Prescription For Love (Destiny's Child Book 1)

by Zee Monodee

  Margo nodded. Had he just hinted that she needed a nanny as soon as possible, because her family commitments were taking a toll on her job? She still put in long hours at the centre. Nowhere close to before she’d had Emma, though. She couldn’t keep on dumping the girl on Jamie, who also had a job and, as opposed to her, a life, too. He often headed to the pub in the village, and the local football team tried their best every day to woo him as their goalkeeper. Emma had told her about that. And he couldn’t accept their offer because he found himself stuck with Emma in the afternoons, when the team practised.

  She had to set him free, but how? She must consider her job, too.

  Damn. What a pickle.

  “William, the recent developments in my life have been unsettling for the lab, but I’m still doing a good job.”

  He chuckled. First time she heard him utter a sound other than words.

  “What did I say?” he asked.

  She remained silent.

  “Margo, I’ll be frank with you. When I took you on my team, I saw you as a beautiful young woman bound to have a life outside the lab. What would happen if tomorrow, you got pregnant and decided to keep the baby?”

  Not possible—pregnancy implied sex, which she hadn’t had since David had died three years earlier. Even then, her romantic life had been hardly of the baby-making quality. In his late fifties back then, a baby hadn’t fitted into David’s life plan.

  “Children are important, Margo.”

  She brought her attention back to William, all ears on what he had to say.

  “My girls were fifteen when their mother died. She was the one who looked after them, while I lived a separate life, in my pathology world.”

  William, a widower? Come to think of it, she’d never seen a wedding ring on his finger.

  “I’m sorry.” The words escaped her lips before she could think them through.

  He smiled. “That happened ten years ago. I realized, almost too late, that I didn’t know my daughters.”

  Don’t make the same mistake. The words hung in the air, unspoken.

  “Young girls tend to act up.” He jerked out of his seat and stalked to the door, then stopped on the threshold. “Just—” he paused, “—do your job, and do it well. That’s all I’m asking. Give Polina a call.”

  Margo stared at the door long after William had left. Had her boss just given her leave to reconcile her job with her family life?

  Seemed like it. William had been in her shoes, twice over, since he had twins. Experience counted for much in life—she should heed his words.

  Unbidden, her thoughts took her to Emma’s birth. She smiled at the same time her heart clenched. She’d never have thought it possible to love anyone instantly, and as hard, as she’d fallen for the baby. Emma hadn’t even been hers, and she’d been a goner. What would it be like to hold her own child in her arms for the first time?

  Emma is my child.

  She was the girl’s mother, with everything the position implied. How did other working mums find balance between their duties? Respect bloomed in her consciousness, directed at all the women with children who fought against rising tides every day to be active and present on every front.

  Yet, how did they do it?

  Ask, and you shall know.

  Kelsey, her only friend—more an acquaintance, really—had no children, and Margo knew no working mothers. She darted a look at the laptop, drifted to the tox report, then to the computer again.

  Maybe Google would have an answer for her.

  ***

  Five hours later, Margo jumped out of her Audi Q5. Leaning in, she wrestled with her coat, briefcase, and lab kit on the passenger seat. Late. What a great impression she would make on that girl, Polina. She had forgotten they had to meet. Emma had called, to inform her a woman named Polina Petrenko stood at the door, asking to speak to her.

  She had phoned Polina after William had left, and then gotten lost in the meanderings of cyberspace. Who knew so many websites and articles dedicated to motherhood and parenting existed? She’d unearthed something called ‘mother’s guilt,’ and its symptoms all matched her current state of mind.

  She needed a nanny, for God’s sake, or she’d be on the road to Bedlam soon.

  Not bothering with the stuff in the car when it appeared she’d only lose more time with them, she marched towards the house, and stopped dead when she reached the corner.

  Emma and Jamie stood with a pretty, dark-haired girl on the makeshift football pitch. Jamie bounced a ball on his bent knee, and he exchanged lively conversation with Polina.

