A Nanny For Keeps

Safe…and very large.

It was utterly foolish to imagine that they were actually spanning her waist; her waist was not of the cinched-in hand-span variety, but a rather more practical model that came equipped with a pair of sensible hips useful for propping small children on. But for one giddy moment she felt as if they did and finally understood why sane, level-headed women had allowed themselves to be laced into agonisingly small corsets in pursuit of the appearance of fragility.

Gazing up into a pair of gold tiger’s eyes, she felt very fragile indeed. Utter nonsense, of course, and she knew that she really should make an effort to stand up before she did untold damage to the poor man’s back.

She didn’t have to. He was more than capable of doing it for her and before she knew it she was upright, her face pressed against the soft wool of his shirt, immersed in the heady scents of clean laundry, fresh male sweat, hot oil…

A lot of men—and she’d worked, very briefly, for some of them—would, at this point, have taken advantage of the situation, pulling her up close to cop a cheap feel. The giant, however, wasted no time in putting clear space between them.

His very capable hands did remain firmly about her waist, but there was nothing about his manner to suggest it was anything but a precautionary measure while she regained her balance and caught her breath. Not very flattering, actually, considering it was taking a lot longer than it should have done. She put it down to the fact that it was an unusual experience to be looking up at anyone, even a man and she had to admit, as giants went, on closer inspection he was well worth looking at.

It wasn’t just his extraordinary eyes, or the breadth of his shoulders, although they were built on an impressive scale. Or even his height. Now she was standing on the same level as him, his size didn’t seem quite so overwhelming. It was true that even in high heels she’d still have to look up, but not that far, and for the first time since she’d outgrown all the girls in her class at school—and all the teachers—she felt as if she was in the right place. Which was madness, as he’d be the first to remind her. She should move…

Before she could put the thought into deed, he said, ‘OK now?’

‘Fine,’ she managed, although without much conviction and he didn’t immediately release her.

‘Sure?’

She found herself considering a feeble whimper…

‘Really,’ she insisted, pulling herself together and standing up straight.

‘You could do with something for your nerves, Jacqui Moore,’ he said, finally letting her go.

‘It’s been a trying day,’ she replied. It wasn’t getting any better and she shivered as the damp, clinging to her clothes and hair, made itself felt.

‘Any day that involves my cousin tends to be that way.’ Then, ‘You’re cold.’

‘A bit. It’s the damp. The mist is very penetrating. It can’t be healthy, living in a cloud.’

‘There are worse places, believe me, and the hill fog does have certain advantages. Unwanted visitors, for instance, rarely outstay their welcome.’

‘That I can believe and you can trust me when I say that I’ve no wish to trespass on your hospitality a moment longer than necessary,’ she replied stiffly. Whatever had she been thinking of…? ‘I’ve got a plane to catch.’

‘Then you’d better stop dithering around, falling over your own feet, and get yourself sorted out, hadn’t you?’

Charming. Just charming. But then the giant in her fairy story hadn’t been a bundle of laughs, either, she reminded herself. Definitely not the kind of bedtime reading she’d have inflicted on any child in her care.

‘I’d better sort out Maisie before I start making phone calls,’ she said, getting back to reality and making a move to retrieve her cellphone. No matter how inconvenient he found the situation, his little niece was her first priority.

He beat her to it, picking it up and handing it to her so that she got a good look at those hands. And nearly dropped it again as his long fingers brushed against hers.

‘You’d better dry yourself off, too, while you’re at it. You’ll find plenty of towels in the bathroom.’

She tried to speak, intent on demonstrating that if his manners were lacking in polish she at least knew how to behave, but was forced to clear her throat before she could manage a simple, ‘Thank you, Mr…’ Which might have worked if she’d known his name. ‘Mr…Um…?’ she prompted.

‘Talbot,’ he replied.

She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. As if she cared. She wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in his given name but common civility required she call him something other than ‘um’, since she was clearly going to be there for longer than either of them wanted. If he preferred to keep it formal, she wasn’t going to object.

‘It runs in the family,’ he added.

‘Right,’ she said, firmly resisting the temptation to point out that just because Selina was his cousin, it didn’t follow that he would have the same name. She was sure he knew that and was simply taking the opportunity to renew hostilities.

Clearly he’d only saved her from falling to avoid giving her any further excuse to delay their departure. Tough. Now she was in the house she was going nowhere until she’d sorted out Maisie’s immediate future.

‘Well, Mr Talbot, I can only apologise for imposing on your hospitality in this way, but, since it’s going to take a while to sort out this mess and disturbing you seems inevitable, I wonder if I could possibly impose on you for a cup of tea?’ She waited for him to assure her that it would be no trouble. When this didn’t happen, she added, ‘While I go and sort out Maisie.’ Then, ‘Or maybe you’d rather I left you to sort her out on your own while I go and catch my plane.’

