Bachelor's Family

by Jessica Steele

  'Because-' She turned to face him, and stayed to tell him what she had been on the way to telling Sonia Morris a few minutes ago. 'Because I don't have one single solitary qualification for the job.'

  For a stern second or two those cool, disconcerting eyes dissected her. Then, 'I'll be the judge of that,' he stated bluntly, and she'd have given anything just then to have an ounce of his confidence. Especially when, brusque al-most to the point of rudeness, he demanded, 'Do you want the job or not?'

  God, she wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him! But did she or did she not want the job? It was fast going from her mind what the job was, but she had always thought of herself as fairly confident and some spirit in-side her was darned if she would turn within five minutes of knowing the man into someone who wished for an ounce of his. So, 'Yes, I want it,' she replied spiritedly, her chin tilting a defiant fraction as though to tell him in advance that it was no skin off her nose if he chose not to employ her valuable services. Everything about her was noted, she was sure of that but, after pinning her with another cool look from his direct gaze, instead of telling her

  to collect her expenses on her way out as she fully expected, to her surprise he replied, 'Then I suggest we sit down and discuss it.'

  Fabienne covered the unexpectedness of his reply by moving over to one of the several easy-chairs in the room and doing as he suggested. She observed that he did the same, and she busied herself crossing her ankles neatly while she waited for him to fire away with what-since the chosen applicant was going to be resident in his home-she was sure were going to be very pertinent questions indeed.

  'Tell me about yourself, Miss Preston,' he invited with very little delay.

  In her view that was hardly a job-interview-type question. 'What would you like to know?' she countered, and weathered his narrow-eyed look that indicated that if she was messing him about she'd get short shrift.

  However, he must have decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, because he changed tack to enquire, 'Do you live at home or on your own?'

  'I live with my family.'

  'You're obviously happy living at home?'

  'We're a very happy family.'

  'But you want to leave?' He was in there like a flash, and left her gasping.

  'This job is only temporary,' she bounced back, having got her second wind, not prepared to be intimidated by him or anybody else. 'I'm in between jobs at the moment and, since I'm not sure what sort of work I want to do in future, I thought a temporary job would give me space in which to decide.'

  That wasn't quite true but, as she thought about it, Fabienne realised that, since to work was in her genes, it was a very good idea.

  'What sort of work have you been doing?'

  'I've worked in a dress shop since I left school.'

  'How old are you now?'

  'Twenty-two.'

  'Why did you leave the dress shop?'

  That was easy. 'It closed down. But-' she smiled on an imp of mischief '-I can get a reference if you need one.' She wasn't going to get the job anyway,

  so there was little point in telling him that the gown shop had belonged to her mother.

  She saw his glance on the sudden upward curve of her mouth, then those cool grey eyes were on hers again and he was asking, 'Have you ever had anything to do with children?'

  'I've an eight-year-old nephew-we used to be great friends.'

  'Used to be?' he took up.

  'Philip's parents are divorced. We-um--don't see as much of him as we once did,' she explained quietly. 'Clearly you miss him?'

  'I suppose I do,' she had to admit.

  'Which, whether you know it or not, is probably the reason why you applied for the job of helping with a pair of seven-year-olds,' he decreed. Had he studied under a disciple of Freud, for goodness' sake? She almost said as much, but only just then realised that there must be an invisible line between employer and employee which, because she'd always worked with her mother, she had never encountered. But it was one which it might be an idea to start learning about, so instead it seemed more politic to comment, 'You're probably right.' And, employer, employee, or not, she thought she had a right to ask one or two questions herself. 'Are the twins both boys?'

  'One of each-Kitty and John.'

  'They're at boarding-school?' she guessed, thinking that they must be coming home for the summer holidays-but knew she had guessed wrong when he shook his head.

  'At the moment they're attending the village school about a mile from where I live.'

  At the moment! Evidently Mr Tolladine was considering sending them elsewhere. 'And you're looking for someone to start-um-in July?' Fabienne asked, after a quick calculation of when the school term ended.

