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‘Wait just a minute!’
He had spun around to lead the way, but now he turned slowly on his heels and looked at her with mild curiosity.
‘I’m not stupid.’ Tess had had time to realise that she couldn’t cave in to his much stronger, more dominant personality. It wasn’t in her nature to make a fuss, but she would have to stand firm on what she believed or let him ride roughshod over her. ‘I could have got very good grades, as it happens.’
‘Then why didn’t you? Was it easier to fail for lack of trying rather than risk trying to compete with your brilliant sisters and not do quite as well? Okay, I withdraw my remark about your being lazy, but if you want to prove your abilities to me then you’ve got to step up to the plate. Stop apologising for your lack of academic success and start realising the only thing I care about is that you drop the assumption that you can’t teach my daughter. She’s in the kitchen, by the way.’
Behind him, Tess quietly bristled. While he explained the working hours of his various housekeepers, who took it in turns to come in during the week to ensure that his apartment was never allowed to accumulate a speck of dust, Tess mulled over what he had said like a dog with a bone. She had blithely gone through life doing as she liked, only half listening to her parents’ urgings that she settle down and focus. Claire and Mary were focused. In her own good-natured way she had stubbornly refused to be pushed into a way of life which she thought she couldn’t handle. No one had ever bluntly said the things that Matt had said to her, or implied that she was a coward, scared of looking like a failure next to her sisters. She told herself that he knew nothing about her—but his words reverberated in her head like a nest of angry wasps.
She nearly bumped into him when he stopped at the kitchen door. She stepped past him to see her charge sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a bowl of cereal which she was playing with—filling the spoon with milk, raising it high above the bowl and then slowly tilting the milk back in, unconcerned that half of it was splashing onto the fine grainy wood of the table.
Tess didn’t know what she had expected. One thing she really hadn’t expected was, glancing sideways, to see the shuttered look of pained confusion on Matt’s face, and for a few powerful seconds she was taken aback by the burst of sympathy she felt for him.
He was tough and uncompromising and, yes, judgemental of her in a way that left her trembling with anger—yet in the face of his daughter he literally didn’t know what to do.
Frankly, nor did she. Stubborn, sulky ten year olds had never featured even on her horizon.
‘Samantha. Look at me!’ He shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned. ‘This is Tess. I told you about her. She’s going to be your new nanny.’
Samantha greeted this by propping her chin in her hands and yawning widely. She was probably wearing the most expensive clothes money could buy, but Tess had never seen a child dressed with such old-fashioned lack of taste. Clumpy brown sandals and a flowered sleeveless frock. Silk, from the look of it. What ten-year-old ever wore silk? Her long hair was braided into two plaits with, of all things, ribbons neatly tied into bows at the ends. She was dark-haired, like her father, with the same stubborn, aristocratic set to her features. She would doubtless be a beauty in time, but just at the moment her face was sullen and set.
Tess cleared her throat and took a couple of steps forward. ‘Samantha! Hi! Okay, you really don’t have to look at me if you don’t want to…’ She giggled nervously, which earned her a sneaky glance, although the spoon and milk routine was still in full force. ‘But I’m new to this place so…’ She frantically thought of the one thing she and a ten-year-old girl might have in common. ‘Do you fancy exploring the shops with me? My sister doesn’t wear the same stuff that I do, and I’m far too scared to venture into some of those department stores without someone to hold my hand.’
‘Well, it went okay.’
This was the debriefing. When Matt had called her on her mobile, to tell her that he would expect daily reports of progress, she had been at a loss for words. But expect it he did. In his office. Six sharp, after she had handed over her charge to Betsy, the girl who came in to prepare the evening meal.
The very same car that had collected her in the morning had duly collected her from his apartment and delivered her, like a parcel, to his offices, which occupied some prime real estate in downtown Manhattan.
Having seen where he lived, Tess had been more blasé about where he worked. She’d been swept up twenty-eight storeys and hadn’t been surprised to find that his office occupied half of the entire floor, with its own sitting room, meeting room, and a massive outer office with chairs and plants, where a middle-aged woman had been busy packing up to go home.
