Just Another Miracle!

by Caroline Anderson

  He looked at her in amazement. ‘Sorry? What for?’

  She shrugged. ‘It was my idea.’

  He chuckled humourlessly. ‘Poppy, they’re my children. I have to take the ultimate responsibility. The government says they have to go to school. If they’re naughty at school, does that make it the Education Minister’s fault?’

  She laughed. ‘Probably not. Come on, our supper’s ready and I’m starving.’

  James followed her into the kitchen. ‘I expect the boys are, too. Do you think sending them to bed without any supper is too harsh?’

  ‘Harsh?’ Poppy grinned at him. ‘I think not. I imagine they’ll think they got away with it lightly. Come on. Let them stew for a while. You can take them a sandwich later if you feel too guilty.’

  He snorted. ‘Guilty? Why should I feel guilty? They stole the penguin!’ He pulled out a chair and dropped into it, propping his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his fist. ‘That has to be the most expensive zoo trip on record.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Poppy dished up the chicken casserole and set the plate down in front of him. ‘I take it the money’s not the real issue?’

  He arched a brow. ‘You mean, can I afford it? I should think so.’

  ‘Then tell yourself you’ve done some good, and relax.’

  She set her plate down, plonked two glasses on the table between them and sloshed some wine into them. ‘Cheers.’

  He smiled over the rim and shook his head. ‘Cheers.’

  Then he put down the glass, picked up his knife and fork and set about demolishing his meal. As she ate, Poppy watched him clean his plate with evident enjoyment.

  ‘It hasn’t spoilt you, has it?’

  He looked up. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The money. It hasn’t spoilt you—being rich. I mean, here you are, eating a simple stew in the kitchen with the hired help, when you could be running a fleet of servants and living in the lap of luxury.’

  He laughed self-consciously. ‘That’s not me, though. Anyway, I don’t think of you as the hired help, Poppy. Perhaps it would be better if I did.’

  ‘Helen does,’ she said before she could stop herself.

  His laugh was bitter. ‘Yes, no doubt. Helen’s very into hired help. She thinks I should have a butler and a manservant and a chauffeur, of all things. I keep telling her it isn’t necessary, but I think she feels I let myself down—don’t project the right image, you know? Mr Successful should have all the trappings of wealth.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not me, Poppy. I like my home to be a home. That’s why I hate that bloody awful drawing room. When are you going to deal with it?’

  She eyed him steadily. ‘Do you really mean it?’

  ‘Sure. How much do you want?’

  ‘I don’t know. The furniture and carpets will be the killer.’

  ‘Ten thousand? Fifteen?’

  Poppy laughed. ‘Do people often rip you off?’

  His smile was wry. ‘They try. Why?’

  ‘I was thinking more like a tenth of that. The curtains just need the pelmets relining with something colourful, and perhaps an echo of that on the edge, and the cushions will be very cheap because I’ll make them. The carpet you’ll have to choose with me—’

  ‘Why? I trust you.’

  She blinked. ‘You do? We could be talking thousands for that.’

  He shrugged. ‘Poppy, you won’t cheat me; I know that. I’ll get a local firm to come round with some fabric samples, and I’ll contact a local auction house and arrange an account for you so you can start going to sales and having fun. If it’s a fine art house they might have some old rugs that would do the job. OK?’

  It was more than OK, it sounded wonderful. It sounded, in fact, like playing house, and it hit Poppy like a ton of bricks. While James made the boys a sandwich and went upstairs to them with it to make his peace, Poppy sat in the kitchen nursing another glass of wine and wondering what on earth she was getting herself into.

  Cosy suppers, an unlimited budget to redo the drawing room and turn it into a home—was she going to survive? OK, he’d promised nothing would happen. That wouldn’t stop her falling for him, though, not by a country mile. Just as being on a diet didn’t stop you wanting chocolates, so making rash promises wouldn’t stop either of them from succumbing to the attraction.

  She sighed and dropped her head onto her arms. Damn James Carmichael for being so attractive and charming and downright normal. And damn her stupid hormones for wanting him.

