She straightened up and only then, as she caught Vere's eyes on her, did she realise that, where he was dressed, she had dashed out of bed in such a rush that she was clad only in a thin cotton nightie. She saw his eyes move to her dark, all-anyhow hair and wished she had grabbed up a robe with one hand in passing, and a comb with the other.
She felt embarrassed suddenly, and was relieved when a hasty look at John showed that his eyelids were still closed and that his breathing had evened out to be regular and was that of a sleeping child.
Fabienne felt that she could safely leave him and went silently from the room-and found that Vere was right there with her.
'Shall we leave his door open?' he enquired softly, and while she warmed to him for his understanding, she also realised that he knew less about children than she did.
She nodded and saw that, while possibly he had not had so much to do with children as the little she had, there must be a very fine sense of responsibility in the man, quite a depth of sensitivity, that he should house them under his roof.
They reached her room before his-she saw an open door some way along the semi-circular landing which must be his-and she turned, intending to offer a swift goodnight.
But suddenly the word got stuck in her throat and could not be said. For Vere was looking at her, his look warmer for her than she had ever seen it, and something-something she could not give a name to just then-stirred in her for him.
She saw him scrutinise her face, saw the half-smile that came to his mouth-his quite extraordinarily good-looking mouth, she realised-then his
glance went to her hair, to her scarcely clad body where the round contours of her breasts pushed at the cotton material of her nightdress.
And then, his tone sounding as husky as that of his nephew, 'Did I choose right, to choose you?' he asked, and Fabienne was not sure just then if he was asking her, or himself.
'Don't doubt it,' she replied, and was somehow unsurprised that her voice was husky, too. She smiled gently, because that was how she felt. Gentle and tender-and at this time of the night, with her small charge gently seen to and tenderly sleeping, to introduce a cool note would be an intrusion. She saw Vere's eyes go to her mouth-and linger there. Felt his imperceptible movement towards her. But then he checked, if indeed it had not been in her imagination anyway.
But abruptly he took his gaze from her slightly parted lips and, 'Goodnight, Fabienne,' he bade her, and moved away.
Swiftly she went into her room. She had been unable to answer him. Unable because never in her life, without so much as his laying a finger on her, had she felt such an undercurrent of electricity pass between her and any male.
Never had she been so aware of anyone. Had he kissed her, she knew she would have kissed him back.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS a blessing, Fabienne felt, that with the coming of daylight came sanity. She was up much earlier than usual, and showered, shampooed her hair and donned her robe to sit by the window looking out at the tranquil view of lush green meadows, trees and hedgerows-Vere Tolladine on her mind. She was more able then to rationalise than she had been some hours previously. By then she was able to see far more clearly that of course she had never been so aware of any man as she had been of him.
Never before, at gone two in the morning, had she stood in such thin cotton covering while some cool, good-looking sophisticate had stared down at her-and her scantily clad form! She felt the heat rush to her cheeks just to remember it. Fortunately, at that point, her door opened and a sleepy-headed Kitty came in. She did not want to talk; she just wanted company. Fabienne extended an arm and the little girl came and climbed on to her lap and snuggled down to finish her sleep out.
Fabienne looked down at the sleeping child and stroked the hair back from her forehead, and tried hard to remind herself that this job was only temporary. It was only June yet, and quite some while to go before the start of the school summer holidays. The holidays would last for about six weeks, but would Rachel be able to cope by herself at the end of that time?
Will I, Fabienne began to wonder-her heartstrings pulled so much after less than a week of being at Brackendale-be able to just walk away?
Incredibly, visions of Vere Tolladine sprang into her head. Good grief! It was as if she included him, as if, when the time came for her to leave Brackendale permanently, she would be hard put to it to leave him, too!
Weird, she decided! And was glad when Kitty stirred and got down from her lap to go and get washed and dressed. Fabienne used her hairdryer to finish off drying her hair and, when all she was going to do that morning was to get into her car and drive home to Lintham, it took her some while to decide what to wear.