  Polina, who looked like she’d walked off a catwalk. Beautiful in that doll-like, perfect, and delicate Eastern European way. And she directed a mega-watt smile at Jamie.

  Who smiled at her with the kind of grin that set Margo’s heart going pitter-patter every time.

  He lobbed the ball at Polina, who balanced it on her boot-clad foot as well as any professional player did with football cleats.

  A rip tore in Margo’s chest. Bile stung her throat; she wanted to retch right there. Sense flittered back, and she forced down her gorge.

  Polina had turned out to be gorgeous and knew football. So what? She’d come here for an interview as a potential nanny, not to set her claws into the handsome and eligible Dr. Gillespie.

  Forcing her feet to move, Margo trawled up to the little group. Thank goodness, the soil had dried and her heels didn’t dig in. She needed to project all the confidence she could.

  Especially because Jamie stood there, too. He shouldn’t know what had gone on inside her just a few seconds earlier.

  Brain over heart, Margo.

  “You must be Polina,” she said when she got close.

  The young woman, who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, nodded and smiled. Damn her—how could she look more ravishing, merely by curving her painted lips?

  “I’m Margo Nolan, Emma’s mum.” She extended her hand and nodded at Emma. “Can you take Polina inside, sweetheart? I’ll be right there.”

  The two made their way to the house, pattering about lots of names she didn’t know. Probably football players.

  “She’s the one,” Jamie said.

  “Pardon me?”

  He couldn’t mean ... No, too silly to think that. He couldn’t have fallen in love at first sight, could he?

  He nodded towards the house. “Emma’s new nanny. They get along like a house on fire.”

  You do, too, apparently. She bit back the scathing remark.

  “I’ll head over. Mr. Hawkes is supposed to come in shortly.” He started towards his side of the dwelling.

  Cold, slimy fish, she wanted to hurl at his back. How could he leave her like that, as if nothing had ever happened between them? Their conversation, the dinner, the moment when his thumb had been in her mouth.

  A hot blush flamed over her face at the memory.

  “Oh, and just so you know.” Jamie turned to face her. “Polina thinks Emma is ours.”

  Chapter Six

  “And you didn’t correct her?”

  He shrugged. “My Ukrainian is not that good.”

  “Bollocks!”

  Margo slapped her hand over her mouth. She never swore.

  Jamie threw his head back and laughed. “My goodness, Dr. Nolan. Is such language warranted?”

  The cheek of him. He was taking the mickey out of her.

  “You were chatting along just fine when I came up!”

  She almost died wanting to bite the retort the minute it left her mouth.

  His response came through a raised eyebrow, and a slight uplift of the corners of his mouth.

  Jealous, Margo?

  His unspoken question slammed into her as he stood there in that mocking stance.

  To hell with you.

  “How am I supposed to work things out with her?” she countered.

  “Tell her the truth.”

  “I don’t speak Ukrainian.”

  A car pulled up the drive
way, and a frail, diminutive old man got out, holding himself upright on a sturdy cane.

  “I have to go,” Jamie said. He walked to the car, then helped Mr. Hawkes to the porch.

  He’d left her stranded there. Fury battled with disbelief inside her, and the emotions swelled to blinding proportions when snippets of the conversation between the two men reached her.

  “Lovers’ tiff?” Mr. Hawkes asked.

  Nosy old codger. One of the biggest gossips of the town, along with Mrs. May.

  “Nope,” Jamie said. “Parenting issues.”

  The devious wretch. How dare he?

  Old Mr. Hawkes threw a glance her way.

  “That pretty little girl, Edna’s granddaughter, is yours? I heard she and her guardian moved into the house out there,” he said to Jamie. “How old were you when you fathered her, then? You can’t be a day over thirty.”

  The men had reached the porch, and Margo didn’t hear Jamie’s reply. She caught a hint of his rich laughter, though. What did he say in reply to that question?