‘Define okay.’ He leaned back into his leather chair and folded his hands behind his head. ‘Take a seat.’
He could hardly believe how easily and effortlessly she had managed to break the ice with Samantha. Compared to the other nannies he had hired, who had smiled stiffly and tried to shake hands and had thereby seemed to seal their fate.
Tess shrugged. ‘We’re still a long way from being pals, but at least she didn’t give me my marching orders.’
‘She spoke to you?’
‘I asked her questions. She answered some of them.’ His low opinion of her still rankled, but she would rise above that if only to prove to herself that she could. ‘She hates her wardrobe. I think we bonded there. I’m sorry but I’m going to have to turn down your request to purchase “loose” clothing. I can’t take your daughter shopping for young, trendy stuff and then buy drab, tired stuff for myself.’
‘Young, trendy stuff?’
‘Do you know that she’s never owned a pair of ripped jeans?’
‘Ripped jeans?’
‘Or trainers. I mean proper trainers—not the sort you get for school sports.’
‘What are proper trainers?’
Matt looked at her. She was flushed, her skin rosy and dewy from walking in the heat, and her hair was up in a high ponytail with long caramel strands escaping around her face. In every conceivable way she was the complete antithesis of any woman he had ever gone out with—including his ex-wife. Vicky, his girlfriend, was striking, but in a controlled, intelligent, vaguely handsome way, with short brown hair and high cheekbones, and a dress code that consisted almost entirely of smart suits and high heels. And Catrina, while not a career woman, had descended from old money and had always dressed with subtle, refined, understated glamour. Cashmere and pearls, and elegant knee-length skirts.
He could easily believe that Samantha had never owned a pair of ripped jeans, or faded jeans, or possibly even any jeans. As far as he could remember neither had his ex-wife.
He felt his imagination do the unthinkable and begin to break its leash once more, throwing up all sorts of crazy images of the fresh faced girl in front of him.
She was telling him about ‘proper trainers’ and he was appalled to discover that he was barely taking in a word she was saying. Instead, he was fighting to dismiss thoughts of what she looked like out of those tight jeans and that small green vest with its indistinct logo of a rock band. It was a primitive urge that had no place in his rigidly controlled world.
‘Anyway, I hope you don’t mind, but I bought her one or two things. Trainers, jeans, a few tops from the market.’
‘You bought her stuff from a market?’
‘A lot trendier. Oh, gosh, I can tell from your expression that you don’t approve. Don’t you ever go to a market to shop?’ It was an innocuous question, but for some reason it shifted the atmosphere between them. Just a small, barely noticeable shift, but she was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of his almost black eyes resting on her, and the way her body was responding to his stare.
‘I’ve never been to a market in my life.’
‘Well, you don’t know what you’re missing. One of my friends used to work at a market on the weekends, before she went to college to do a course in jewellery-making. I know a lot about them. Quite a bit of what gets sold is imported rubbish, but some of it’s really, really good. Handmade. In fact, I thought at one point that I could go into that line of business…’ Her cheeks were bright with enthusiasm.
‘Never mind. You’re here now,’ Matt said briskly. ‘Tell me what your plans are for the rest of the week. Have you had a chance to discuss the business of schoolwork with her?’
‘Not yet…it’s only been one day! I did glance at those books you mentioned, though…when we got back to the apartment and Samantha was having a bath.’
‘And?’
Tess opened her mouth to let him know in advance that she had never been that good at the sciences, and then thought better of it. ‘And I suppose I can handle some of it.’
‘That’s the spirit! Now all we have to do is devise a curriculum.’
‘She’s nervous about going to school here,’ Tess blurted out. ‘Has she told you that?’
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I hope you reassured her that there is nothing to worry about.’ He papered over the fact that he and Samantha had barely had any meaningful conversations since she had arrived in Manhattan.