When she and the twins went down to breakfast, Fabienne was wearing a well-cut pair of stylish white trousers which suited her long legs and neat behind, and was matched with a cropped white jacket which set that behind off to perfection. Her hair she had pulled back from her face, and elegantly arranged to fall long and shining to the middle of her shoulders.
She was uncertain, this not being a work day, that Vere would be down to breakfast at his usual time. But he was there, dark-haired and handsome and, if she wasn't very much mistaken from the look on his face, in brooding mood. Ridiculously her heart skipped a couple of beats. 'Good
morning,' she greeted him pleasantly, and discovered that her impression that he was not full of the joys that morning had been close to accurate.
She saw his unsmiling glance go over her as the children went and settled themselves in their places at the table and guessed that he had taken in her outfit and the fresh look of her when, 'No one would ever know you'd had a disturbed night!' he grunted, obviously not meaning it as a compliment. What the hell? 'One couldn't say the same about you!' she retorted, and saw that that had gone down about as well as a septic foot.
'Say good morning to your uncle, children,' she instructed them and, while Vere was managing to find something pleasant to say to the children, she took her own place at the table. Recalling the awareness of him she had experienced, she was glad that he would never know just how disturbed last night had truly been. Breakfast was well under way, with John, Fabienne was pleased to see, seeming to have forgotten all about his nightmare. In fact, and hearteningly, he and his twin were indulging in the first healthy squabble she'd heard pass between them, and she took her attention from them and glanced across to Vere.
If she had thought that he would have had his eyes on the children if anywhere, Fabienne discovered that she was very much mistaken. For Vere, his look no less brooding, was looking at no one but her. He did not speak, and Fabienne discovered that nerves-which she had never suffered from before in her life-were causing her to rush headlong into speech. 'The children,' she said abruptly, and slowed down to ask, 'Who's looking after them this...?' Her words faded at his harsh look. 'That's my concern, not yours,' he replied.
Why she didn't tell him there and then that he could have that concern permanently because she wasn't coming back, she didn't know, because it was hovering there on the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth, and suddenly knew why-large-eyed and earnest, and promised, John stared at her. She smiled at him, and turned and smiled at her employer. 'I wish you joy,' she said sweetly, and entered a conversation with the children on whether eating one's crust really did make one's hair grow curly. 'You've got-nice hair,' John said in that husky voice of his. 'Why, thank you, sweetheart,' she smiled gently, though could not resist taking a peek at Vere to see if he, too, was looking at her hair and might, too, think it was nice. He wasn't even looking. Swine, she dubbed him, and still thought him so when later she went upstairs to pick up her weekend bag. He was nowhere to be seen when, the twins going with her to wave her off, she went out to her car. She kissed them both, and again endorsed-more for
John's sake than for Kitty's-that she'd be there again when they got up on Monday morning.
'See you Monday,' she said again as they stood back and she star
ted up the ignition. She drove away, somehow feeling oddly reluctant. Now wasn't that odd? she mused. Why, when Vere Tolladine was such a positive pig, should she feel strangely pulled to stay?
Fabienne was feeling happier by the time she had pulled her car up on the drive of her own home. What with the dog going into raptures to see her, not to mention the loving welcome she got from her parents, she defied anyone to stay down.
'The phone's never 'stopped ringing since you went,' her mother informed her during coffee and after an in-depth question and answer session. 'Tom Walton rang me at Brackendale.'
'I thought it would be all right to give him your number. Hannah rang. She said can you give her a buzz the moment you get in-something to do with a dress she wants your opinion on.'
'Guess who's going shopping this afternoon,' Fabienne laughed. However, with a glance at the adoring Oliver, 'Though only after I've taken you for a long walk
Fabienne, after an afternoon dress-shopping with her friend Hannah, spent the evening playing boule with Hannah and Tom and a few more friends. The weather took a change for the worse the next day but, with Oliver more keen on looking for imaginary vermin than on whether it rained, she took him for another walk.