  'They finish school towards the end of July,' her interviewer announced crisply after studying her for some moments. 'But-' he paused, his direct gaze taking in her fine features '-I should want the successful applicant to start more or less straight away.'

  'To get to know the children first?' Fabienne queried, realising that he meant nothing of the sort. What he meant was that if-by some gross error of misjudgement-the person he decided upon did not suit, then that would give him ample time to dismiss her and find somebody else.

  'Would you have any problem with that?' he queried in answer.

  'None at all,' she replied. 'Er-what sort of duties would be expected of me-er-of the successful applicant?'

  His look said he considered she should have known that before applying for the post but, oddly, she formed the impression that he was as vague about what a nanny-cum-mother's help did as she was. 'Take the children to school, meet them from school, generally make yourself useful-that sort of thing. You do drive?' he asked abruptly.

  'I have my own car,' she answered, and thought it not impertinent in the circumstances to enquire, 'Does your wife follow her own career?'

  'Wife?' he questioned, as though she had suddenly gone mad.

  'M-Mrs Tolladine,' she stammered, feeling that he had wrongfooted her.

  'There is no Mrs Tolladine.'

  'No M-'

  'I'm not married,' he declared, as though thinking that she was a little thick not to have cottoned on to that fact before.

  'Well-' Fabienne bridled; it was all very well being clever when one was acquainted with all the answers, but no one had told her, until now, that there wasn't any Mrs Tolladine '-does your partner follow her own career?'

  she insisted. 'If the person you take on is to help the children's mother...'

  'I have neither wife nor live-in lover,' her inquisitor fixed her with an arrogant look to state.

  'Then who the blazes-?' Fabienne began spiritedly, but closed her mouth at his raised-eyebrow look. And knew then that she had just blown the interview. She started to get to her feet and found he was on his feet, too-and that he was on his way to open the door. 'The children's mother,'

  he revealed, just before he opened it, 'is my sister-in-law. She's living in my home for a while.' And, totally unexpected when she just knew that she hadn't got the job, he handed her his personal card. 'I'll be in touch,

  Miss Preston,' he stated, and the next moment, his card in her hand, she was one side of the door and he the other.

  She was still feeling slightly stunned at how abruptly her interview had ended, and was unsure which one of them had terminated the interview, when she became aware of Sonia Morris approaching her with an envelope. 'Your expenses, Miss Preston,' she began. 'I hope...'

  'That's all right.' Fabienne smiled, waving the envelope away. 'I was coming to London today anyway.'

  With that, she made her escape, and was heading downwards in the lift before she remembered the card she held. Were Tolladine,' she read.

  'Brackendale, Sutton Ash, Berkshire,' and his telephone number. Vere Tolladine? She knew that name from somewhere!

  So intent was she on puzzling where she had heard the name of Vere Tolladine before that she was on a train on her way back to Oxford b
efore she realised she had not carried out her intention to take a look around the shops. She rather thought that her interview with the Tolladine man was in part responsible for her forgetfulness, too-for never had she met a man anywhere near like him.

  It was her father who gave the answer to where she had heard the name before. Were Tolladine!' he exclaimed as they sat around the dinner table that evening. 'Heavens, Fenne, surely you remember seeing him on TV the other week when sterling had a little hiccup. He's head of Tolladine Finance! He's always being quoted in the Press.'

  Fabienne was positive that if she had seen Vere Tolladine before then by no chance would she have forgotten it. Though had to concede, for all she was not much into matters financial, that she must have seen his name in the papers from time to time.

  She sat now in the car park of the George and thought of how ever since last Wednesday memory of that interview with Vere Tolladine had returned to haunt her. Leaving aside the many questions that darted in and out of her head, such as why was his sister-in-law living in his house? And was his brother living there too? He had to be, surely. For, if his brother had split from his wife, then it made more sense that he be the one to reside in Vere Tolladine's home. But, even as she pondered why he was taking such an interest, that he was the one doing the nanny-interviewing and not either of the children's parents, strangely, Fabienne could not seem to get him out of her mind.