  To be a fly on the wall in his surgery. Twisted of her, yes. Like one watched a train wreck waiting to happen, morbid curiosity getting the better of her. She craved to get out of there, yet yearned to know.

  Damn Jamie.

  How old was he really, though? Good question. She should unearth that background check on him. She hadn’t looked at his birth date, had merely glanced through to find any convictions that would spell a red flag for her daughter. Her reasoning at the time—if she’d poured over the report too much, she would’ve felt like a stalker gobbling up everything she could find on Jamie.

  Biting down on her pride, she turned on her heel and headed to her house. Polina awaited, and she had to know, once and for all, if her quest for a suitable nanny had come to an end.

  She found the two females at the kitchen table. Emma had served Polina a glass of juice. Good—the girl had remembered her manners. Margo allowed herself a tiny glow; perhaps she wasn’t doing that bad a job as a mother.

  Polina smiled at her when she came in, and stood up as Margo strolled into the kitchen.

  “You can sit down.” She paused. “I’m afraid I don’t speak any Ukrainian.”

  “Okay. My English not perfect yet, but I live in London two years.”

  “But Jamie said—” Had he deliberately let the misconception remain in Polina’s mind? The woman actually spoke English. Why would he do that?

  She turned to Emma. “Darling, don’t you have homework to do? I need to speak with Polina.”

  “Can’t I stay?”

  “No.”

  “Mu-um!”

  Margo threw her a pointed glance, and Emma scampered up the stairs to her room. Right then, she figured how Jamie got Helen to obey him—he had the ‘look’ down pat.

  Forget about him. The conniving weasel.

  Polina spoke up. “He, Dr. Jamie. Your—” she seemed to search for the word, “—baby daddy?”

  Margo choked and forced herself onto a seat, to try to gather her composure again. “I’m sorry?”

  “He not your husband, ta?”

  “No, we’re not married. And he isn’t Emma’s father.”

  “But he wish to be.”

  Yeah, right. Where did that girl get her ideas?

  “Professor Ford says you’re looking for a job,” she said, changing the subject. “Why do you want to be a nanny? You’re an artist, he mentioned.”

  Polina nodded. “Ta. I do charcoals, portraits most. But cannot live off art, need better job. I good with children, have many smaller brothers in Kiev.”

  Margo studied her. The girl seemed reliable. Her command of English struck her as tentative, yet her words didn’t register as cautious and heavy, like someone who would be repeating a prepared story.

  Plus, Emma already got on well with her. She’d also checked the background inquiry the police had run on Polina when the woman’s flatmate had been killed in their lodgings. The young Ukrainian had come out spick and span. She’d also made sure to see if the girl had all her qualifications for being a nanny, such as a certificate in paediatric first aid.

  “The job means caring for my daughter before and after school, and also at night if I am called out for my job. Thus, I’d expect you to live here. There is a self-contained studio, with its own private exterior access, where you’d live. The interior door is right next to Emma’s bedroom, so you’d be close even at night. As for food, the freezer is always full, and on nights when I’m not home, I will expect you to provide Emma with dinner. Your meals will be taken here, with us, unless you wish to provide your own fare.” She paused. “Are these conditions okay with you?”

  “Ta.”

  “I really need someone to look after Emma properly.” She stressed the point by tapping her index finger on the table. “If there’s anything you need to do, you’ll be free when she is at school. Please use that time for personal business. You’ll also have one night free in the week.”

  “Ta.”

  What did that mean? Yes, in Ukrainian, perhaps?

  “Do you have your driving license?”

  Nod.

  “A car?”

  Shake.

  She’d have to address that. Thank goodness tomorrow would be Saturday—she could use the weekend to buy a second-hand car for the nanny.

  “And for your salary. I’ll start you at three hundred pounds net a week, open to negotiation after a six-month trial on the job. Do you agree to those terms?”

  “It is perfect.” Polina smiled.

