Sheer Mischief

by Jill Mansell

  “Well, hallelujah!” Maxine retorted. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have said all that in the first place. Darling, it’s no big deal. Sometimes you’re just too proud by half!”

  Unlike Maxine, thought Janey, who had no pride at all. She still wasn’t entirely happy either. The last thing she needed was to be patronized by a younger sister who thought the entire situation too amusing for words.

  “You needn’t worry,” Maxine assured her now. “From this moment on, he’s all yours. I shall treat Bruno like a brother. We shall be friends.” She grinned. “And I shan’t even try to imagine what he looks like naked.”

  Janey was tired. She sensed too that Maxine was still poking gentle fun at her. “It’s past midnight,” she announced pointedly. “You’re allowed back into the house now. And I have to be up at five.”

  But Maxine was still prattling on about Bruno. “He is fun, though. I still can’t believe he practically booted those customers out into the street just so we could sit at the best table. You have to admit, darling, that takes style!”

  “Oh, please,” sighed Janey. “Don’t tell me you fell for that old routine. Nick and Tony run the antique shop next door to the restaurant. Bruno does that to them every night.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  In for a penny, in for a pound. Having given the matter a great deal of thought, Janey replied to the advertisement in the paper, posted it at once so she couldn’t change her mind, then began drafting out an ad of her own. The chances of Mr. Presentable turning out to be Mr. Ideal might be slim, but if she received a dozen replies, she would at least have a selection to choose from. And if eleven of them were duds, it wouldn’t even matter, because number twelve could be perfect, and one perfect male was all she needed.

  It really was extraordinarily difficult, though, describing oneself in just a few brief sentences. If she exaggerated the facts, she risked ridicule when she eventually came to face it out. The prospect of being greeted with a look of horror and a derisory “I thought you said you were attractive” was positively bone-chilling. The bald facts, however—“plumpish, blondish, deserted wife”—might be so off-putting that no man would even be tempted to reply.

  It took longer than filling out a tax return and was about as harrowing. Every time a customer came into the shop she jumped a mile and shoved her writing pad under the counter. When Paula returned from making the morning deliveries, Janey was so engrossed she hardly heard her words.

  “I’ve had a brilliant idea.”

  The pad was hidden, but the pen was still in Janey’s hand. Twiddling it frantically between her fingers and pretending she’d been writing down an order, she managed, “What?”

  “If you placed one of those ads yourself, you could arrange to meet each man somewhere busy and ask them to wear a white carnation in their buttonhole.”

  “So?”

  Paula, looking pleased with herself, sat on the spare stool and swung her legs. “So, all we have to do is sit here and wait for men to come in asking for a single white carnation. You’ll be able to have a good look at them first, incognito. And if they’re too hideous for words, you wouldn’t have to bother turning up.”

  “Cruel!” protested Janey, starting to laugh.

  “Sensible. Not to mention good for business.” Paula threw her a sidelong glance. “Do you think you might advertise, then?”

  Paula was trustworthy, but some items of gossip were just too good to pass up. Her mother worked at Trezale House, and Janey was determined that Maxine shouldn’t find out about this. Now, more than ever, she needed to keep the last vestiges of her self-confidence intact.

  “Maybe when I’m fifty,” she replied with tolerant amusement. “But for now, I think I’ll give it a miss.”

  • • •

  Maxine, unable to understand why she couldn’t simply scrawl the names on with pink Magic Marker, was struggling ill-temperedly to sew name tapes into Josh’s school shirts. Guy hadn’t helped earlier when he had remarked, “Not that anyone else is likely to mistake Josh’s shirts for their own, the way you iron them.”

  He had said it jokingly, but Maxine had detected the dig. And although she’d been sewing for the last two and a half hours, the pile of new school clothes still waiting to be attacked seemed more mountainous than ever.

  “Dad’s taking photographs of Serena,” Josh reported from his position in the window seat overlooking the back garden. He frowned. “She doesn’t have very big bosoms for a grown-up.”

