A Nanny for Christmas

by Sara Craven

  Serena Vane came out of her room. She was wearing a totally sheer black chiffon nightdress which displayed every curve of her perfect body.

  Standing in the shadows, Phoebe watched her cross to Dominic's door, turn the handle quietly and slip inside.

  The reconciliation, she thought numbly, was complete.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  'SOMETIMES,' said Serena, directing a misty look at the camera, 'it takes time to establish where one's true priorities are. I'm just thankful I found out before it was too late.'

  The television crew from the local station had taken over the house early that morning, and now the recorded interview was in full swing.

  The attractive brunette who was asking the questions looked down at her notes. 'Does this mean you'll be pursuing your career in this country from now on, Miss Vane?'

  'I'm considering a number of options,' Serena said softly. 'But I haven't ruled out a return to Hollywood.'

  'Even though you've been sacked from Heart of Steel?'

  'I'm afraid you've been misinformed.' Whatever the state of her heart, there was a note of steel in Serena's voice. 'The director and I had artistic differences, but our parting was a mutual decision, and perfectly amicable.'

  'And your relationship with Bryn Stratton—was that an amicable parting too?'

  Serena smiled sadly. 'Bryn will always be a very dear friend, and on that basis we're still in touch. Shall we leave it at that?'

  The interviewer smiled back. 'So you're aware that he's been booked into a Beverly Hills clinic for drug and alcohol abuse?'

  Serena's pause was fractionally too long. 'As his friend, I prefer not to discuss his problems.'

  So she didn't know, thought Phoebe, who was trying to be unobtrusive at the back of the room, and keep an eye on a bored and miserable Tara at the same time.

  They'd had over a week of interviews, from Fleet Street tabloids to the local weekly paper, and each time Tara had been trotted out for the photographs in one of the lace-trimmed dresses that Serena had brought with her for the purpose.

  Even Dominic had appeared in a couple of them, Phoebe reflected unhappily. He'd stood unsmilingly on the steps while Serena clung to his arm.

  Serena had come home because she couldn't bear to be parted from her little girl any longer, was the message being peddled, and this was the first time it had been really called into question. Festival TV seemed to have done their homework.

  'And you're staying with your ex-husband over Christmas—isn't that rather unusual?'

  Serena shrugged. 'Christmas is a time for families. Where a child is concerned, one must forget past, foolish differences.' Her smile became radiant. 'As far as I'm concerned, I've simply come home.'

  The interviewer looked at Tara, who was sitting next to her mother and looking uncomfortable in a black velvet dress with a pleated muslin collar.

  'And what about you, Tara? Are you going to be an actress like your mother?'

  'Mummy says I am,' said Tara. 'She says I'm going to have a film test.'

  The journalist's eyes flicked back to Serena. 'Is that so? Is Tara going to be the new child-star sensation?'

  Serena's laugh was melodious. 'Oh, she's far too young to be considering anything like that. I want her to have a happy, untrammelled childhood.'

  'But you said...' Tara began, then subsided as the protective maternal arm tightened around her shoulders and the interview was wound up.

  Serena snapped her fingers imperiously in Phoebe's direction. 'Have the coffee served, will you?' she said, rising from the sofa and marching over to embark on a low-voiced but clearly furious argument with the show's producer.

  'So what part do you play in this touching domestic drama?'

  Phoebe, pouring coffee, turned to see the interviewer, Jilly Mason, smiling at her.

  'Very minor,' she returned constrainedly. 'I'm Tara's nanny.'

  'Rather you than me,' Jilly said candidly. 'A mate of mine worked on the publicity for your boss's last film and says no salary is worth it. I must say she got up my nose, too. This was supposed to be just a heart-warming piece about family reunions at Christmas.' She paused. 'Is her husband really taking her back?' she asked, too casually. 'I note he's not around today.'

  'As I said, I'm just the nanny,' Phoebe returned, tight- lipped. 'I don't pry into my employers' affairs.'

  'You don't need to pry to know about dear Serena's affairs,' Jilly said lightly. 'They've been well documented. Among her other pretty ways, of course. My friend says the studio have had enough, and the Snow Queen will never work in Hollywood again. But the little girl's a different matter. I reckon Serena sees her as a blank cheque.'