  She didn’t hear him come back in, but she knew he was there. All her senses stood on end, and she felt her heart pick up. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, kneading gently at the taut muscles.

  ‘You’re tired,’ he murmured. ‘You should go to bed.’

  She sat up, leaning back against the chair with her head dropped forwards. ‘Don’t stop,’ she mumbled. ‘That’s wonderful.’

  His hands worked into the muscles round her shoulders and neck, the fingers strong and yet gentle, easing out the kinks. She rolled her head back and found his hard, flat abdomen right behind her, radiating warmth. His hands slid up and cupped her cheeks, tilting her head backwards, and then he bent over and laid a kiss against her lips.

  She moaned and turned on the chair, and be drew her up into his arms, his mouth gentle at first, tentative. Then his control snapped and his mouth became greedy and demanding, his tongue searching hers out, plundering her secrets, laying waste to her self-control.

  She moaned and arched against him, and felt a deep shudder run through him. He was aroused, hard and hot and hungry, and she wanted to scream with frustration because the boys were in the house and still awake, and they weren’t supposed to be doing this, anyway, and any second now he’d remember—

  ‘Damn,’ he groaned against her mouth, and, lifting his head, he tucked her under his chin and rocked her hard against his chest. ‘Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.’

  ‘You shouldn’t make rash promises,’ she teased with the last shreds of her sense of humour.

  He gave a hollow laugh. ‘No, but I did, and I meant it. I’m sure if you give me time I’ll remember why.’ He eased away from her and stood at the window, staring out over the dark garden. ‘I want you, Poppy,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not sure this promise is going to be one I can keep.’

  ‘So why bother?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘Why?’ He turned, and his eyes still blazed with need. ‘Because I’m not good for you. Because I won’t use you like that. Because you deserve better.’

  ‘You do yourself an injustice,’ she told him softly. ‘I’m an adult, James. Perhaps you should let me make up my own mind about us.’

  ‘There is no “us”. That’s the point. My life’s enough of a mess, Poppy, without mixing business with pleasure. I need you for the boys, as I told your mother. I can’t afford to let my needs—or yours—get in the way of that.’

  ‘Are they mutually exclusive?’ she asked.

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. All I know is that the boys have suffered enough hardship and trauma in their short lives. You’re good for them. I can’tjeopardise that for the sake of a temporary diversion, and I can’t let you do it, either. I’m sorry, Poppy—you’ll never know how much.’ Then he turned on his heel and went out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with her tumbling emotions.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A FEW days later, and, she imagined, as part of his policy of keeping his distance, James told Poppy she ought to have some time off. A formal arrangement was long overdue, but it didn’t stop Poppy feeling rejected when James announced that she would have Sunday and Monday off in future.

  ‘If I’m not going out or entertaining on the Saturday night, you can go home then, of course, and I’ll get the children to school on Monday mornings and arrange for their collection on Monday afternoons. I’ve found a woman through the headmaster who’ll be willing to have them after school, for a small consideration,’ he told Poppy, in a dry tone that gave her an idea of how ‘sma
ll’ the consideration wasn’t, ‘and so you needn’t return till late on Monday, ready for Tuesday morning.’

  And that was that. She now had weekends, after a fashion.

  She should have been delighted.

  The first weekend was the one after the boys had returned to school for the second half of the spring term, and on Saturday evening Poppy duly set off for home. She expected to have a wonderful and long-overdue rest.

  Instead she missed them all. Her family, boisterous and open-hearted though they were, still couldn’t fill the gap left by James and his children, and she mooched around and got underfoot until Monday morning. Then she came down to the kitchen to find her mother nursing a new-born orphaned lamb.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, automatically putting the kettle on the Aga and wrapping a pinny round her waist to take the lamb. The lambs were always her job.

  ‘First twin died. Your father pulled this one out in the nick of time, but we lost the mother.’

  ‘Can we find a foster-mother?’

  Audrey Taylor smiled benignly. ‘Possibly. I thought, though, for now, it might be nice to have him in the kitchen and spoil him a bit. I wondered if the boys might like to see him, and help feed him, maybe?’