  Maxine suppressed the memory of what she’d imagined working for Guy would be like. In her innocence, she’d envisaged organizing games of hide-and-seek for the children, accompanying them to the pantomime, and in her free time socializing happily with Guy. In her more elaborate fantasies, she was the one being endlessly photographed. And because Guy was so famous and respected, interest in his stunning, new model would spread like wildfire…the life of a supermodel beckoned… She would become wealthy, a celebrity, loved by everyone…especially Guy Cassidy.

  “But then your bosoms are only little as well,” said Josh, who had been studying her with a critical eye. “Your sister has much bigger ones than you.”

  “A word of advice.” Maxine clenched her teeth as she bit off a length of thread. “You’ll find life a lot easier if you don’t go through it telling people what small bosoms they have.”

  Bosoms was currently his favorite word. Josh smirked.

  “And don’t you think you should be getting changed into something more suitable?”

  Guy and Serena were supposed to be taking both Josh and Ella into Saint Ives for lunch and it was one o’clock already. Maxine, who had set her heart on an afternoon of serious sunbathing, was beginning to wonder if they’d forgotten.

  Josh shrugged. “Oh, we aren’t going now. Dad’s taking Serena to meet some of her friends instead. They’ve got a yacht moored at Falmouth.”

  Maxine’s heart sank. Bang went her peaceful afternoon. She wondered whether Serena had done it on purpose.

  “So we’re staying here with you,” said Josh cheerfully. Then, in conversational tones, he added, “Why do you keep pricking your fingers, Maxine? I hope all that blood’s going to wash out.”

  • • •

  Maxine was battling with the washing machine, which was making alarming noises like a jailer rattling his keys, when the doorbell rang. Glancing out through the kitchen window she saw a silver-gray Rolls Royce parked majestically in the drive. What fun, she thought, if the visitor was yet another of Guy’s ritzy model girlfriends, complete with sneer and a trunkful of suitcases. He could install her in the other spare bedroom and visit them on alternate nights like some Arab sheikh.

  But just as the identity of the last unexpected caller had turned out not to be the milkman but Serena, so this one appeared not to be a pouting, leggy model at all.

  Wrong again, thought Maxine, realizing that she was grinning inanely at the visitor on the doorstep. What a good thing she hadn’t set her heart on a career as a fortune-teller.

  “Good afternoon,” said the man, and although she was certain they hadn’t met before, he looked vaguely familiar. Hastily rearranging the grin into a more suitable smile, Maxine shook his outstretched hand and wondered if he might know something about erratic washing machines. “You must be Maxine, the new nanny,” he continued warmly. “I’m Oliver Cassidy.”

  Realization dawned. “I spoke to you on the phone earlier,” she said, recognizing the deep, well-bred voice. “How nice to meet you, but I’m afraid Guy isn’t back yet. We aren’t expecting him home until this evening.”

  “I know.” Oliver Cassidy looked a lot like his son, but Maxine felt he possessed a great deal more charm. Now he shrugged and smiled. “But it seemed a shame to pass up the opportunity to see my grandchildren. It’s been quite a while, you see, and I’m only down here for the afternoon.”

 
; Delighted to see him and mightily impressed with his car—which even had personalized plates—Maxine said at once, “Come in! Of course you couldn’t miss seeing the children. They’re playing in the summerhouse at the moment; shall I go and call them or would you prefer to take them by surprise?”

  “Oh, surprise, I think.” Guy’s father winked at her. He really was tons nicer than Guy, she decided. She’d never really gone for older men before, but he was almost enough to make her think again.

  “Can I get you a drink?” she said brightly, but Oliver Cassidy shook his head.

  “That’s kind of you, my dear, but I’d better not. I’m driving.”

  “It’s a beautiful car,” said Maxine.

  “My great pride and joy.” He nodded, acknowledging her admiration. “I thought Josh and Ella might enjoy a ride in it before I leave. If you have no objections, that is.”

