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‘OK, just give the phone to a nurse so that she can tell me which hospital you’re in—’
‘Jacqui! Where are you? I’ve got my tights all twisted up…’
Maisie’s yell for help from the floor above jerked her back to reality. ‘High Tops, Little Hinton, Vickie. Not quite the minor diversion I was led to believe, but they’ll give you directions—and submit you to the third degree—in the village shop. Just watch out for your back axle on the way up,’ she advised. ‘The potholes are deep and once you leave civilisation the natives aren’t exactly—’ as she turned for the stairs she realised that she was no longer alone. The ogre, no doubt alerted to her presence by Maisie’s yell for help, was blocking her way ‘—welcoming.’
Jacqui prided herself on being a thoroughly modern, sensible young woman who never succumbed to nervous palpitations or fits of the vapours, whatever the provocation, but her heart noticeably lurched at his unexpected appearance—apparently out of thin air.
He just was so physical. So heart-poundingly male. So clearly irritated to find himself under invasion.
And from somewhere—she very much feared it was her own mouth—came a small, but expressive, squeak. The kind of squeak that a mouse might make on coming face-to-face with not so much a well-fed domestic moggy, as a very wild and very hungry tiger…
‘You’re still here,’ he said, rescuing her from this bizarre train of thought. It was a statement, not a question. He clearly wasn’t pleased to see her, but it was also plain that he wasn’t altogether surprised.
‘Maisie needed the bathroom,’ she said. ‘Obviously I wouldn’t have just walked in, but I’m afraid she rather took matters into her own hands…’ or should that have been feet? ‘…and used the back door.’
‘Leaving you with little choice but to follow. I’m familiar with the way she operates. She learned it from an expert.’
‘It is her grandmother’s house,’ Jacqui pointed out, hating the fact that she was apologising when he was the one who was behaving boorishly. Maisie had every bit as much right to be there as he did. And what was he doing there, anyway?
‘Unfortunately,’ he replied, ‘as you can see, her grandmother isn’t here to take care of her.’
‘There’s clearly been some misunderstanding.’
‘That’s something you’ll have to take up with Sally. I’m fully occupied looking after her four-legged waifs and strays while her mother’s away.’
Which answered that question.
‘Yes, well, I’m doing my best,’ she said, showing him the phone in her hand, giving it a little wave to indicate that her intentions were good even while she was wondering where he’d appeared from so suddenly.
Obviously she’d known he was in the house somewhere and common sense suggested that he would hear Maisie’s cry for help. Not that there was a great deal of sense—common or otherwise—in evidence. But how on earth had he got behind her?
‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ve got something of a crisis going on down in the cellar.’ And he turned away from her to push open a door that was concealed in the panelling. Beyond it a flight of worn stone steps led down beneath the house.
With her imagination working overtime and her heart doing a fair imitation of a pile driver, she didn’t ask what sort of crisis. She really didn’t want to know. She just wished he’d go back to it. Whatever it was.
‘Jacqui! Where are you?’
The giant glanced up the stairs. ‘You’d better not keep her highness waiting,’ he advised, clearly recognising an imperative command when he heard it.
‘No.’ She backed in the direction of the stairs. ‘You’re right,’ she said, aware that she sounded like someone attempting to soothe a beast with an uncertain temper; one who, given half a chance, would almost certainly bite. Absolutely ridiculous, of course. While he clearly wished he’d never set eyes on her, there was nothing overtly threatening in his manner. It was just the fact that he was unnervingly…big. And here.
Although, come to think of it, she should be grateful for that. If the house had simply been locked up, she’d have had no option but to turn straight round and drive back to London. And wave goodbye to any chance of her two weeks in the sun. Not that a rise in temperature was likely to ease her heartache, but she needed to get away from family and friends tiptoeing around her. Treating her as if someone had died.
And they could probably do with the break, too.
‘I’d, um, better go and help Maisie,’ she said, taking another step back. It was one too many and she stumbled against the bottom of the stairs, lost her balance and dropped her phone as she grabbed for the banister in an attempt to save herself.
Her hand closed on air but, just as she accepted that nothing could save her, the giant reached out and caught her, holding her suspended in what, despite all her misgivings, appeared to be a very safe pair of hands.
Safe…and very large.
It was utterly foolish to imagine that they were actually spanning her waist; her waist was not of the cinched-in hand-span variety, but a rather more practical model that came equipped with a pair of sensible hips useful for propping small children on. But for one giddy moment she felt as if they did and finally understood why sane, level-headed women had allowed themselves to be laced into agonisingly small corsets in pursuit of the appearance of fragility.