  Poppy’s foolish heart jumped at the idea, but she quelled it. ‘I’m sure they’d love it, but they’re going to someone else after school, it’s all arranged.’

  ‘I’m sure it could be unarranged,’ Audrey suggested gently. ‘You could bring them back here for supper—they’d love it so much, Poppy, and they don’t get to see many ammals.’

  Poppy was a push-over. She knew it, her mother knew it, anybody who had met her for thirty seconds knew it. ‘OK,’ she found herself agreeing. ‘But I’ll have to clear it with James first.’

  She rang the house, hoping to catch him before he left with the boys, but he had already gone and all she got was the answering machine. She tried the office later, but he was in a meeting, and she didn’t dare pull another stunt like the last one, when she’d told the secretary the twins were in hospital!

  She’d have to go to the office in person, she decided. She knew vaguely where it was, although she’d never been there. She’d leave in time to go to his office and then fetch the boys from school, assuming he said yes. Of course, he might not.

  She kissed her mother goodbye, promising to be back later, and set off for Norwich in James’s ‘little’ Mercedes. She was getting all too used to pottering around in such style, she thought to herself in disgust. So much for the ancient bangers and her mother’s modest little car that she had been used to up to now.

  She sighed. Luxury was becoming altogether too familiar, she thought wryly. She was in danger of getting spoiled.

  She found the office complex without difficulty. The only thing she had difficulty with was making her mouth work at the gate to the car park, because the whole setup was enormous and screamed success, and it came home to Poppy with a bump that her boss was actually a very powerful and significant individual.

  ‘Can I see your ID?’ the gatekeeper asked.

  She shut her mouth with a snap and swallowed. ‘Urn—I’ve come to see Mr Carmichael—I’m his nanny. Poppy Taylor. Hang on, I’ve got my driving licence—oh, and this is his car.’

  He peered at her driving licence, then the car. ‘Hold on a moment, please,’ he said, and went back inside his little hut and consulted a list, then emerged with a smile.

  ‘That’s all right, Miss Taylor, you’ve got clearance. Would you mind pinning this badge on, please?’

  And that was it. She was through his evidently tight security, and, following the arrows and road signs, she made her way to the visitors’ car park by the entrance to the office.

  She went into Reception, wearing her visitor’s badge, and asked the dark-haired girl at the desk for James.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No—I’m his nanny. I just need to ask him something about the boys.’

  The girl smiled. ‘You’re very brave. I gather they’re terrors. Take the lift and go up to the third floor and turn right. Mr Carmichael’s office is at the end,’

  Poppy went as directed, considering who might have given the girl the idea that the boys were terrors. Helen? Probably.

  She found her way blocked by another minion, this one a redhead and just as well groomed. Poppy was extremely conscious of her jeans and boots by now, but she reminded herself that the redhead wasn’t about to pick up twin hooligans and go and feed lambs in a farm kitchen. She’d look pretty ridiculous in her black miniskirt and four-inch heels.

  ‘He’s in a meeting,’ Poppy was told.

  ‘He’s always in a meeting. Could you ask him to pop out so I could have a word, please?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t interrupt.’

  ‘Please?’ Poppy said patiently. ‘It is important.’

  ‘What’s it about? I’v slip in and have a word with him.’

  Poppy nearly laughed. This was going to sound great! ‘I want to take the boys back to my parents’ farm this evening to feed a lamb.’

  The girl’s eyes widened. ‘A lamb? You want me to interrupt an important meeting to ask Mr Carmichael if you can feed a lamb?’

  Poppy nodded. ‘Yes, please.’

  The girl’s eyes shot to a closed mahogany door, then back to Poppy. ‘I can’t do that—’

  ‘Then I will,’ Poppy said calmly, and crossing the hall she opened the door and went in, ignoring the little shriek of protest from the redhead behind her.

  James was in full flood, but at the sight of Poppy he excused himself and hurried over to her, arriving at Poppy’s side at the same time as the redhead.

  ‘Mr Carmichael, I’m sonry. She just—’

  ‘Poppy, what the hell—?’

  ‘James, I’m sorry, I needed to see you and your guarddog wouldn’t interrupt you.’