  “Of course not!” Maxine’s reply was almost vehement; her approval of Guy’s father was increasing in leaps and bounds. And now she would be able to sunbathe in peace after all. “Take them out for as long as you like,” she told him happily. “I’m sure they’d love a trip in your car. What a shame, though, that you’ll miss seeing Guy.”

  • • •

  “I cannot…simply can not believe you could be so stupid!”

  He was more furious than Maxine had ever imagined possible. Fury wasn’t enough to describe his emotions. Rage wasn’t good enough either. Guy simply looked as if he wanted to kill her.

  This is it, she thought numbly. Now I really am out of a job and on the street.

  Almost more galling, however, was the fact that Serena appeared to be on her side.

  “Look,” said Maxine, struggling to defend herself and willing herself not to lose her temper. “I’ve already said I’m sorry, but how on earth was I supposed to know I was doing the wrong thing? He just turned up on the doorstep like any normal grandfather and said he’d come to see Josh and Ella. From the way he acted, I assumed he was a regular visitor. And he seemed perfectly nice—”

  “Yes, darling,” put in Serena, her tone soothing.

  Her defense of Maxine’s actions was wholly astonishing as far as Maxine was concerned, and coming from any other quarter, it would have afforded her some small comfort to know that she wasn’t as negligent as Guy was making out.

  “It isn’t Maxine’s fault that you and your father aren’t on speaking terms,” Serena went on. “If you didn’t want him to see the children, you should have told her.”

  His eyes glittered. “He’s seen them once before. Only once, when he wasn’t given any alternative. So it was hardly likely that he’d turn up.”

  Serena shrugged as if to say, Well, there you are then, but Guy hadn’t finished.

  “Besides, that’s hardly the point.” Turning back to Maxine, he said icily, “He could have been anybody. Josh and Ella could have been kidnapped, held for ransom…murdered.”

  “He wasn’t a kidnapper,” shouted Maxine. “He was your father.”

  “You mean he told you he was my father.”

  Stung by his derisory tone, she snapped back. “He looked like you. Only better.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!”

  Maxine had had enough. It wasn’t as if Josh and Ella had been at all harmed, anyway. True to his word, Oliver Cassidy had taken them out in the Rolls, given them afternoon tea at one of the better beachfront hotels, and delivered them back safely at five o’clock, as promised. He had even left them each clutching a crisp fifty-pound note because, as he’d explained to Maxine, it was hard to know what to buy children these days now that train sets and dolls were passé. It wasn’t until after he’d left that she’d made the alarming discovery that Josh and Ella didn’t actually know their grandfather. Although being on the receiving end of fifty-pound notes certainly went some way toward persuading them that they should.

  “Go on then,” she said abruptly, rising to her feet and glaring back at Guy. “You’re dying to do it, so sack me. Find yourself a new nanny who’ll safety-pin the children to her ankles and shoot any strangers on sight. In the meantime, I’m sure Serena would just adore to stay on for a few more weeks and look after them herself.”

  Too late, she remembered that Serena had been sticking up for her, although it hardly mattered now. If she was out on her ear, she’d never see either of them again anyway.

  As far as Serena was concerned, however, the bitter jibe was too true to be offensive. “I’ve got work lined up,” she said hurriedly. “My agent would kill me if I tried to cancel anything now.”

  Guy crossed to the drinks tray and poured himself a stiff scotch. Part of him still wanted to kill Maxine, but he was making an effort to calm down. Since even Serena had defended Maxine’s actions, he realized now that the hatred he bore his father had led him to overreact. Maxine undoubtedly had her faults, but the fact remained that Josh and Ella adored her. And although he still didn’t have the faintest idea why his father had turned up out of the blue, they had enjoyed themselves. Josh had only been six and Ella four when Véronique had taken them to meet him, and even if they dimly recalled the events of that day, they clearly hadn’t connected them with this afternoon’s surprise visitor. Both children had thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and Josh, who was smitten with expensive cars—not to mention crisp, new banknotes—was already asking when they might see him again.