Gazing up into a pair of gold tiger’s eyes, she felt very fragile indeed. Utter nonsense, of course, and she knew that she really should make an effort to stand up before she did untold damage to the poor man’s back.
She didn’t have to. He was more than capable of doing it for her and before she knew it she was upright, her face pressed against the soft wool of his shirt, immersed in the heady scents of clean laundry, fresh male sweat, hot oil…
A lot of men—and she’d worked, very briefly, for some of them—would, at this point, have taken advantage of the situation, pulling her up close to cop a cheap feel. The giant, however, wasted no time in putting clear space between them.
His very capable hands did remain firmly about her waist, but there was nothing about his manner to suggest it was anything but a precautionary measure while she regained her balance and caught her breath. Not very flattering, actually, considering it was taking a lot longer than it should have done. She put it down to the fact that it was an unusual experience to be looking up at anyone, even a man and she had to admit, as giants went, on closer inspection he was well worth looking at.
It wasn’t just his extraordinary eyes, or the breadth of his shoulders, although they were built on an impressive scale. Or even his height. Now she was standing on the same level as him, his size didn’t seem quite so overwhelming. It was true that even in high heels she’d still have to look up, but not that far, and for the first time since she’d outgrown all the girls in her class at school—and all the teachers—she felt as if she was in the right place. Which was madness, as he’d be the first to remind her. She should move…
Before she could put the thought into deed, he said, ‘OK now?’
‘Fine,’ she managed, although without much conviction and he didn’t immediately release her.
‘Sure?’
She found herself considering a feeble whimper…
‘Really,’ she insisted, pulling herself together and standing up straight.
‘You could do with something for your nerves, Jacqui Moore,’ he said, finally letting her go.
‘It’s been a trying day,’ she replied. It wasn’t getting any better and she shivered as the damp, clinging to her clothes and hair, made itself felt.
‘Any day that involves my cousin tends to be that way.’ Then, ‘You’re cold.’
‘A bit. It’s the damp. The mist is very penetrating. It can’t be healthy, living in a cloud.’
‘There are worse places, believe me, and the hill fog does have certain advantages. Unwanted visitors, for instance, rarely outstay their welcome.’
‘That I can believe and you can trust me when I say that I’ve no wish to trespass on your hospitality a moment longer than necessary,’ she replied stiffly. Whatever had she been thinking of…? ‘I’ve got a plane to catch.’
‘Then you’d better stop dithering around, falling over your own feet, and get yourself sorted out, hadn’t you?’
Charming. Just charming. But then the giant in her fairy story hadn’t been a bundle of laughs, either, she reminded herself. Definitely not the kind of bedtime reading she’d have inflicted on any child in her care.
‘I’d better sort out Maisie before I start making phone calls,’ she said, getting back to reality and making a move to retrieve her cellphone. No matter how inconvenient he found the situation, his little niece was her first priority.
He beat her to it, picking it up and handing it to her so that she got a good look at those hands. And nearly dropped it again as his long fingers brushed against hers.
‘You’d better dry yourself off, too, while you’re at it. You’ll find plenty of towels in the bathroom.’
She tried to speak, intent on demonstrating that if his manners were lacking in polish she at least knew how to behave, but was forced to clear her throat before she could manage a simple, ‘Thank you, Mr…’ Which might have worked if she’d known his name. ‘Mr…Um…?’ she prompted.
‘Talbot,’ he replied.
She waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. As if she cared. She wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in his given name but common civility required she call him something other than ‘um’, since she was clearly going to be there for longer than either of them wanted. If he preferred to keep it formal, she wasn’t going to object.
‘It runs in the family,’ he added.
‘Right,’ she said, firmly resisting the temptation to point out that just because Selina was his cousin, it didn’t follow that he would have the same name. She was sure he knew that and was simply taking the opportunity to renew hostilities.
Clearly he’d only saved her from falling to avoid giving her any further excuse to delay their departure. Tough. Now she was in the house she was going nowhere until she’d sorted out Maisie’s immediate future.
‘Well, Mr Talbot, I can only apologise for imposing on your hospitality in this way, but, since it’s going to take a while to sort out this mess and disturbing you seems inevitable, I wonder if I could possibly impose on you for a cup of tea?’ She waited for him to assure her that it would be no trouble. When this didn’t happen, she added, ‘While I go and sort out Maisie.’ Then, ‘Or maybe you’d rather I left you to sort her out on your own while I go and catch my plane.’
‘You can’t leave her here with me.’
