Sheer Mischief

by Jill Mansell

  “Golly,” said Josh with a grin. Staring at Maxine, who was by this time redder than ever, he added, “I thought I knew you from somewhere!”

  “And the moral of this story,” she muttered sulkily, “is never trust a member of the paparazzi.”

  “You look different today.” Studying the glossy eight by ten at close quarters and looking pleased with himself, he said, “I think I prefer you in the white dress. It’s a good photograph, isn’t it?”

  It was a bit too good for Maxine’s liking. No wonder Guy Cassidy had been able to recognize her. There she was, captured for posterity in that stupid wedding gown, laughing as she clambered out of the police car and not even realizing that her skirts had bunched up to reveal white stocking tops and a glimpse of garter. And the expression on Tom the policeman’s face, she observed with resignation, didn’t help. He was positively leering.

  “Hang on a minute.” Josh was looking puzzled again. “If you got married yesterday, why aren’t you on a honeymoon?”

  “I wasn’t getting married,” said Maxine impatiently. “Or arrested. It was a costume party, that’s all. Then I ran out of gas on the way home, and the policeman gave me a lift.” Fixing Guy with a mutinous glare, she added, “It was nothing sinister, for heaven’s sake.”

  He shrugged. “Nevertheless, I’m sure you understand why I can’t consider you for the job. I’m sorry, Miss Vaughan, but I do have the moral welfare of my children to take into account.”

  “At least I’m not dowdy and prim,” she muttered in retaliation.

  “Oh no.” This time, as he drew a slim, white envelope from his shirt pocket, he laughed. “I’ll grant you that. But I’m afraid I have work to do, so maybe I could ask my son to show you out. And, Josh, I’ve written out the advertisement. If you run down with it now, you’ll just catch the last post.”

  • • •

  “Well?” said Guy when his son returned twenty minutes later.

  “She gave me five pounds and an ice-cream cone.” Josh looked momentarily worried. “Was that enough?”

  Amused by his son’s concern, Guy ruffled his blond hair. “Oh, I’d say so. Five pounds and an ice-cream cone in exchange for a first-class stamp and an empty envelope. It sounds like a fair enough swap to me.”

  Chapter Four

  The response to the advertisement when it eventually appeared the following week wasn’t startling, so it was manageable. Guy preferred to do his own hunting as a result of the futile experiences he’d had three years earlier when he’d tried using an agency. Having also learned to expect applications from starstruck girls and would-be second wives, he had omitted his name from the advertisement.

  But last time he had struck lucky. Berenice, profoundly unimpressed by his celebrity status, had fit the bill to perfection. Stolid, hardworking, and not the least bit glamorous, what she lacked in sparkle she’d more than made up for in dependability. Guy, whose work required him to travel abroad at short notice, was able to do so without a qualm, safe in the knowledge that his children would be competently looked after by someone who cared for them and who would never let him down.

  It had come as something of a shock, therefore, when Berenice had shyly informed him that she was shortly to be married, and that since her future husband had been offered a job in Newcastle, she would be leaving Trezale.

  Guy hadn’t even been aware of the existence of a man in her life, but discretion had always been one of Berenice’s major attributes—as he had himself on numerous occasions had cause to be thankful for. The courtship, it appeared, had been conducted on her days off. And although she was sorry to be leaving, she now had her own life to pursue. She hoped he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding a replacement.

  Interviewing the half dozen or so applicants, however, was both tedious and time-consuming. What Guy wanted was a clone of Berenice with maybe a sense of humor thrown in for good measure.

  What he got instead was a succession of girls in whom it was only too easy to find fault. Josh and Ella, dutifully trotted out to meet each of them in turn, were equally critical.

  “She smelled,” said Ella, wrinkling her nose in memory of Mary from Exeter.

  “She laughed like a sheep,” Josh observed bluntly when Doreen from Doncaster had departed.

  Neither of them could make head nor tail of Gudren from Sweden’s singsong accent.