To her delight her brother was paying them a visit when she got back. 'How long have you been here?' she asked in pleasure. 'Just arrived. Going to make me a cup of tea?'
Her mother was already getting to her feet but all at once Fabienne sensed that Alex particularly wanted her to be the one to make the tea. 'I'll do it,'
she said, and was in the kitchen before her mother could stop her. Alex joined her there a minute or so later. 'How's the job going?' he enquired.
'You'll never believe it, but I like it.'
'Never quite saw you as a nanny, myself,' he agreed. 'How's the mother's help bit coming along?' he added; almost as an afterthought-and Fabienne looked at him. Despite the ten-year gap in their ages, she was very close to
her brother. His question, she felt, was not an idle one. 'How do you mean?' she asked carefully. 'Well-Rachel. She's not well, is she?'
'She's having a tough time of it,' Fabienne admitted. 'Though she did have one good day last week-I'm hoping it will be two next week.'
'You're a good kid,' he commented with brotherly affection-and then their mother came in to tell them that there was a fruit cake in the tin.
It was raining heavily when Fabienne left Lintham around seven. At the start of her journey her thoughts were on her family, and on Alex in particular.
She had never heard him express an interest in any female since his divorce, so could not help but feel pleased that it looked as though he might be getting over Victoria. Not that to enquire after Rachel was taking an interest, exactly-yet, since Alex would as often as not make his own cup of tea rather than ask anyone else to do it, it seemed to her that his request stemmed from his wanting a few words of private conversation.
From there Fabienne's thoughts dwelt on Rachel and on how down she was just now. In no time at all, then, thoughts of Vere were in her head. He had been in a swinish mood yesterday morning-it was to be hoped something had cheered him up over the weekend. Her brow wrinkled. She drove into the village of Sutton Ash somehow not at ease with the thought that perhaps some weekend visitor to Brackendale-some female visitor-had brightened up Vere Tolladine's lot. Nor did she feel any more comfortable with the thought that maybe he'd gone to London and had a wild weekend there. Drat the man, she fumed as she garaged her car at Brackendale and braved the pouring rain to dash across the yard into the house-as if she cared! The dull, overcast sky had made the interior of the house dark and, having managed to dodge most of the rainspots, Fabienne went along the minor hall, her weekend bag in one hand, switching lights on and off as she went with the other.
The house was silent, though since the security dead-lock had not been activated she guessed that Vere was not yet in. A moment later, however, and Fabienne was re-evaluating that thought and realising that the house had not yet been finally secured for the night because the one person not yet in was her. For as she neared the study, so she could see that the door was open, and that the light was on.
For no reason she could think of, Fabienne had to swallow on a suddenly dry throat before she could go on. And, having gone on, having reached the study, it seemed that her feet simply refused to allow her to go on past until she had looked in.
With quickening heartbeats she saw that Vere was in there. He was seated behind the large desk, not working but, pen in hand, looking straight to the door, his gaze directly on to her.
She told herself it would be churlish to pass by without a word. 'See, I told you I'd come back,' she stated chirpily, and saw that his swinish mood had not lifted any in her absence.
'Not before time, either,' he snarled, his eyes on the slender figure she made in her cream silk shirt and stylish red crepe skirt, mid-calf-length and slit to the knee.
'Did I miss something?' she stayed to enquire.
'Like two days of rain, plus two cooped-up children in competition to see who could be the most argumentative and bored?' he grunted. That he made no mention of Rachel was indicative that she had kept despondently to her room, Fabienne rather thought. 'How did your weekend go?' he clipped, not seriously interested, she was sure.
'Better than yours by the sound of it,' she murmured drily and-unbelievably- discovered that she must have reached his sense of humour. His mouth picked up at the corners in a half-grin, anyhow.
She felt much cheered, anyway, and would have gone on, only, 'Come in and tell me about it,' he invited, his tone now even, his acid look gone. 'I could do with a break from this,' he added, pointing to the complicated-looking matter spread out on his desk before him.