  That, she told herself logically, had to be because, in truth, she had never ever met a man quite like him. Though as she left her car and went into the hotel to meet her friends she acknowledged that when she had attended the job interview, completely unconcerned about getting it, something-some strange, nebulous, untouchable thing-had happened, during the interview and since that phone call tonight, that made her feel that she would not mind at all taking it on.

  And now, thanks to that phone call, the job was hers! Was he, Vere Tolladine, conceivably right with his theoretical notion that she had applied for the job with children because she was missing the contact with her eight-year-old nephew?

  Tomorrow she was due to move into the financier's house, so maybe she would find out. Although as she recalled those cool, direct grey eyes, not to mention his brusque attitude on the phone earlier, perhaps it was just as well that her weekly stint would be only Monday to Friday. With luck, he had a pied-d-terre in town and only came home to Sutton Ash at weekends.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SUNDAY dawned bright and clear, but when Fabienne went downstairs she found that her parents were having second thoughts about her moving out to take a live-in job-albeit only a Monday-to-Friday job.

  'I'll be home again on Friday evening-Saturday morning at the latest,' she attempted to quieten their qualms about the youngest leaving their sheltered home.

  'Perhaps I'll give Mr Tolladine a ring before you go,' her father terrified her by suggesting.

  'Daddy!' she squeaked in alarm. 'How would you feel to have phone calls from the fathers of all the new females you employ?' She could see he was getting her point, and pressed on. 'Anyhow, you said yourself that his integrity is second to none, so I can't see that I shall come to any harm.'

  She had never loved her father more when he gave her an ashamed grin, and muttered, 'So I'm an old fusspot.'

  'A lovely old fusspot,' she laughed, and gave him a hug.

  'What time will you be leaving?' her mother enquired.

  That was a difficult one. No time had been mentioned but she doubted that-weekends being precious for any-one who must work as hard as Vere Tolladine-he would want her around interrupting his day of rest too early.

  'Some time this evening, I think,' she replied.

  'The children might be in bed by the time you get there,' her mother reminded her practically.

  'That's all right; I can meet them in the morning.'

  It was around seven-thirty that evening that Fabienne, with her case packed with enough clothes to last her a week, said goodbye to her parents and the dog Oliver, and steered her car in the direction of the next county. She had thought it would take her an hour or so to reach Sutton Ash, but it was nearly two hours later that she found the village. Ten minutes later she found the house named Brackendale.

  It was a large, sprawling two-storeyed house set in its own grounds, and Fabienne sailed up the long and winding drive realising that, though she had always thought of her family as being fairly well off, there was well off and again, very well off.

  There was no one around and not a car in sight as she drew up near the front door and got out of her car. Since she was expected she took her case out of the boot and went and rang the front doorbell.

  She did not have to wait long and, oddly, a bubble of excitement overtook her as she heard someone coming to answer the door. The person who answered the door, however, was not Vere Tolladine, but a tall, well-built lady of about fifty.

  'I'm Fabienne Preston-' was as far as she got before the other woman broke into a welcoming smile.

  'We're all ready for you. I'm Mrs Hobbs, the housekeeper,' she introduced herself. 'Come in. Come in.' Fabienne did as she was bid, taking to the friendly housekeeper at once. Then, as Mrs Hobbs went to close the door, she must have spotted her car. 'Ah-you'll want to park your car undercover overnight. Would you like to do it now, or later?'

  'I might as well do it now,' Fabienne decided, and, leaving her case in the hall, was joined by Mrs Hobbs in her car and instructed where to steer it.

  They went round to the rear of the house where there were several outbuildings and several garages. 'This one's for you,' the housekeeper stated and, the car safely put to bed for the night, she handed her the garage key and also a key to the rear door of the house. 'You'll need that some time, I expect,' she smiled, and as they crossed the yard she pointed out the lighted cottage in the grounds of Brackendale where she lived with her husband Sid, who worked as handyman about the property. 'You'll probably see Bob, the gardener, about the place tomorrow, too. Ingrid now comes to help out but, apart from Wendy, who comes up from the village every day to take charge of the cleaning, that's the lot of us,' she explained as she unlocked the rear door which led into a much smaller hall than the one at the main entrance.