  “She’s all right, I suppose.” Josh, referring to another contender, sounded doubtful. “But why did she have a bottle of vodka in her handbag?”

  They finally settled on Maureen from Wimbledon, a pale, eager-to-please twenty-five-year-old who was keen to move in and start work as soon as possible. Carefully highlighting her good points—she didn’t smell, possess an irritating laugh or an incomprehensible foreign accent—Guy prayed the children wouldn’t make mincemeat of her before she had a chance to find her feet. She barely seemed capable of looking after herself, but maybe she’d just been too nervous to create a dazzling first impression.

  And at least, he thought drily, recalling the very first candidate, she hadn’t fluttered inch-long eyelashes at him, surreptitiously edged up her short skirt, and treated him to a flash of emerald-green knickers each time she’d crossed and recrossed her legs.

  • • •

  Janey was working in the shop when Guy Cassidy and his children walked in.

  “I need some flowers,” he said without preamble, removing his dark glasses and surveying the myriad buckets lined up against the wall. “For a wedding reception next Saturday. If I place the order now, would you be able to bring them to my house on Friday afternoon and arrange them?”

  “Of course I would.” Janey was delighted. Men for whom money was no object were definitely her kind of customer. Reaching for her clipboard, she said, “Tell me what type of arrangements you have in mind and which kind of flowers you think you’d like.”

  Flowers, however, evidently weren’t Guy Cassidy’s strong point. Looking momentarily helpless, he frowned and said, “Well, blue ones?”

  “Berenice likes daffodils,” supplied Ella, tugging his white shirtsleeve. “Remember? We picked her some for her birthday and she said they were her favorite.”

  Janey had already guessed that the flowers were for Berenice’s wedding, but now that Guy’s daughter had given her the excuse she needed, she raised her eyebrows and said, “You mean Berenice Taylor? Oh, I’m doing her bridal bouquet.”

  “Put it on my bill,” said Guy casually, producing his wallet and pulling out a wad of twenties. With a self-deprecating smile, he added, “She’s been our nanny for the last three years. Holding the reception at our house is my present to her.”

  “How lovely.” Janey returned his smile, then gave Ella an apologetic shrug. “I’m afraid daffodils are out of season now, but maybe we could see which flowers Berenice has chosen for her bouquet and work from there. I’ll have to check to be sure, but I think she decided on a yellow-and-white color scheme. Yes, that’s it…white roses and sweet peas with mimosa.”

  Guy Cassidy didn’t even flinch when she eventually wrote down the estimated cost of the work involved.

  “As long as it looks good,” he said good-humoredly, dealing the notes onto the counter. Then, as an apparent afterthought, he glanced down at his children and added, “Actually, while we’re here, why don’t you two pick out a bunch of something-or-other for your new nanny? She’s arriving tomorrow afternoon and some nice flowers will make her feel welcome.”

  Josh liked the green, earthy smell of the shop, but he was bored sick with flowers. “They haven’t got dandelions or deadly nightshade,” he said, his tone dismissive.

  “Or stinging nettles,” put in Ella with a smirk.

  Poor new nanny, thought Janey. Without speaking, she selected a generous bunch of baby-pink spray carnations, wrapped them in pink-and-silver paper, and calmly handed them to Josh.

/>   Appalled, he said, “Boys don’t carry flowers,” and shoved them into Ella’s unsuspecting arms.

  Janey, watching the expression on his face, burst out laughing.

  And Guy, who had in turn been watching her, said, “Of course. You’re Maxine Vaughan’s sister.”

  “Oh help!” said Janey. “Not necessarily. Not if it means you canceling the order.”

  He looked amused. “Don’t panic. I don’t think I could face the prospect of going into another shop and starting all over again.”

  “But how did you know?” She flushed. “We aren’t a bit alike.”

  Tilting his head to one side and studying her in greater detail, he disagreed. “Physically, there are similarities. She’s skinnier…blonder…wears more makeup than you do, but the resemblance is still there. And you have the same laugh.”