  She walked away to talk to the cameraman, leaving Phoebe to stare after her with sudden uneasiness.

  'I hate this dress,' Tara said, throwing the black velvet onto the bed and clambering back into jeans and sweatshirt. 'It itches. And I hate having my picture taken all the time. 'It's boring.'

  'Any more grumbles to get off your chest?' Phoebe asked mildly, brushing the child's tumbled curls, and Tara pondered for a moment.

  'Why is Mummy so cross sometimes?'

  'I'm sure she doesn't mean to be,' Phoebe soothed, although, if she was honest, Serena's mercurial temperament was driving the whole household up the wall.

  Except Dominic, of course, she reminded herself painfully. Maybe the passionate nights made up for the violent mood swings in the daytime.

  Although he doesn't see many of them, she thought, because he's at work. And she's always calmed down and all smiles when he comes home in the evening.

  Tara's lips trembled. 'She's going to be even crasser because I talked about the film test. It's supposed to be a big secret.'

  Is it? Phoebe thought, biting her lip. And why is that, I wonder?

  Aloud, she said, calmly, 'Then it's a pity you find photographs boring. If you're going to be in films, the camera will be on you all the time.' She paused. 'Are you sure that's what you want?'

  Tara wrinkled her nose pensively. 'I don't want to leave you and Daddy.'

  'Well, that's not likely to happen. The law says you have to stay with Daddy.'

  'But when he and Mummy get married again, she'll be able to take me back to California. She said so.'

  Phoebe swallowed. 'Well, yes,' she said slowly. 'I— I suppose she will.'

  'Will you and Daddy come with us?' Tara asked anxiously. 'And what's going to happen to Muggins?'

  'Muggins will stay here with Carrie,' Phoebe said reassuringly. 'He'll have learned to behave by then.'

  The puppy had continued to cause chaos in the house. Newspapers and magazines were regularly shredded, the lower branches of Serena's gold and silver tree were looking threadbare and bedraggled, and he'd chewed through the flex of the fairy lights.

  'Pity they weren't on,' Dominic had commented caustically.

  But Muggins' nadir had been finding its way into Serena's bedroom—in which she still maintained a presumably token presence—and destroying her cream suede boots.

  Oblivious to the fact that she'd introduced the vandal into the house, Serena had hysterically demanded that the puppy be put down, while Tara, in floods of tears, had begged for his life.

  'Oh, God,' Dominic had said wearily, caught in the middle. 'I suppose I'll have to take him in hand.'

  Which was why Muggins now accompanied Dominic to the office each day, and was learning a more responsible attitude to life.

  When Phoebe and Tara went downstairs the television crew had gone, and so, apparently, had Serena, in a taxi and a temper, to do some shopping.

  'Why didn't she ask me to go with her?' Tara asked woefully.

  The million-dollar question, Phoebe thought bitterly. For a woman with a new-found dedication to her only child, Serena seemed to spend the minimum of time in her company. And surely she'd exhausted the attractions of Westcombe and Midburton as shopping centres by now.

  She smiled down at the little girl. 'Because she kn
ew I was going to take you out to pick some holly,' she said. 'Run and find your boots.'

  They spent a muddy, hilarious afternoon, and came home with the car boot full. In addition, at Tara's insistence, Phoebe had called at the garden centre and bought some mistletoe.

  Serena had returned by the time they reached home, and, Carrie informed them grimly, was resting and didn't want to be disturbed.

  Phoebe occupied the time until supper by decorating the hall and dining room, with Tara's eager assistance. The mistletoe was hung ceremoniously from the central chandelier in the hall.

  'Does that look all right?' Phoebe asked, descending from her ladder.

  'It looks magnificent,' Dominic said from the front doorway. The shuttered look that Phoebe had grown used to was gone, and he was smiling.

  'Daddy—Daddy.' Tara was dancing with excitement. 'Phoebe's under the mistletoe. You've got to kiss her.'

  'Here, then.' Dominic handed his daughter the lead, with a frantically squirming Muggins at the end of it, and walked to Phoebe, who was rooted to the spot. 'Sorry about this,' he murmured. 'But rules are rules.'