‘You can’t leave her here with me.’

Well, no. Obviously she couldn’t do that. But was he simply uttering the panic-stricken response of a child-phobic male? Or did he know what he was talking about?

She had to admit that he didn’t sound panic-stricken. On the contrary, he sounded like a man who knew his own mind and spoke it without fear or favour. Whether he knew or cared about child-protection regulations, they weren’t an issue for him; he was simply telling her the way it was.

‘You are the only close family member immediately available,’ she pointed out. It made no difference, of course; she couldn’t leave Maisie in his care without Selina Talbot’s explicit authority. Unlike a completely irresponsible mother, the agency couldn’t just dump the child and run.

This was a ‘hold until relieved’ situation but, with luck—and she was surely due a little luck—he might not realise that and there was a heartening pause while he appeared to weigh up the alternatives.

Then, with something that might have been a shrug, he said, ‘Indian or China?’

She just about managed to keep the ‘gotcha’ smile from her face as she said, ‘Indian, please. This is definitely a moment for bracing and cheerful, rather than fragrant and refined, don’t you think?’

She didn’t hang around to find out if he agreed. Instead, having first taken the precaution of turning round so that she could look where she was going, she headed up the stairs in search of her charge.

Maisie, hands on hips, tights in a wrinkled heap around her ankles, scowled at her from the bathroom doorway. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting hours!’

‘Actually it was minutes, but if you’d waited for me instead of disappearing—’

‘I told you I had to go!’

‘I know you did,’ she said, more gently. ‘But don’t disappear on me again, OK?’ Then, when there was no response, ‘Maisie?’

‘OK,’ she muttered.

‘I mean it.’

‘OK! I heard you, all right?’

‘All right.’

And hopefully, having established that simple ground rule, she tugged Maisie’s tights into place, then, while the child was washing her hands, took advantage of Talbot’s grudging invitation to help herself to his towels, dabbing at the bits of herself that had been exposed to the elements. With luck her clothes would dry out in the warmth of the kitchen and she wouldn’t catch pneumonia but, the way her day was going, she wasn’t counting on it.

‘OK, Maisie, let’s go and see if we can sort this mess out.’

‘What mess?’

‘Well, your grandmother isn’t here…’

‘I know.’

‘You do?’

‘I heard,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter. I can stay here until my mother comes home. I’ve got a room of my own, you know, in one of the towers. It was decorated especially for me. The walls are mauve and the curtains are lace and it looks out over the paddock where the pony and the donkeys live.’ Then, ‘The pony’s mine.’

‘Really? I had a little pony when I was your age.’

‘Did you?’

‘Mmm. My Little Pony was the one called Applejack. She was the orange one, with apples painted on her bottom.’

Maisie regarded her with pity. ‘My pony is real. His name is Fudge. Would you like to meet him?’

‘I don’t think there’s going to be time, Maisie. The thing is you need more than a room—’

‘I’ve got more—’

‘More than a room and a pony. You need someone to take care of you.’

‘There’s Harry…’ Harry? His name was Harry? ‘…and Susan—’

‘Susan?’ The giant had a wife? Well…great. If Harry Talbot was married, or even if this woman was his partner, things might just work out. Always assuming Vickie could reach Selina Talbot before she left the country. ‘Who’s Susan?’

‘She comes in every morning to clean up and stuff.’

‘Oh. Great!’ No! Not great. And, ditching the smile—she had absolutely nothing to smile about—said, ‘Look, Maisie, obviously there’s been some kind of mix-up over the arrangements, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Mrs Campbell, at the agency, is going to talk to your mother and sort something out.’

Maisie sighed. ‘She won’t be able to do that. My mother will be on a plane by now and you have to turn off your mobile phone when you’re in a plane.’

‘So you do.’

Bedknobs and broomsticks…

‘It’s a total pain, my mother says, but they mess with the electricity and if that gets messed up you can’t watch the movie.’

‘I can see the problem.’ Actually, Jacqui was fairly sure that if the ‘electricity’ got messed up you wouldn’t be watching anything ever again, but in view of her own imminent flight decided not to dwell on it. She had enough on her plate without worrying about some idiot deciding to phone home just for the fun of saying ‘I’m on the plane…’. ‘Do you know where your mother is going?’

‘Of course. She’s doing a fashion shoot on the Great Wall of China. That’s right on the other side of the world, you know.’

‘I had heard.’

‘It takes forever to get there, she said.’

Not exactly forever, but it was certain that Ms Talbot wouldn’t be taking personal calls before tomorrow.