‘It’s your job to reassure her of that.’ Tess looked at him squarely in the eyes. Confrontation had always been something she had studiously avoided. She could remember many an argument between her sisters, both intent on emerging the winner, and had long ago reached the conclusion that nothing was worth the raised voices and the heated exchanges—except she wasn’t going to duck under the radar now and assume responsibility for something she knew wasn’t hers.
‘I’ve been thinking…’ she ventured tentatively.
‘Should I be alarmed?’
‘You have all these rules that I’m supposed to follow…’
Matt threw back his head and laughed, and then, when he had sobered up, directed a grim look at her. ‘That’s what normally happens when you do a job for someone else. I’ve taken a big risk on you, and you’re being richly rewarded, so don’t imagine for a second that you can start trying to negotiate on some of the things you’re supposed to do.’
‘I’m not trying to negotiate anything!’ Tess said heatedly. ‘I just think that if there are all these rules for me, then there should be some rules for you.’
Matt looked at her incredulously, and then he burst out laughing again. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘What you seem to consider rules most people would consider their job description. Is that how you approached all those jobs you had? With the attitude that you weren’t prepared to work for anyone unless they were prepared to bend their rules to accommodate you?’
‘Of course not.’ When things had become too tedious she had simply given up, she thought uncomfortably. ‘And I’m not trying to bend any rules.’ What was it about this man that fired her up and made her argumentative?
‘Okay. Spit it out, then.’
‘I made a little list.’ She had scribbled it in the car on the way over. Several times she had ever asked Stanton, the driver, what he remembered about his childhood—what stood out in his head about the things he had done with his parents that he had really enjoyed.
Matt took the list and read it through. Then he read it again, his expression of disbelief growing by the minute.
“‘Monday night,’” he read aloud. ‘“Monopoly or Scrabble or some sort of board game as agreed upon. Tuesday night, cookery night.”’ He looked at her flushed, defiant face. ‘“Cookery night”? What the hell is cookery night?’
‘Cookery night is an evening when you and Samantha prepare something together. It could be anything. A cake, perhaps, or some cookies. Or you could be even more adventurous and go for something hot. A casserole.’
‘Cakes? Cookies? Casseroles?’ His voice implied that she had asked him to fly to the moon and back. ‘Isn’t that your job?’ he asked with heavy sarcasm. ‘Correction. It shouldn’t be a question. It’s a statement of fact. Everything on this list consists of things you should be doing. In case you’d forgotten, my work keeps me out of the house for long periods of time.’
‘I understand that you’re a workaholic—’
‘I’m not a workaholic.’ He considered crumpling the list and chucking it into the bin, but was tempted to carry on reading. ‘I run a company. Various companies. Believe it or not, it all takes time.’
‘DVD night’ was scheduled for Wednesday. He couldn’t remember the last time he had watched a DVD. Who had time to sit in front of the television for hours on end? How productive was that?
‘You have to make time for Samantha,’ Tess told him stubbornly. ‘I don’t think you even know how scared she is of joining a new school. All her friends were at her school in Connecticut. She’s terrified of making new ones!’
‘Understandable, but kids adapt easily. It’s a known fact.’
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Tess retorted, digging her heels in and refusing to budge. ‘I can remember how scary it was going to secondary school! And I knew people who would be going with me. Just the thought of new teachers and new schoolbooks…’
‘You didn’t see it as a challenge you could rise to? No, maybe not, if you refused to settle down and do the work. But this isn’t about you, and you’re not Samantha. Granted, things haven’t been easy for her, but being surrounded by new kids her own age will be a good thing. I’m not,’ he said heavily, ‘asking her to forget all the people she knew in Connecticut.’
‘Maybe it feels that way to her.’ Tess despaired of getting through to him. Where she had always seen the world in shades of grey, he seemed to see it entirely in black and white. Which, she wondered, was worse? The shades of grey that had prevented her from ever focusing on any one thing, or the black and white that seemed to prevent him from letting go of the reins for a second?
‘What,’ he asked, looking down at the list, ‘is a “talking evening…”?’
‘Ah. That one. I was going to slot in a games night.’