  His hands closed on her shoulders and he drew her forward. His skin smelt cold and fresh, but it warmed every fibre of her being as she went into his arms. His lips were cool too, and infinitely tender, but there was none of the passion he'd once showed her.

  He had made his choice, she realised, standing passively in his embrace. And this was his way of saying goodbye. And, oh, dear God, how could she bear it?

  'Kissing the staff, sweetie? How very feudal.' Serena came slowly down the stairs. She was wearing a lounging robe, the colour of ripe cranberries, and her hair was loose on her shoulders. Shopping seemed to have put her in a better mood, because her eyes were brilliant, although the expression in them when she looked at Phoebe was far from friendly.

  'A grand old tradition.' Dominic released Phoebe without particular haste.

  'Does it include wives?' Serena reverted to playfulness. As Phoebe stepped back Serena came up to Dominic, sliding her arms round his neck and thrusting her hips forward against his.

  This was not something Phoebe wanted to watch.

  'Suppertime,' she said, and led Tara away.

  * * *

  Christmas Eve at last, Phoebe thought wearily as she parked the car at the rear of the precinct. And soon she'd be able to count her remaining days as a nanny on the fingers of one hand.

  Quite apart from her emotional involvement, she would be thankful to leave.

  Serena's attitude—while never cordial after the opening gush—had deteriorated fast after she'd caught Phoebe under the mistletoe with Dominic.

  Phoebe was left in no doubt that she was an enemy, and therefore to be subjected to all the petty tyrannies that a fertile mind could invent. And Serena Vane was incredibly inventive.

  The barrage of small unkindnesses, and snide, contemptuous remarks, seemed unending. Even Tara was the target for some of it, as punishment for the affection in which she obviously held Phoebe.

  It was a ghastly situation.

  Phoebe pinned on a smile as she went into the craft shop.

  'I've come for the dolls' house and furniture.'

  'Oh, yes, of course—for Mr Ashton. It's all packed up ready. Shall I help you carry it out to the car?'

  'Oh, please,' Phoebe accepted gratefully.

  'I do hope the little girl likes it,' the woman remarked as they manoeuvred the heavy carton into the back of the car. 'What a wonderful Christmas she's going to have—with her mother at home.'

  'Wonderful,' Phoebe agreed levelly. 'I'm sure Tara will be in after Christmas to choose some more furniture.'

  The other woman's eyes lit up. 'Oh, do you think Miss Vane will bring her? It would be so marvellous to meet her. We've seen such a lot of her since she came back— just in passing, of course.'

  'Really?'

  The other woman nodded vigorously. 'She calls in at the perfume shop several times a week. As a matter of fact she was there earlier this morning.'

  Phoebe's brows lifted. As far as she knew, Serena Vane, who rarely got up before noon, was still in her room. Or Dominic's room, she amended with an inward sigh.

  'Are you quite sure?'

  'Of course.' The other woman bridled slightly. 'I'd know her anywhere, and so would Marjorie, who helps me. And the taxi waiting at the end of the precinct, same as always. It was definitely her.'

  'What a pity I didn't know. I could have offered her a lift.' And been turned down with some unpleasant comment, no doubt.

  'I hope I haven't given her away,' the woman said archly. 'Perhaps it was your present she was buying.'

  Phoebe forced another smile. 'I don't think so,' she said, and got into the car.

  When she arrived at the house, she drove round to the back. She'd have to leave the dolls' house in the car, she decided, and ask Dominic to help with it later, when Tara was in bed.

  As she went indoors she heard total uproar coming from the small sitting room. Serena Vane was shouting, and Tara was crying loudly.

  Phoebe walked into the room. Tara was sitting at the piano, her face wet with tears, and Serena was looming over her.

  'God-awful row,' she yelled. 'Hellish din, over and over again. Don't you know any other bloody tunes?'

  Tara saw Phoebe and ran to her, burying her face in her stomach.

  'It was my surprise,' she wailed. 'I was practising my surprise again, so that I could play it for everyone tomorrow, and Mummy was angry.'

  Phoebe looked at Serena over Tara's head. 'What the hell's the matter with you?' she asked raggedly, her dis-

  gust with the older woman and her compassion for Tara outweighing her normal discretion. 'Did you have to ruin it for her?'