  This must all be part of the famous Cassidy charm, thought Janey. By cleverly reversing the usual comparisons, he had actually managed to make her sound more attractive than Maxine. What a neat trick.

  “And at least you’ve managed to find a new nanny.” Changing the subject, she nodded at the gift-wrapped carnations. With an encouraging smile at Josh and Ella, she said, “Is she nice?”

  “She’s a wimp,” replied Josh flatly.

  “But honest,” Guy interjected, shooting him a warning look before returning his attention to Janey. “Unlike your sister.”

  Janey bridled, springing instinctively to Maxine’s defense. “Look, Maxine isn’t as bad as you think. She really wanted to work for you. And children adore her. If you ask me, you could have done a lot worse.”

  “Of course children adore her,” drawled Guy. “She bribes them with money and ice cream.”

  Josh brightened. “I liked her. The lady in the wedding dress, you mean? She was good fun.”

  “She had good references too,” Guy remarked tersely, “but that still doesn’t make her ideal nanny material. Has she found another job yet?”

  Janey shook her head. Maxine’s efforts in that department had been halfhearted to say the least. “Not yet.”

  “Hardly surprising,” said Guy, his blue eyes narrowing with amused derision. “Tell her from me, the next time she writes out her own references not to use violet ink. At least, not if she’s planning to trot off to the interview with a smudge of it on the inside of her wrist.”

  Chapter Five

  Janey was leaning into the back of the van, stretching for the box of flowers that had slid up to the front and wedged itself behind the passenger seat, when Bruno gave her sticking-out bottom a friendly pat.

  “You’ll do that gorgeous body of yours an injury,” he said, nudging her out of the way and taking over. “Come on, leave it to me.”

  She flushed and smiled and glanced quickly over her shoulder in case anyone was watching. Bruno, a notorious flirt, didn’t mean anything by the playful gesture, but she still wouldn’t like Nina to get the wrong idea.

  Intercepting her glance as he carried the box into the empty restaurant, he winked. “It’s OK. She’s still asleep.”

  “She might be,” Janey protested. “But you know what people are like for gossip around here.”

  “Exactly. And they know what I’m like,” Bruno countered with an unrepentant grin. “They’d be far more suspicious if I didn’t lay a finger on you. Then they’d really know they had something to gossip about.”

  He was pouring them both an espresso, as he invariably did when she arrived with the twice-weekly delivery of flowers for the restaurant.

  It was ridiculous, thought Janey; since nothing had ever happened between them, there was no reason at all why she should feel guilty. But she felt it just the same, because no matter how many times she told herself that circumstances made him the most wildly unsuitable choice, her muddled emotions had taken charge and made the decision for her.

  At the age of twenty-eight, she had developed a humiliating crush on Bruno Parry-Brent. And all she could do now was hope and pray that it would burn itself out before anything did happen.

  In the meantime, however, it was so nice to feel human again, after all the endless months of aching, deep-frozen nothingness. And Bruno was undeniably good company. A ladies’ man in every sense of the word, he possessed that happy knack of being able to talk about anything under the sun. Even more miraculously he was a great listener as well, always genuinely interested in hearing other people’s views. He paid attention, asked questions, never appeared bored.

  It was, of course, the great secret of his success with the opposite sex. Janey had watched him at work in the restaurant before now, weaving his magic in the simplest and most effective way possible. Real conversation with a real man was a powerful aphrodisiac, and the women succumbed to it in droves, as Janey herself had done. But it was better this way, she felt; at least there was safety in numbers.

  “New earrings,” he observed, bringing the tiny, white cups of espresso to the table where she was sitting and leaning forward to examine them more closely. “Very chic, Janey. Are those real pearls?”

  “They’re Maxine’s.” Self-consciously, she fingered the slightly over-the-top earrings and prayed he wouldn’t guess that he was the reason she was wearing them. Even Maxine had raised her eyebrows when she’d caught Janey digging around in her jewelry box. “Earrings, lip gloss, and mascara?” she’d remarked in arch tones. “Darling, are you sure there isn’t something you’d like to tell me?”

