A Nanny For Christmas. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ is prepared to pay a year’s rent in advance, and at least it will be a roof over your head. I’m sure one of his business contacts will be able to suggest something suitable.’

      ‘Modest’, Phoebe reflected drily, was not the word. Hawthorn Cottage, property of Mr Arthur Hanson, was positively retiring—and singularly lacking in hawthorns or, indeed, any kind of flower or shrub in its miserable strip of concreted-over garden.

      ‘Dad, we can’t live here,’ she’d whispered as Mr Hanson had grudgingly left them alone ‘to get the feel of the place’, as he’d put it. ‘It’s awful.’

      ‘To quote your aunt Lorna, “It’s a roof”, and it will do while we look round for something better.’ He’d hugged her.

      Phoebe had been half-heartedly celebrating the end of her finals when her tutor had sent for her. He’d been very kind, very sympathetic, but there had been no way to soften the blow.

      Her father had been taken suddenly ill while waiting his turn at the local DSS office. An ambulance had been called, everyone had done what they could, but he’d been dead on his arrival at hospital.

      Phoebe, grieving and bewildered, had learned she could stay at the house until the lease was up—but only, she suspected, because Uncle Geoffrey had been unable to retrieve the rent from Hanson the Hateful, as her father had christened him.

      She hadn’t wanted to stay there—or in Westcombe at all, for that matter—because that part of the country held few happy memories for her. But she’d realised she needed a breathing space. What she had not taken into account was the difficulty of finding work.

      She knew how to operate a computer, so she’d managed to keep herself solvent with temping jobs in various offices. But, on the whole, she’d found working at the tea rooms the most congenial.

      Mrs Preston might have a blind spot where her niece was concerned, but otherwise her standards were high. Trade was generally brisk, Lynn was down to earth and amusing company and most of the customers had soon seemed like old friends.

      She would miss it all very much, but it had never been a prospect for life.

      But what was? she asked herself now as she made toast and poached an egg for her supper. Her life had been turned upside down during the past year, and now all she was really sure of was her own uncertainty.

      Did she want to be a librarian as she’d always intended? Or should she return to college and take a teaching degree?

      I don’t know what I want, she thought. And, in those circumstances, Dad always said it was best to do nothing and see what life threw at you.

      There was no television in the cottage—Hanson the Hateful claimed the weight of an aerial would damage the chimney—so she listened to the radio as she usually did, then went to bed.

      And, for the first time in over a year, she found herself having the dream.

      As always there was music playing, somewhere in the distance, and she was floating, weightless, on a bed of clouds, spinning slowly and gently in a gigantic circle, singing softly to herself. There were faces looking down at her, all smiling, and she smiled back, comforted by love and approval, until she saw that all the faces were masked and the smiles painted on, and she tried to run away, and they held her down, their laughter echoing thinly from behind the masks, drowning the music.

      And then they all vanished, and he was there—the Dark Lord—staring at her with eyes so cold that they burned.

      Shouting at her with words that made no sense, but she knew were full of hatred and contempt.

      Threatening her, frightening her with his anger. His disgust.

      And she suddenly realised that she was naked and tried to cover herself with her hands, but they were clamped to her sides, and she was spinning again, faster and faster, sinking backwards into some void, trying to hide from the ice and fire of the Dark Lord’s eyes. But knowing that there was no escape.

      She awoke, sobbing helplessly as she always did, her whole body bathed in sweat.

      When she’d regained control, she lay quietly, staring into the darkness, wondering what had prompted a recurrence of her nightmare.

      Fitton Magna, she thought, wincing. Tara had said she lived there. That must have been the reason.

      But why did it still have to happen? It was six years ago, after all, that devastating, humiliating night. Wasn’t it time she laid the memory of it to rest? Surely she wasn’t going to be haunted like this for the rest of her life?

      The sooner I get away from this whole area and make a completely fresh start, she told herself, the better it will be.

      The following day was Friday and market day, and the tea rooms were extra busy.

      As the afternoon wore on Phoebe cleared the corner table by the window and put a RESERVED notice on it.

      And won’t I look a fool if she doesn’t turn up? she thought.

      But, sure enough, Tara made her appearance at the usual time, and seemed sedately pleased that Phoebe had kept a space for her.

      ‘What’s it to be today?’ Phoebe smiled down at her. ‘Hot milk again? And Mrs Preston’s made some chocolate muffins.’

      Tara’s eyes sparkled. ‘Yes, please.’

      For a child who seemed to be bringing herself up, she had lovely manners, Phoebe thought as she went to get the order.

      After that there was another rush of customers, and it was an hour later that she finally had time to realise that Tara was still sitting at the corner table, staring forlornly through the window.

      She checked beside her. ‘I’m sorry, poppet. Did you want to pay?’

      The child shook her head, looking down and biting her lip. ‘I can’t. Cindy didn’t give me any money today. She said I had to wait here instead until she came. Only she hasn’t,’ she added on a little wail.

      ‘Don’t get upset.’ Phoebe passed her a clean paper napkin. ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay the bill for you, and Cindy can settle with me. How’s that?’

      Tara shook her head. ‘We can’t do that. I don’t know where she is.’

      ‘Well, she can’t be too far away. She knows you’re waiting.’ Phoebe tried to sound casual. ‘Is she out with her boyfriend again?’

      Tara’s eyes looked very big in her small face. ‘You aren’t meant to know about him. No one is. She’ll be cross if she thinks I’ve told.’

      ‘Well, you haven’t,’ Phoebe said cheerfully. ‘So that’s all right. Now, you stay right there, and I’ll bring you another muffin. And by the time you’ve eaten it Cindy will be here for you.’

      ‘What’s going on?’ Lynn mouthed as she dashed past with a loaded tray.

      ‘Cindy—no show,’ Phoebe returned succinctly, and Lynn’s brows shot up to her hairline.

      But, in spite of her optimistic forecast, no one tall, blonde and Australian СКАЧАТЬ