  He shot the girl a reassuring smile, cut off her apology and sent her back to her desk, then turned to Poppy.

  ‘What have they done now?’

  Poppy laughed softly. ‘Nothing. Relax. We had a lamb born in the night and he’s lost his mother. Mum wondered if the boys would like to feed him, so I thought if you didn’t mind I could get them from school and take them over, and then we could have supper there and come back later.’

  James thrust a hand through his much-tousled hair and shot her a grin. ‘Feeding orphaned lambs—sounds a bit bucolic.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Something wistful and filled with longing flittered through his eyes. ‘Can I come?’ he asked softly.

  Poppy’s mouth fell open. ‘Wha—yes, of course, but you’re busy. These people—’

  His mouth tipped wryly. ‘They’ll keep. We’ve virtually finished, anyway.’ He turned back to his companions, who were watching them openly and with fascination. ‘Sony, ladies and gentlemen, something’s come up. I’m going to have to leave you. Helen, could I hand the chair over to you, please, to wind up the meeting and sort out the final details? I have two small boys and an orphaned lamb that require my attention.’

  Helen’s jaw dropped a little, but she recovered herself with commendable skill.

  ‘Of course. Your children must come first.’

  Poppy’s eyebrows shot up, but James just grinned. ‘Glad we agree. I’m sure you’ll find Helen is able to answer all your questions, everyone. Please excuse us.’

  There was a gracious and accepting murmur, and Poppy hid a smile as he swept her out of the door, to the total amazement of the redhead, who was sitting stunned at her desk, still waiting for the axe to fall.

  ‘Hold the fort, Sue,’ he said with a wink at the astonished girl. ‘I’m going to feed a lamb—I’ll be in tomorrow.’

  Poppy nearly choked on a laugh. ‘I think she thought you were going to sack her,’ she told James in the lift.

  ‘Sue? Nah. I’ll give her a rise and tell her to use her initiative. It works wonders.’

  Po
ppy chuckled. ‘Did you see her face? She can’t believe you’re doing this.’

  His mouth tipped. ‘Shall I tell you something, Poppy? Neither can I, but it feels great.’

  His laugh, warm and mellow, rang softly in the lift and made Poppy’s heart feel lighter. Wow, he was making some progress!

  The lamb was a real hit with the boys. Audrey had to prise it away from them when its little tummy was positively bursting, just to stop them killing it with kindness.

  ‘He needs to sleep,’ she said gently but firmly, and settled the little chap under a heat lamp in the corner of the small barn they used for the lambing, near some other new lambs with their mothers. He bleated pitifully, and Poppy saw the boys waver.

  ‘Can’t he be inside?’ they asked hopefully.

  Poppy chuckled. ‘No. He’s got to learn to cope with the cold. He’ll be all right.’

  As they crossed the farmyard Audrey pulled her coat tighter round her neck and shivered. ‘Oh, that wind goes right through me. There’s more snow forecast for later in the week.’

  ‘Again?’ Poppy said, amazed. ‘I thought we’d finished with the snow.’

  ‘Apparently not. Oooh, it’s bitter. Come on, boys, in by the stove and let’s get supper on, shall we?’

  ‘Can we feed the lamb again later?’ William asked.

  ‘Much later,’ Audrey agreed. ‘Let’s feed you all first. Poppy, call your brothers, darling. They’re in the stock barn.’

  They all came in, sitting down round the big old table in the kitchen and tucking into Audrey’s rich, sustaining stew. Poppy watched James eating the simple but nourishing meal with relish, and thought of the empirebuilder that he was and the impressive headquarters of his enormous operation she had seen today.

  The Taylors’ homely kitchen was a far cry from the deep-pile carpets and designer prints of his boardroom, and yet he seemed quite at ease in either.

  So at ease, in fact, that he seemed happy to stay for a second and even a third cup of coffee after supper. They stayed in the kitchen, all clustered round the table playing cards and cheating furiously, until finally at nine Poppy’s father stood up and went out to do the final stock check. Twenty minutes later he was back, stamping snow off his boots, banging the door shut quickly behind him.