outbreaks of death and mutilation; she understood their concern.

      One of the men remarked, ‘Of course the best way to keep a dog safe around sheep is to train him as a sheepdog.’ He looked across at Emma. ‘Perhaps that’s what you should do with the Rottweiler.’

      Emma said, ‘They were bred to be guard dogs. I don’t think—’

      ‘You said he was intelligent,’ Kane put in casually. ‘I’ve got a puppy I’m putting through her paces. Bring Lucky up and we’ll see how he goes with sheep.’

      His guests grinned and tossed the idea around, making jokes, guessing how a trainer would deal with something as naturally dominant as a Rottweiler. Emma sat silently, wondering why Kane Talbot had made the suggestion.

      But it might be a good idea...

      Although she could handle Lucky, she didn’t know if Mrs Firth was strong enough to deal with him when he grew to maturity. Many people weren’t; she’d seen enough big dogs, bred to guard, who terrorised their owners or the public because they hadn’t been trained with any understanding of their natures. Eventually many followed their protective instincts to the extreme, and had to be put down after attacking an innocent bystander.

      She said, ‘But if he gets the idea that he’s entitled to be around them, wouldn’t that make him too interested in sheep?’

      They considered this. The man who’d first suggested it said, ‘Can’t see it myself. If he’s trained to work them he’ll only do it on command.’

      And Kane, who seemed to understand the way her thoughts were going, said coolly, ‘It’s worth a try. A big, intelligent dog needs work to keep active and interested. Sheepdogs have been trained to use their instincts to control sheep СКАЧАТЬ