  Margo breathed in deep. She liked the girl, and, even though Polina did resemble a living doll, the important matter here remained Emma’s wellbeing. “When can you start?”

  “Today.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “I can sleep on floor,” Polina said. “Very little possessions to bring.”

  “That won’t be necessary. The studio is furnished. You’re not expected to pay rent, by the way.”

  The expression on the young woman’s face posed that of gratitude, if Margo ever saw one. Light seemed to shine from her features as she smiled.

  Bugger, how could anyone be so beautiful? When she, Margo, felt as attractive as a dried-out haystack on good days? Must be the blessing of youth.

  Vanity doesn’t suit anyone, Nolan.

  “One more question, Polina,” she said. “What are you doing in England?”

  Polina shrugged. “I twenty-seven old. In Ukraine, old maid, as say here. No hope for marriage. Maty—” she looked up, “—moter—” she tried to pronounce, “—need me go, to marry brothers.”

  That sounded awful. Margo’s heart ached at the girl’s plight. Her own mother had thrown her out, for God’s sake.

  Yet, amidst all the sympathy, she couldn’t help one question from forcing it to the front of her consciousness. “Are you looking to get married?”

  “No. No need man to be okay.”

  Good. Jamie was safe.

  Get a life, Nolan!

  Try as she might, she couldn’t prevent the little spark of happiness that danced in her chest. Emma had a nanny, who also wouldn’t spring herself on the man Margo wanted as her own.

  What? Bollocks, she wanted to shout, but the word refused to come out, because it would be a lie. She liked Jamie. A lot.

  Damn.

  She also shouldn’t forget that Jamie wouldn’t be next door forever. He was only filling in for his uncle, and one day, sooner or later, Gordon Gillespie would return. Jamie would go, and where would that leave her?

  Her phone rang in the pocket of her skinny jeans, and for once, she welcomed the intrusion of a macabre crime scene into her day. The more gruesome, the better. She needed to keep her mind occupied, and work should do the trick.

  She stood and held out her hand to Polina. “You’ve got the job.”

  ***

  “You’re still here?”

  Margo glanced up from her laptop screen to find a scowling William in her o
ffice doorway.

  “It’s not five o’clock yet,” she said. “And that report needs to be typed.”

  He shook his head and came in. “You turned in two cases earlier today, and may I remind you it’s Saturday? The report can surely wait until Monday.”

  He paused by her desk, propped one hip against the wood, and crossed his arms. “Your daughter is expecting you home.”

  “Polina is looking after her.”

  “How is she faring?”

  “She’s very good at the job. Emma adores her.”

  He remained silent, and Margo squirmed under the intensity of his deep-blue gaze on her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Polina is Emma’s nanny, not her mother.”

  She threw up her hands. “William, I have a job to do.”

  “And you’re doing it very well. No need to slave away, though.” He peeled his body from the desk and faced her. “So pack up and go home. Your daughter will like having you around, since you spent the past week haunting the lab.”

  “I haven’t—” She quelled the retort. It was indeed true that she had spent much of her time at work ever since Polina had taken the job.

  She had work to do, for God’s sake. And she also wanted to avoid meeting Jamie. Lord knew how much more she’d long for him if she allowed further contact between them.

  “Children grow up only once, Margo. Don’t forget.”

  On that cryptic note, he exited the office, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  She rested her hands on the edge on the desk, curled her fingers, and the short nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. Yes, she yearned to go home, even with the anxiety of having Jamie next door. Though, lately, it seemed Emma didn’t want her there. With Polina, the girl talked about football all day long. After hearing their frequent laughter during the past weekend, and experiencing the calm, almost disconnected way her daughter interacted with her, Margo had started to wonder whether it wouldn’t be better if she worked herself out of the picture as often as possible. Nobody seemed to suffer, then.

  No one but her. She wanted Emma back. Yet, she had never been good with people—why should that have changed?

  She glanced at the metal tray on one corner of the desk and frowned. Only one sheet of paper awaited her attention there.