by Valerie Parv
‘Isn’t it better to have someone who isn’t quite as busy as Mrs Oken with her floors—someone who’s waiting to play with you and look after you every day?’
At the word ‘play’ twin gleams sprang to cornflower eyes, and Lisa spoke for both children. ‘It might be all right, I s’pose.’
Trudy nodded dumbly, and Terise released the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. The twins were going to accept her after all. It was strange but it had already started to matter to her in a way she didn’t care to examine too closely. She refused to think that it had anything to do with their father’s disturbing effect on her.
Ryan dropped kisses on both golden heads. ‘Finish your dinner, then you can show Terise your toys before bedtime.’
He led the way out of the room, gesturing for Terise to follow—which she did reluctantly. She would have preferred to use the informal mealtime setting to get to know the children better. She was also irritated by his imperiousness. He would have to be told that she didn’t care to be snapped to attention with a gesture. But now wasn’t the time to raise the issue. It would come when they were alone.
‘Not in front of the children’ was more than a phrase to her; it was an inviolable rule. As her father’s only companion after her mother had died—until he remarried—she’d been involved in adult problems far more than was good for her. As a result, it was hard to recall a time when she’d felt truly carefree. She’d grown up vowing not to burden her own children with adult concerns before they were ready. She didn’t have children of her own but she could see no reason to change her rule for those in her care.
It wasn’t until she was seated in Ryan’s study that she realised she hadn’t thought about Clair in several hours. All her attention had been focused on Ryan and the children. As a measure of his ability to distract her, it reminded her to watch her step. It would be easy to forget why she was here.
A document slid across the desk to her, interrupting her reverie. ‘I require your signature on this.’
Her gaze dropped to the printed document. ‘What is it?’
‘The standard contract I use for all my employees. It stipulates your salary and conditions, as well as my requirements—including a confidentiality clause between us.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘A confidentiality clause? Surely my discretion goes without saying?’
His dark eyes hardened. ‘Quite possibly, but I’ve found it’s prudent to say it anyway. This way there’s no room for misunderstandings later.’
‘It’s said that people suspect others of misdeeds they’re inclined to do themselves,’ she observed, then could have bitten her tongue off. The last thing she wanted to do was to alert him to her wish to avenge her step-sister.
His lip curled into a cynical twist. ‘Do you have family secrets that I could spill to the media?’
It was so close to the truth that she felt the colour ebb from her face. She stifled an indrawn breath. ‘Of course not.’ The denial sounded shaky, even to her own ears.
‘Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?’ He pushed a gold-plated pen towards her.
Still she hesitated. The document bound her to a month’s trial, after which she would be employed for a year under the terms set out in the contract. The trial was at his discretion, she noticed, annoyance flaring inside her. If he was unhappy with her performance he could release her at the end of the month. There was no such escape clause on her side.
‘Shouldn’t the trial period be mutual?’ she asked in a low voice.
‘I’m not the one on trial,’ he countered. ‘As a professional, you know what to expect from your duties. A month would reveal little more. On the other hand, I’m hiring an unknown quantity. Of course, it’s unlikely that I would hold you here against your will.’
‘Of course,’ she murmured. But the decision would be up to him. The contract was specific and binding—but what choice did she have? This was her only chance to uncover some scandal she could use to hurt him. And, if she was honest, it allowed her to be close to the nieces who had already gone a long way towards winning her heart. With a heavy sigh she signed her name.
He looked satisfied as he retrieved the sheet and witnessed her signature. Then he rose and went to a liquor cabinet in one corner of the study. ‘Shall we drink to your appointment?’
Now that the decision was irrevocable she had no reason to refuse. Drinking with him might enable her to get to know him a little better. ‘All right,’ she agreed.
As he poured cognac for them both her eyes were drawn to him as if by a magnet. His deft movements spoke of a self-confidence which fairly took her breath away. What must it be like to be so in command of any situation?
Not every situation, she remembered. There was still the mystery of his marriage, which she was determined to resolve. He might well be one of Australia’s most powerful men, but she alone knew that he possessed a dark side which she planned to expose to the world if it was the last thing she did.
The thought that it might be—as it had been for Clair—made her shiver. Luckily Ryan blamed it on the sip of brandy she’d just taken.
‘Easy with that stuff; it’s potent,’ he cautioned.
The brandy had plenty of company, she thought as the fiery liquid blazed a trail down her throat.
She had been wrong. Drinking with him felt far too intimate. Suddenly she was vibrantly aware of him, as if the switch from the business of the contract to the informality of the toast had also signalled a change inside her.
Like switching channels on a television set, she was suddenly receiving an entirely different picture. The aggressively efficient businessman had become a handsome, charming, intelligent and altogether too fascinating man, talking easily about his plans for the trade assembly.
Involuntarily she checked the level of the brandy in her glass. Almost untouched. There was only one other likely intoxicant in the room, and that was Ryan himself.
He noticed her hesitation. ‘If you don’t care for cognac I’ll get you something else.’
Colour bloomed in her cheeks as she silently cursed his powers of observation. ‘It’s fine, thanks. I’m not much of a drinker.’
