A Nanny For Keeps. Liz Fielding

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ notice of the instruction to stay put.

      ‘Please,’ she corrected automatically.

      Maisie sighed. ‘Please.’

      ‘There’s some juice in my bag on the front seat—’

      ‘A hot drink.’

      Little Princess, 2—Dumb Adult yet to score.

      But the child had a point. She was beginning to feel the need of a cup of something warming herself. And now the idea had been put into her head, she’d welcome a comfort break, too.

      ‘Look, just give me a minute, will you? I need to make a phone call and then we’ll sort something out.’

      Maisie shrugged and she turned her attention back to the phone.

      ‘Come on, come on…’ she muttered impatiently, getting clammier and colder by the minute. ‘You really should wait in the car, Maisie; it’s colder up here and your dress will go all limp in this weather,’ she said, appealing to the child’s priorities.

      When there was no reply she looked around and was just in time to catch a flash of white frock disappearing around the side of the house.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘OH, HECK !’

      Jacqui had no choice but to abandon the call and take off after Maisie, vaguely registering a huge paved courtyard with a stable block on the far side as she rounded the back of the house.

      She finally caught up with Maisie just as she stepped through the back door, which, despite the weather, was standing wide open.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘No one ever uses the front door,’ Maisie said, matter-of-factly.

      ‘They don’t?’

      ‘Of course not. I’d have told you if you’d asked me.’

      And, completely untouched by the mud that seemed to be clinging liberally to her own shoes, her dress as fresh as it had been when they left the office, Maisie walked into the house as if she owned it.

      Jacqui, given no choice in the matter, followed her through an extensive mud room littered with boots, umbrellas and an impressive array of waxed jackets that looked as if they’d been handed down for generations—they probably had—and into a huge farmhouse kitchen warmed by an old-fashioned solid-fuel stove.

      There was a large dog basket beside it, companionably shared by a buff-coloured chicken, feathers fluffed up to keep in the heat, and two, or possibly three, silver-tabby cats. They were so entwined—and so alike—that it was impossible to tell. A large, shaggy and depressed-looking hound was lying beside it, drying his muddy paws.

      But for the chicken, she might have been tempted to lie down and join him. Instead she turned to Maisie and said, ‘You know, sometimes it’s better not to wait until you’re asked. Just in case the person who should do the asking doesn’t catch on to the fact that there’s a question.’

      Jacqui stopped herself. Clearly this was not the kind of conversation that your average nanny had with six-year-olds in their care.

      But then she was no longer a nanny.

      And Maisie, who was not exactly your average six-year-old, responded with a casual shrug. ‘You didn’t listen when I told you I knew the way,’ she pointed out. ‘I didn’t think you’d listen about the door.’

      Why, Jacqui silently appealed to whatever deity was responsible for the welfare of lapsed nannies, was there never a midden handy when you needed one?

      ‘Come on.’ And, not hanging around to debate the matter, Maisie opened another door, leaving Jacqui with no choice but to abandon the warmth of the kitchen and follow the child into a draughty inner hallway from which an equally draughty staircase—the kind constructed for servants to use in the days when people who lived in houses like this had servants—rose to the next floor. ‘It’s this way.’

      ‘What is?’ she snapped as the cold emphasised the dampness of her clothes. Then, closing her eyes and reminding herself that Maisie was only six, that she was the adult and needed to get a grip, said, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.’

      ‘S’OK.’

      No, it wasn’t. It was just the latest in a long series of mistakes she’d made that day, the biggest of which had been to respond to Vickie’s call. Fooling herself into believing that it would give her a chance to convince the woman that she meant it when she said she was finished as a nanny. She’d broken all the rules and she’d been punished for it, but not as hard as she was punishing herself. And then Vickie had said that she had a package for her and she’d discovered she wasn’t quite as detached, or as strong as she thought.

      She took a deep, calming breath, opened her eyes and discovered she’d just made mistake number ump-teen, because while she wasn’t paying attention Maisie had disappeared.

      ‘Oh, terrific!’

      Clearly six months working in an office had dulled her instinct for trouble. Computers didn’t get into mischief, or disappear, the minute you took your eyes off them. She’d lost the precious edge that kept her in control…

      Looking around, she had half a dozen doors to choose from and, picking the nearest, she opened it to find a large pantry lined with shelves and stacked with enough of the basic essentials to feed a large family for months. But no Maisie.

      As she moved to the next door the phone in her hand began to squawk loudly. She glanced at it and realised that in her mad dash after the runaway princess, she hadn’t stopped to disconnect her call to the office.

      She put the phone to her ear and without preamble said, ‘Vickie, you’ve got a problem…’

      ‘Jacqui? Is that you?’

      ‘Yes, Vickie, it’s me, Jacqui,’ she confirmed, opening door two on a butler’s pantry. ‘Jacqui,’ she repeated, ‘who you’ve sent on a fool’s errand.’

      Door three, slightly ajar, revealed a small and very hard-used sitting room. Two elderly cream Labradors were in possession of the sofa and from the quantity of pale hair clinging to the fabric, considered it their personal property.

      ‘Relax, boys,’ she said, in response to anxious wags from two tails. Then, returning to her theme, ‘Jacqui,’ she continued, since Vickie had clearly cottoned on to the fact that she was seriously irritated and had decided to let her get it all off her chest in one go without interruption, ‘who will be invoicing you for a new exhaust.’

      ‘A new exhaust!’

      She’d been sure that one would get a reaction.

      ‘Jacqui, who’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with a precocious six-year-old who not only dresses like a princess, but also thinks she is one…’

      At which point she stopped of her own volition as she belatedly realised what was going on.

      What a simpleton!

      Vickie СКАЧАТЬ