Well, no. Obviously she couldn’t do that. But was he simply uttering the panic-stricken response of a child-phobic male? Or did he know what he was talking about?
She had to admit that he didn’t sound panic-stricken. On the contrary, he sounded like a man who knew his own mind and spoke it without fear or favour. Whether he knew or cared about child-protection regulations, they weren’t an issue for him; he was simply telling her the way it was.
‘You are the only close family member immediately available,’ she pointed out. It made no difference, of course; she couldn’t leave Maisie in his care without Selina Talbot’s explicit authority. Unlike a completely irresponsible mother, the agency couldn’t just dump the child and run.
This was a ‘hold until relieved’ situation but, with luck—and she was surely due a little luck—he might not realise that and there was a heartening pause while he appeared to weigh up the alternatives.
Then, with something that might have been a shrug, he said, ‘Indian or China?’
She just about managed to keep the ‘gotcha’ smile from her face as she said, ‘Indian, please. This is definitely a moment for bracing and cheerful, rather than fragrant and refined, don’t you think?’
She didn’t hang around to find out if he agreed. Instead, having first taken the precaution of turning round so that she could look where she was going, she headed up the stairs in search of her charge.
Maisie, hands on hips, tights in a wrinkled heap around her ankles, scowled at her from the bathroom doorway. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been waiting hours!’
‘Actually it was minutes, but if you’d waited for me instead of disappearing—’
‘I told you I had to go!’
‘I know you did,’ she said, more gently. ‘But don’t disappear on me again, OK?’ Then, when there was no response, ‘Maisie?’
‘OK,’ she muttered.
‘I mean it.’
‘OK! I heard you, all right?’
‘All right.’
And hopefully, having established that simple ground rule, she tugged Maisie’s tights into place, then, while the child was washing her hands, took advantage of Talbot’s grudging invitation to help herself to his towels, dabbing at the bits of herself that had been exposed to the elements. With luck her clothes would dry out in the warmth of the kitchen and she wouldn’t catch pneumonia but, the way her day was going, she wasn’t counting on it.
‘OK, Maisie, let’s go and see if we can sort this mess out.’
‘What mess?’
‘Well, your grandmother isn’t here…’
‘I know.’
‘You do?’
‘I heard,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t matter. I can stay here until my mother comes home. I’ve got a room of my own, you know, in one of the towers. It was decorated especially for me. The walls are mauve and the curtains are lace and it looks out over the paddock where the pony and the donkeys live.’ Then, ‘The pony’s mine.’
‘Really? I had a little pony when I was your age.’
‘Did you?’
‘Mmm. My Little Pony was the one called Applejack. She was the orange one, with apples painted on her bottom.’
Maisie regarded her with pity. ‘My pony is real. His name is Fudge. Would you like to meet him?’
‘I don’t think there’s going to be time, Maisie. The thing is you need more than a room—’
‘I’ve got more—’
‘More than a room and a pony. You need someone to take care of you.’
‘There’s Harry…’ Harry? His name was Harry? ‘…and Susan—’
‘Susan?’ The giant had a wife? Well…great. If Harry Talbot was married, or even if this woman was his partner, things might just work out. Always assuming Vickie could reach Selina Talbot before she left the country. ‘Who’s Susan?’
‘She comes in every morning to clean up and stuff.’
‘Oh. Great!’ No! Not great. And, ditching the smile—she had absolutely nothing to smile about—said, ‘Look, Maisie, obviously there’s been some kind of mix-up over the arrangements, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. Mrs Campbell, at the agency, is going to talk to your mother and sort something out.’
Maisie sighed. ‘She won’t be able to do that. My mother will be on a plane by now and you have to turn off your mobile phone when you’re in a plane.’
‘So you do.’
Bedknobs and broomsticks…
‘It’s a total pain, my mother says, but they mess with the electricity and if that gets messed up you can’t watch the movie.’
‘I can see the problem.’ Actually, Jacqui was fairly sure that if the ‘electricity’ got messed up you wouldn’t be watching anything ever again, but in view of her own imminent flight decided not to dwell on it. She had enough on her plate without worrying about some idiot deciding to phone home just for the fun of saying ‘I’m on the plane…’. ‘Do you know where your mother is going?’
‘Of course. She’s doing a fashion shoot on the Great Wall of China. That’s right on the other side of the world, you know.’
‘I had heard.’
‘It takes forever to get there, she said.’
Not exactly forever, but it was certain that Ms Talbot wouldn’t be taking personal calls before tomorrow.
Maisie looked up at her, eyes huge and very solemn, and said reassuringly, ‘It’s OK. You can stay and look after me.’
No! No…