‘An asset in your line of work, I’d think.’
‘In what way?’
‘Doesn’t a childcare worker need nerves of steel and a certain amount of shockproofing?’
She gave a wan smile. ‘I don’t know about nerves of steel, but it does help to be relatively un-shockable when you work with small children.’
He answered her with a wry grin. ‘I’ve noticed.’
‘The twins?’
‘Definitely. They almost gave their last nanny heart failure when they splashed tomato sauce over themselves and told her it was blood.’
It was original at least. ‘Thanks for the warning.’
‘Just making sure you know what you’re getting into.’
As far as the twins were concerned, she had no doubts. Like all six-year-olds, they were a mixture of angel and devil—testing their boundaries at every opportunity. Their father worried her more. Did she really know what she was getting into with him?
He moved closer and she tensed reflexively, but he only removed the glass from her hand. The slight contact was enough to make her recoil as if stung. ‘The twins will have finished their meal and will be expecting you. I have work to do before dinner.’
Annoyingly the dismissal rankled. She stood up with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘Very well, then, I’ll see you at dinner.’
His head was already bent over his paperwork when she let herself out.
What was the matter with her? she asked herself furiously. After the way she’d allowed him to mesmerise her, she should be grateful for the reprieve instead of feeling as hurt as a maiden scorned.
When he’d come towards her, for one insane moment she’d thought... No. She pushed the thought of herself in his embrace roughly from her mind, refusing to let herself be beguiled by his charm.
Forcing herself to recall what might lie beneath the charm, she recovered a little—enough to be in control of herself by the time the twins rocketed into the room.
A trace of chocolate ice-cream smeared the corner of Trudy’s mouth, and Terise wiped it away with the clean handkerchief she carried for such purposes.
Trudy giggled. ‘Mummy does that—only she uses the corner of her apron.’
‘Mummy used to do it. She can’t any more,’ came Lisa’s severe correction.
A quaver in the child’s voice tugged at Terise. She dropped to her knees and gathered the children into her arms. ‘You miss your mummy, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Lisa’s response was matter-of-fact. Trudy’s was muffled, because her face was pressed against Terise’s shoulder.
Her arms tightened around the children. ‘Any time you want to talk about her, we can, you know.’
Trudy looked surprised. ‘Can we? I thought we weren’t s’posed to.’
Terise frowned. Was this the housekeeper’s injunction or Ryan’s? Either way, it wasn’t good for the children. ‘Some people think you’ll feel bad if you talk about your mummy. But sometimes it hurts worse not to talk about her, doesn’t it?’
Both children nodded solemnly. Suddenly shy, Lisa pulled away, and Trudy followed more slowly. The leader and the led. ‘Daddy said you would play with us.’
Terise accepted the change of subject gracefully. She couldn’t do more than leave the way open for them to express their feelings if they chose to. ‘You’d better show me your toys and we’ll choose a game before bedtime,’ she said, injecting a cheerful note into her voice.
From a selection which would have done a toy shop proud, they chose a board-game whose objective seemed to be the devising of the most outrageous stories possible. Predictably, Lisa’s attempts were the most fanciful, and calculated to impress Terise, but Trudy’s showed surprising creativity.
The game not only occupied them until bathtime but also gave Terise valuable insight into the girls’ different personalities.
Expecting groans of protest, she was surprised when they packed up the game and headed for the bathroom without complaint. Whispers came from the bathroom as they undressed.
Her suspicions aroused, Terise inspected the bathroom, but she could see nothing amiss as she filled the tub, adding pink bubble bath to make it more enticing. ‘In you get.’
Submerged in the pink foam, the twins began to wash, but couldn’t suppress their giggles. They were definitely up to something. ‘Can I have the sponge, please, Terise?’ Lisa asked around a giggle.
Lifting it, Terise gasped at the sight of a huge black spider crouched beneath it. The giggles intensified and she realised that she was being set up. At least it wasn’t fake blood.
With a shudder of distaste she reached for the creature, which she could see now was quite obviously plastic. It was still more lifelike than she cared for, but she masked her reaction and stroked it with the back of a finger. ‘Whose pet is this?’
The giggles became splutters of laughter. ‘It isn’t a pet—it’s only pretend,’ Lisa denied scornfully.
Trudy’s eyes were round as saucers. ‘Do you like spiders?’
‘I can’t say I like them—especially not inside the house—but most of them don’t harm people. They’re more scared of us than we are of them.’
The sound of muted applause greeted her response. She looked up to find Ryan lounging in the doorway leading to the children’s room.
To her annoyance she became acutely conscious of the hair curling in damp tendrils around her face and the splashes of foam adorning her blouse, which steam from the bath had moulded to her figure. She had to fight not to drag a towel down to shield herself from his disturbing appraisal.
‘Bravo,’ he said softly. ‘The last nanny screamed and flattened one of those before she realised it was plastic. These two thought it was better than television.’
She gritted her teeth and glanced at the children, who had become subdued since Ryan’s appearance. ‘Perhaps we could discuss this later?’