‘I thought we had a Games night—where we play “Monopoly or Scrabble or some sort of other board game as agreed upon…”’
‘I mean perhaps, take her to a rugby game. Maybe not rugby. Not in America, anyway. A soccer game. Or basketball. Or baseball. But then I really can’t see you getting into any of that stuff.’
‘Ah, those games. For guys who aren’t workaholics…’
‘You’re not taking any of this seriously, are you?’
Matt looked at her speculatively. Was he taking any of it seriously? None of the previous nannies had presented him with lists before. He didn’t think that any of them would have had the nerve. In fact he couldn’t think, offhand, of anyone working for him who would have had the nerve to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do.
On the other hand, none of the other nannies had had the success rate that she had—even after one day.
‘Okay—here’s the deal.’ He sat back and folded his hands behind his head, the very picture of the dominant male. ‘I’ll consider some of your suggestions, but you’ll have to be present.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Baking cookies and cakes. What do I know about that? My housekeeper looks after that side of things, or else I ensure food of the highest standard is delivered.’
‘You just have to follow a recipe,’ Tess pointed out. Did he even possess a recipe book? She hadn’t seen any in the kitchen. Maybe he had a stash of them in his library—although she doubted that.
Matt stood up abruptly and walked towards the window, looking down at the matchstick figures scurrying along the pavements and the small yellow taxis like a toddler’s play-cars.
‘Have you shown this list to my daughter?’ he asked, turning around to look at her.
In return she frowned at him. ‘Not yet. I did it in the car on the way over. I mean, I would have had it typed out, but I…I didn’t have time.’
‘Then how do you know that she’s going to go along with any of these schemes?’
‘They’re not schemes’
‘Okay. Ideas. Suggestions. Brainwaves. Call them what you want. How do you know that she’s going to be keen to…let’s say…play a board game for two hours?’
‘Oh. Right. I see what you mean.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ Matt said irritably. ‘Kids these days prefer to sit in front of their computers. It’s how they connect with their friends. Samantha has a very advanced computer. It was one of the first things I bought for her when she came here to live with me.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Tess decided. ‘If you need me around, then I’ll do it.’
Need was a word that didn’t feature heavily in his vocabulary—not insofar as it applied to him, at any rate. He opened his mouth to point that out, and then realised that, like it or not, the prospect of trying to coax a positive reaction from his daughter whilst trying to appear relaxed in front of a game of Scrabble was the equivalent of looking up at an insurmountable precipice and trying to work out how to scale it in a pair of flip-flops.
‘It’s hardly a question of need,’ he stated, frowning.
‘Some men find it difficult to take time out for quality family time.’
‘Spare me the psychobabble, Tess.’
He met her eyes and for a split second she felt almost dizzy. She wondered whether it was because she was just so unused to any of this. Standing up for something and refusing to back down. Telling a man like Matt Strickland—who was her sister’s boss, for goodness’ sake—that he should be doing stuff, when it was obvious that no one ever told him what he should be doing. Getting involved enough to go beyond the call of duty for a job she had been reluctant to accept in the first place.
Her mouth went dry and she found that she was sitting on her hands, leaning forward in her chair. Crazy! ‘It’s not psychobabble,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s the truth! What activity would you…would you like to start with?’
‘Ah. A choice?’ Matt looked at the list. ‘You do realise that choosing to participate in these activities will curtail your free time in the evenings?’
‘That’s okay.’
‘I’ll make sure that you’re paid overtime, of course.’
‘I don’t care about the money,’ Tess muttered, looking in fascination at his downbent head as he continued to frown over the list, as though trying to work out which was the most acceptable of the options on the table.
‘But you might,’ he murmured, not looking at her, ‘regret committing to something that’s going to involve time you might otherwise spend seeing New York…going out and having fun. Isn’t that going to be a problem?’
Quite suddenly he raised his eyes to hers, and there it was again—that giddy feeling as though she was free-falling through space.
‘Why should it be a problem?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Because,’ Matt murmured, ‘you’re young, and I’ve gathered that you came here to have fun. Since when has your definition of fun been spending time with your employer and his daughter, playing a game of Scrabble?’