  They went in and she pointed out the breakfast-room, dining-room and the main drawing-room as they went through to the large black-and white-tiled entrance hall from which Fabienne saw the most elegant central staircase she had ever seen. She was still gazing at it in admiration when Mrs Hobbs, saying she would show her to her room, went to take a hold of her suitcase.

  'I'll carry it,' Fabienne smiled, and just had to ask, 'Is Mr Tolladine, Mr Vere Tolladine around?'

  'He's out, I'm afraid,' Mrs Hobbs replied.

  Fine, thanks for the welcome, Fabienne thought, and promptly brought herself up short at the sour thought. Grief, he had better things to do than to sit at home, waiting to welcome in the hired help. From what she remembered of the sophisticated look of him, he was probably out painting the town red somewhere with some equally sophisticated and chic female.

  'Mrs Tolladine?' she enquired, thinking that she should perhaps make the acquaintance of the lady she was there to help.

  'Mrs Tolladine?' the housekeeper queried as they reached the long, curving landing that had oak-panelled doors leading off in both directions. 'The children's mother?'

  'Oh, you mean Mrs Hargreaves,' Mrs Hobbs caught on and, while Fabienne was wondering how come, if the children's mother was married to Vere Tolladine's brother, her name was Hargreaves, the housekeeper was saying, 'Mrs Hargreaves will introduce herself in the morning, I expect,'

  and was opening one of the doors along the landing and telling her, 'There's a bathroom adjoining, which separates you from the twins who are in the two rooms next to it.' And, as Fabienne took her suitcase into a high-ceilinged, elegant bedroom, 'Can I get you anything to eat or drink?'

  Mrs Hobbs enquired.

  'Nothing, thanks,' Fabienne replied and, with the time turn
ed ten o'clock by that time, 'I think I'll just unpack and get into bed.'

  It did not take her long to unpack and to wash and get into bed. And, with a bed that was the last word in comfort, any thoughts that she might-since she was in a strange house and with people she barely knew-have difficulty sleeping were proved unfounded. For no sooner had she turned out her bedside light and closed her eyes than she fell fast asleep. Some slight sound brought her awake. She opened her eyes to daylight and to the knowledge that she was not alone. For there, nightdress-clad and close to her bed, stood a very pretty blonde-haired child. 'Good morning.' Fabienne smiled encouragingly.

  'Good morning,' the little girl responded. 'Are you the lady who's come to look after us?' she asked solemnly.

  'Yes, I am,' Fabienne replied, aware that she must not rush to make friends but give the child space to go at her own pace. 'I arrived last night while you were asleep.'

  'Uncle Vere said you'd be here this morning. My name's Kitty.'

  She had just introduced herself when another sound caused Fabienne to look over to the door. There, clinging fearfully to the doorknob, she saw her other charge. He was dark-haired, like his uncle, but there any resemblance stopped. For his uncle was confident and sure of what he was about, whereas this small boy looked nervous and stood staring worriedly at her.

  'Hello, come in,' she said gently, hoping to give him confidence.

  Hesitantly, he moved just a little further into the room. He had melting blue eyes that Fabienne felt might melt into tears at any moment as they stared apprehensively at her.

  'John's a bit shy,' his sister solemnly explained and, while Fabienne accepted that all children were different-some shy, some not-the solemn countenance of the one of her charges and the timidity of the other was something of a surprise, not to say shock. Without effort she recalled how boisterous her nephew Philip had been when, a year ago, he had been the same age as the twins. There had been no nervous entry into her bedroom when, after staying overnight with them as he occasionally had, he would hurl himself into her room and on to her bed ready and eager to start a new day. She felt instinctively that she wanted to give the pair of them a cuddle, but she equally felt certain that it would be better if she let them find their own ground where she was concerned.