He inclined his head, but there was no acquiescence in his eyes, which shone with a fire she found altogether unnerving. Before she could decipher it, he straightened. ‘As you wish. There is, however, one thing we’ll discuss right now—and that’s an apology from these two.’
He was making much more of the joke than it had warranted, undermining the fragile rapport she’d been establishing with the twins. But he was their father, and she was bound to comply with his wishes. ‘If you think it’s necessary.’ Her tone said that she disagreed.
‘I do.’ He fixed the children with a stern look. ‘How about it?’
Trudy looked down at the bubbles banked around her tiny body. ‘I’m sorry, Terise.’
Lisa looked at her father. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s Terise you should apologise to—not me.’
‘Oh, please...’ Terise’s plea escaped unbidden. Couldn’t he see that the apology was less important than her need to make friends with the children?
His frown silenced her. ‘Lisa?’
‘Sorry, Terise.’
Satisfied, he spun on his heel, leaving them to finish the bath in sulky silence. Terise tried to cheer them up by singing an aboriginal lullaby. The strange words gained their interest, but the joy had gone out of the evening.
As she tucked them into bed they bid her a subdued goodnight, refusing a bedtime story. ‘Maybe tomorrow night,’ she said brightly, but her heart was heavy. All they’d done was act like the babies they were. No harm had been done.
Couldn’t Ryan see that repressing their natural high spirits would do more harm than good in the long term? Surely her dignity didn’t demand such a high price?
She was fuming by the time she’d changed into a black velvet evening skirt and an apple-green silk blouse which crossed over her breasts, emphasising her slight figure. It was a more feminine look than she wanted, for what promised to be a confrontation, but coming from the country she had a limited wardrobe.
Still damp from the bathroom, her taupe hair had sprung into a mass of thick curls and refused to be tamed. Like her temper, she thought, abandoning the attempt to restrain it. She had a feeling that Ryan wouldn’t care to be kept waiting while she fussed with her hair.
He was already at the table and stood up when she entered, drawing a chair out for her. It was a long time since any man had been so solicitous of her—schools being equal opportunity places these days—and she was surprised to find the attention so enjoyable.
She had to remind herself that she was angry with him, especially when he insisted on studying her, feature by feature, with an appreciation that she found disconcerting.
‘You look lovely, Terise,’ he commented, pouring wine into a Baccarat goblet at her place.
‘Thank you.’ She took a sip of wine to still the tremor in her voice. ‘However, I think you and I need to get a few things straight.’
His eyebrow lifted quizzically. ‘You’re offended because of a simple compliment?’
Warmth washed over her. ‘Of course not. I’m offended because you interfered between the children and me this evening.’
His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘“Interfere” is a strange word to use, considering I am their father.’
‘Perhaps “interfere” is the wrong word. Sabotage might be more appropriate.’
He had been slicing the smoked salmon entrée with the precision of a surgeon, but at her tone he looked up, his gaze icily direct. ‘Go on. This should be interesting.’
What on earth had possessed her to use such a word? But it was too late now. She forced herself to meet his eyes without flinching, although her stomach lurched. ‘I was getting on well with the twins until you cracked down on them for what was only a harmless prank.’
‘It wouldn’t have been so harmless if you’d suffered from arachnophobia, like their last nanny.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Then she had no business
being in this line of work. Teachers spend half their lives admiring the winged and crawling creatures the little ones bring them. To say nothing of those that have to be returned to the wild before they expire.’
A muscle worked in his jaw, as if he was restraining himself with an effort. ‘Very commendable. No doubt your facility with insects will endear you to the children, but I don’t see it as a licence for them to behave badly.’
‘Neither do I,’ she insisted, wondering where her courage was coming from. It would have been much easier to give in to him. But Ryan struck her as a man whose respect needed to be earned. The only question was, could she afford the price? ‘I’ll talk to them about practical jokes at a more appropriate time and in an appropriate way. They’re only six years old.’
He ate in silence for a few seconds. ‘So all your sympathy is with the twins?’
‘My concern is for the twins,’ she amended, on a rising note of desperation.
He pushed his plate aside and planted both palms flat against the table. ‘I hired you for your expertise with children, but understand this: I won’t have you siding with the children against me.’
Dismay widened her eyes. ‘You’re their father. I wouldn’t dream of coming between you and the twins.’
‘Their mother did—all too frequently.’
His clipped tone couldn’t take the sting out of his words. Had Clair really been capable of such behaviour? Her letters had suggested that Ryan came between her and the children. Caught between Ryan’s blunt assertion and what Terise herself thought that she knew, she was rendered speechless.
‘You seem shocked,’ he went on relentlessly. ‘I don’t suppose someone with your tender heart can imagine a woman using her children as weapons to get her own way.’
If it was true, she had only one possible answer. ‘You’re right. I can’t.’
A challenge glittered in his eyes as his gaze impaled her across the table. ‘Then I can count on you to restrain yourself from criticising my actions in future?’
Her chin lifted. ‘Not where the children’s welfare is concerned,’ she denied. ‘As a matter of fact——’
His explosive sigh cut her off. ‘For a moment I actually thought you might manage to keep your opinions to yourself.’