Her heart softened. To go and chat with him for a minute after the foul couple of days he'd spent with a pair of bored and possibly fractious children was the least she could do.
She dropped her weekend bag down in the hall and entered his study to sit in a chair over by a bookcase filled with business-type books of the sort she hoped she would never have to read.
'There's not a lot to tell.' She smiled, saw his dark glance flick to her mouth and back to her eyes again. 'I went for a walk with Oliver, and shopping with-'
'Oliver?'
'The family hound-well, Jack Russell, actually.'
'You like children and animals?'
She grinned. 'Martyr that I am! Though Oliver would be most upset to be called an animal-he regards himself as a very important member of the family. Which,' she added, after a moment's thought, 'is, I suppose, what he is. Did you know that-?' She broke off. 'I'm rattling on,' she apologised.
'I did ask,' he reminded her. 'So you took your dog for a walk, went shopping, then what?'
'Not a lot, really,' she answered, realising that she was in danger of boring him. to tears.
But it seemed that he was really interested. For, 'I thought you said you had a date?' he reminded her. 'Your boyfriend rang here,' he hinted.
'Oh, Tom... Hmm-he's not really a boyfriend. A group of us played boule-Tom rang to remind me.'
'You'd have forgotten?'
She grinned, realised that she had never felt happier. 'Hannah, my friend Hannah, would have given me a reminder when we went shopping yesterday,' she informed him. 'We usually go around in a group.'
'Safety in numbers?' he queried, that rise of his right eyebrow she was growing familiar with appearing once more.
'I'm a big girl now,' she laughed, decrying any suggestion of his idea.
'I-' he began and then, his look most decidedly cool, 'Are you saying that you have frequent affairs?' he demanded.
Her jaw dropped. Never had she ever known anyone so forthright. 'No, I'm not!' she retorted, offended-not that it was any of his business if she did! 'You make me sound like a tart!' she exploded as his question sank deeper in.
'Well, for-'
'Don't be ridiculous!' he rapped. 'I-'
'Oh, go
to hell!' she flew, and was furiously on her feet at the same instant that he, too, angrily left his chair. 'Might I remind you that I'm your employer?' he rapped.
'So fire me!' she erupted and as he glared at her, so she glared at him for one furious, highly combustible second before, abruptly, she turned her back on
him and went storming to the door. She didn't need this job! He could jolly well stick his job! He—
Having stormed to the door, she knew that to the left lay the outer doors, her car and a loving home. To the right lay the stairs, and her job. Enraged, she went to the right. Not for him, she fumed as she marched up the stairs, but for those children and their mother.
Pig! Swine! She hoped he rotted in hell. She had felt so happy. He had spoilt all that! That he had been furious, too, that she wasn't some meek and mild member of his payroll gave her some satisfaction. Though as she went along the landing to her bedroom and looked over the elegant handrail to the floor below she saw that Vere was standing in his study doorway watching her-and any scrap of satisfaction she experienced went flying. Because as she stared mutinously at him, so she was certain that, while he tried his level best to keep his expression serious, the humour of the situation was getting to him. At any rate, just before he abruptly turned to go back into his study, she would swear that his face broke up.
The swine, the diabolical swine! He was not furious-he was laughing at her!
Fabienne came the closest she had ever come just then to giving up her job.
But something, and she was not into deciding what just then, kept her there.
Her glance then went to the doors of the children's rooms and her anger against Vere suddenly evaporated. The door to John's , room had been left ajar. Vere, she instinctively knew, had left that door open for John's feeling of security and also so that he should hear him if the child cried out. By the time she got into bed a couple of hours later, Fabienne had been over again every word that had passed between her and Vere that evening, and she was again angry. She punched her pillow, wishing it were his head. Perhaps she might have acted differently if she had been in an 'employed' situation before, or if she had truly financially needed this job-though she rather doubted it.
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