Maisie looked up at her, eyes huge and very solemn, and said reassuringly, ‘It’s OK. You can stay and look after me.’

No! No…

‘Why don’t we wait and see what Mrs Campbell says?’ she suggested, brushing off the ridiculous notion that this child was in on the conspiracy.

That was bordering on paranoia.

Besides, it was not that much more than two hours since her mother had dropped her off at the agency. While normal mortals would need all of that time to get to the airport and check in, she was pretty sure that for people like Selina Talbot time was infinitely more flexible and it was possible that her plane hadn’t yet taken off.

‘Don’t you want to look after me?’ Maisie demanded, reclaiming her attention.

‘It isn’t a question of what I want,’ she said. In another time, another life—

Maisie regarded her steadily, her dark eyes wide and innocent, and said, ‘Is it because I’m not my mother’s own little girl? Because I’m a different colour from her?’

CHAPTER THREE

JACQUI felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her.

The fact that Maisie was black had been the last thing on her mind, but it was possible that her high-profile adoption by the luminous Selina Talbot had exposed her to all kinds of unpleasant remarks from the jealous, or the just plain thoughtless.

And she’d been so wrapped up in her own problems that she’d allowed herself to be fooled by this little girl’s apparent self-assurance into believing her unaffected by what was happening to her.

It didn’t matter a damn that the last thing in the world she needed right now was to be responsible for someone else’s child. With her mother flying off on some major assignment and her grandmother on holiday on the other side of the world, it only left the giant to care for her. And that was never going to happen. Maisie needed reassurance and she was going to get it, no matter how it messed up her own plans.

‘No, Maisie. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’re adopted,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s simply that—’

Maisie lifted her head and looked straight into her eyes. ‘I think that’s why Harry doesn’t want me,’ she said.

Jacqui was shocked to the core, and her automatic response was, ‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.’ But even as she said the words she remembered the way he’d looked at Maisie as she’d waited in the car. His blank, emotionless response. Remembered the way Maisie had slid down in the seat as if to hide from him.

If she’d given the matter any consideration at all, she’d have assumed that even bad-tempered giants in story books had family feelings…

OK, so she was family by adoption. Jacqui tried to remember everything she’d read about that. There had been plenty of coverage in the lifestyle magazines at the time, but precious little in the way of detail that she could recall…

Not that who Maisie was, or where she came from was any excuse for Harry Talbot’s behaviour.

Harry.

The name didn’t suit him at all, she decided. It had a warm, cuddly feel to it. It was the name of a man who’d give you a hug when you were miserable, tell you good stories, know the words of every single nursery rhyme. It wasn’t the name of a man who’d reject a little girl because she was adopted…

Actually, she couldn’t think of a name horrible enough for a man like that and she wanted to hug this little girl so hard… Show her that at least one person in the world cared what happened to her. In other words, a straight-from-the-heart emotional reaction to the situation.

Not good.

Fighting it, she folded herself up and, instead of enveloping the child in a hug, sat on the lowest step so that she was level with Maisie. Then, taking her hands, she held them in her own and in the most matter-of-fact voice she could muster, said, ‘Just you listen here, Maisie Talbot. It wouldn’t make one jot of difference to me if you were sky-blue-pink with green hair and purple spots, do you understand?’

Maisie regarded her steadily for long moments. Then she gave a couldn’t-care-less little shrug and said, ‘OK.’

Not an overwhelming endorsement of trust, but what did she expect? There were no instant results with children. Trust had to be earned. She’d just have to show the child that she was genuine and, since she suspected that glossing over the situation was not going to impress Maisie one bit, she’d start with the truth.

‘You’re a smart girl, so I’m not going to mince words. We’ve got a problem. This is the way it is. The plan was simply for me to bring you here and hand you over to your grandmother. You know that I wasn’t supposed to stay here, not even for a little while, don’t you?’

She shrugged again, this time staring at her shoes and refusing to meet her gaze. ‘I s’pose.’

‘It’s not because I don’t like you, it’s not because you’re black, it’s because I’m supposed to be catching a plane in…’ she glanced at her watch and realised that time was fast running out ‘…well, quite soon.’

‘Like my mother.’ It was a flat, expressionless statement that suggested she was someone else who was flying off and abandoning her. Not fair. But then, in Maisie’s shoes, she probably wouldn’t give a hoot about what was fair, either.

‘Well, no.’ Nothing like Selina Talbot, who’d be flying first class—probably with a sky bed—and would arrive in Beijing looking a lot fresher and more relaxed than she would after being crammed in like a sardine for three hours on a charter flight. ‘Your mother is working, which is really, really important. I was only going as far as Spain…’ already she was talking about it in the past tense ‘…for a holiday.’

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