  'Ruin?' Serena screeched, her face mottled with rage. 'I'm the one who's had her morning ruined. I've had this terrible migraine ever since I woke this morning. I haven't been able to raise my head from the pillow, and all I could hear was that ghastly tune. It's been driving me mad.'

  'Then it's a pity you didn't stay in Midburton,' Phoebe said icily.

  'What are you talking about? I've not been out of my room until this moment. I've been too ill.'

  She certainly didn't look well. Her face was haggard and her eyes were dull.

  'Miss Vane, you were seen by some people in an adjoining shop.' Phoebe stroked Tara's hair, feeling the sobs die away to hiccups.

  'You lying bitch,' Serena said thickly. 'I tell you I haven't left the house.'

  'Which makes you the liar, Miss Vane, not me.' Phoebe faced her steadily. 'But you're not just a liar. You're a cruel, heartless woman. Jilly Mason was right when she called you the Snow Queen.'

  'What did you say?' Serena's voice rose to a scream, and she lunged forward and slapped Phoebe hard across the face.

  Tara screamed. 'No,' she protested frantically. 'Don't hurt Phoebe, Mummy, please.'

  'And you shut your damned face as well,' Serena gritted as Phoebe put up a numb hand to her reddening cheek.

  'What the hell's going on here?' Dominic appeared in the doorway, removing his Barbour jacket.

  'Phoebe and Mummy had a fight, and Mummy hit her.' Tara sounded terrified.

  Phoebe crouched down beside her. 'Darling,' she whispered, 'I'm not hurt—I'm fine, really.'

  Dominic turned to Serena, his brows lifting. 'Is this true?'

  'She was appallingly, viciously rude,' Serena returned. 'I think your past attentions have gone to her head. Anyway, she's not staying in this house a moment longer. Get rid of her.'

  There was a silence, longer than eternity, then Dominic turned towards Phoebe. His face was like stone.

  'Is there somewhere you can go?' he asked with remote formality.

  'No, Daddy,' Tara burst out urgently. 'It wasn't Phoebe's fault.'

  He touched Tara's cheek gently. 'Quiet, darling. Go and find Carrie, and I'll deal with this.' As the child left the room, crying again, he looked at Phoebe. 'Well?'

  'I
can phone Lynn,' she said, dry-mouthed. 'Her family offered to have me ages ago. The invitation may still be open.'

  'Then will you do so, please? Then pack. I'll drive you to Westcombe.'

  'Get her a taxi—or let her walk,' said Serena.

  Dominic took Serena's arm. 'This must have been terrible for you,' he said quietly. 'Why don't you go upstairs and rest?'

  'Yes,' she said, staring around her almost unseeingly. 'Darling Dominic, you always know what's best for me.'

  He put an arm round her, steadying her. His voice was gentle. 'Perhaps, at last, I'm learning,' he said, and led her from the room.

  Lynn, though naturally curious, said yes without hesitation, so there was nothing for Phoebe to do but pack her few possessions into carrier bags.

  Dominic was waiting in the hall when she came downstairs.

  'Am I allowed to say goodbye to Tara?' she asked, her voice shaking a little.

  'It's better you don't, I think. She's been through enough emotional traumas for one day.'

  'I see.' She swallowed. 'How much did you hear?'

  'Almost all of it.'

  And you still blame me, she thought bitterly. She must have you in thrall.

  'Before I forget,' she said as they entered Westcombe after a silent journey. 'The dolls' house is in the car.'

  'Thank you.'

  She directed him to Lynn's and he pulled up outside.

  'Well—goodbye,' she forced through frozen lips. 'I'm sorry it had to end like this.'

  'So am I,' he said sombrely. 'You don't know how sorry. But there is no other way.'

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her once, so hard that her mouth felt bruised. Then he leaned across, releasing her seat-belt and the catch on the passenger door.

  'I have to get back,' he said.

  Phoebe stood on the pavement, watching the Range Rover turn the corner and vanish. The door behind her opened, and Lynn and her mother appeared, waving to her excitedly.

  Phoebe smiled back, and, moving like an automaton, walked up the path to face the loneliest, most desolate Christmas of her life.

  She couldn't let her feelings show, of course. She told them simply that she'd had a row with Serena and been fired, making a joke of it.