  As far as Guy was concerned, “when hell freezes over” was the phrase that sprang most readily to mind, but it was a reply he’d kept to himself. And he supposed that, given the circumstances, Maxine couldn’t really have been expected to refuse entry to an apparently charming relative visiting his much-loved grandchildren.

  Draining his scotch, he turned back to find Maxine, the picture of belligerence, still glaring at him. With her blond hair ruffled, she looked like an indignant parakeet.

  “Oh, cheer up,” he said with a trace of exasperation. “I’m not going to sack you. Just take a bit more care in the future, OK? They might not be the best-behaved kids in the world, but they’re all I’ve got, so I’d quite like to hang on to them if I could.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was all happening amazingly quickly. Janey, who had envisaged a wait of at least a fortnight before hearing anything back from Mr. Presentable, had been caught so off guard by his phone call that before she could gather her wits, she heard herself agreeing to meet him that evening. Profoundly grateful that Paula wasn’t in the shop at the time, she added hurriedly, “Why don’t you wear a carnation? Then I’ll be able to recognize you.”

  “Why don’t you just look out for a tall, dark-haired man in a navy-blue blazer and gray flannels?” he countered, sounding faintly amused. “I’m not really the carnation-wearing type.”

  “Oh.” Crestfallen, and on behalf of florists everywhere, Janey said, “Why not?”

  “Every time I put one in my buttonhole,” he replied, “I find myself getting married.”

  • • •

  His name was Alexander Norcross and he had two ex-wives, a dark-blue Porsche, and a small cottage on the outskirts of Trelissick. Janey also suspected that his refusal to wear a carnation was due to the fact that it would have meant buying one.

  “No, we decided against children,” he explained over lukewarm coffee in a quiet bar away from the seafront, which Janey had suggested because nobody she knew ever went there. “They cost an absolute fortune. My wives tried to make me change my mind, of course, but I wasn’t having any of it. There’s no way I could have afforded to keep the Porsche on the road and bring up kids as well.” Leaning across the table, he added confidentially, “So I got out each time they started hankering, before they had a chance to pull the old ‘Oops, how did that happen?’ routine. It isn’t as if they really wanted children, after all. They just saw their friends doing it and didn’t want to miss out. It didn’t even occur to them t
o consider the expense.”

  It was truly astounding, thought Janey, that someone so mean with money should be so generous with his aftershave. Great wafts of Old Spice were whooshing up her nose. It even seemed to have invaded her cup of coffee, which hadn’t tasted great in the first place. She wondered how soon she could decently leave.

  But meeting Alexander was an education, at least. He wasn’t bad looking, he had a nice voice, and he was tall. The packaging, she decided, was as much as anyone could possibly hope for. The only letdown was the fact that it belonged to a complacent, penny-pinching bore.

  But there was also the irresistible challenge of discovering just how awful he could be. Summoning up a Maxine-ish smile and working hard not to inhale too much Old Spice, she said, “So has advertising been a success? I expect you’ve met lots of girls.”

  “Ah, but it’s quality that counts.” Alexander gave her a knowing look. “Not quantity. I’ve found the initial telephone conversations to be revealing, Jane. All some of these females are interested in is a free meal, which is when I make my excuses. That’s why I was so interested in meeting you,” he added happily. “As soon as I read your letter, I felt we had something in common. And when you suggested we meet for a quick drink, I knew I was right.”

  “Thank you,” murmured Janey, by this time struggling to keep a straight face. “After all, why should people need to eat in order to get to know one another?”

  “Exactly my point!” Alexander looked positively triumphant. Finishing his cold coffee, he pushed the cup and saucer an inch or two in her direction. “And when you consider the ridiculous prices restaurants charge for an omelet…well, I call it money down the drain. I’d rather stay at home and know I wasn’t being ripped off. How about you, Jane?” he added, gazing at her with renewed interest and approval. “Do you cook?”