  But diplomacy was another of Bruno’s assets and, if he’d noticed such additional details himself, he was too nice to comment on them. Instead, stretching out in his seat and pushing his fingers through his long, sun-streaked hair, he said, “I was going to ask you about Maxine. So you haven’t managed to get rid of her yet?”

  Janey pulled a face. “She won’t go, she won’t look for work, and she’s so untidy: it’s like living with a huge, unmanageable wolfhound.”

  “But house-trained, presumably.” Bruno grinned. “You haven’t told me yet; what does she look like?”

  “Maxine?” As she sipped her coffee, Guy Cassidy’s words came back to her. “Skinnier, blonder, and noisier than me.” Then, because it sounded catty when she said it, she added shamefacedly, “And much prettier.”

  “Hmm. Well, we’re pretty busy here at the moment. Maybe I could offer her a couple of evenings a week behind the bar.”

  “She wouldn’t do it,” said Janey hurriedly. “Her feet, they’d ache…”

  Bruno shrugged, dismissing the suggestion. “Just a thought. But you’ll have to bring her down here one evening, I’d like to meet her.”

  Of course he would. And she could only too easily imagine Maxine’s reaction when she, in turn, met Bruno Parry-Brent. They were two of a very particular kind.

  “I will.” Janey tried not to sound unhappy, evasive. She had no intention of introducing them, but Maxine had a talent for seeking out…well, talent, and Trezale wasn’t a large town. It would surely be only a matter of time before she discovered Bruno for herself.

  “Oh come on, cheer up.” He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We all have our crosses to bear. Look at me! I have Nina!”

  Janey tried not to laugh. He really was disgraceful. “And where would you be without her?” she countered.

  Bruno and Nina made an odd couple, certainly, but after ten years together, they still seemed happy enough in their own way. It wasn’t something Bruno had ever discussed in detail but, as far as Janey could figure out, Nina didn’t ask any questions and in return he was discreet. Indeed, although he was such a notorious flirt, she didn’t even know whether he actually had affairs.

  “Where would I be without Nina?” he repeated, teasing her. “Probably in big trouble, because she’d have a contract out on me.”

  Janey burst out laughing. Nina was the most placid woman she’d ever met. She doubted whethe
r Nina could even summon the energy to read a contract, let alone organize taking one out.

  “You’d be lost without her,” she told him in mock-severe tones. Rising to her feet, she smoothed her pink skirt over her hips. “I’d better be getting back to the shop. Thanks for the coffee.”

  Bruno grinned, unrepentant. “Thanks for the pep talk. If you bring your sister down here, maybe I’ll be able to return the favor.”

  “Hmm,” said Janey, renewing her vow to keep Maxine as far away from the restaurant as humanly possible. She could imagine what kind of favor he had in mind.

  • • •

  Maureen from Wimbledon wasn’t on the four-o’clock train.

  Guy, who had cut short a session in the darkroom and driven hell for leather in order to reach the station in time, couldn’t believe it. If she’d missed the train at Paddington, she could have bloody well phoned and let him know, he thought furiously. And now what was he supposed to do, hang around on the platform and wait an hour for the next train to roll in?

  But he hadn’t waited, and the would-be nanny hadn’t phoned. By eight thirty, when there was still no sign of her, he dialed the London number she had given him.

  “Oh dear,” said Berenice, thankful that at least Ella, whom she had put to bed half an hour earlier, wasn’t there to witness his language.

  Josh, who was used to it, wondered if this meant his prayers had actually been answered. “What is it, Dad?”

  “No wonder she was in such a hurry to come and live down here,” Guy seethed, pouring himself a hefty scotch and downing it in one go. “I’ve just spoken to her mother. The lying, conniving bitch was arrested this morning and charged with credit card fraud! This is all I bloody need…”

  “Does that mean she isn’t going to be our nanny?” said Josh, just to make absolutely sure.

  Guy raised his eyes to heaven. “I knew that expensive private education of yours would come in useful one day. Yes, Josh, it means she isn’t going to be your nanny.”