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with a smile. ‘But I won’t go down to the beach. I’m not that stupid.’

      ‘Well, actually, you could now,’ said the older woman thoughtfully. ‘The tide’s turned.’

      Sara hoped so; she really did. But she wasn’t thinking about the water that had trapped her earlier.

      She accompanied Mrs Webb into the kitchen, helping her to load the lunch dishes into the dishwasher before going out into the garden. The two retrievers in their compound, sensing an outing, immediately set up a noisy greeting which completely masked the arrival of the young woman who suddenly appeared around the corner of the house.

      Sara didn’t know who was the most shocked: herself, because of her fear of being recognised, or the other woman, who clearly wasn’t pleased to find her there. Sara didn’t know how she knew the stranger didn’t approve of her presence. She just sensed it. So who was she?

      Mrs Webb supplied the answer. Following Sara out of the house, she saw the newcomer almost as soon as Sara did herself, and her lips parted in a pleasant smile.

      ‘Mrs Proctor,’ she said. ‘What a surprise!’

      The young woman came towards them. In a cream silk shirt tied stylishly at her waist and pleated linen trousers in a subtle shade of taupe she made Sara instantly aware of the limitations of her own attire. Mrs Proctor’s hair was dark, a smooth silken cap that tucked confidingly beneath a most attractive chin. Sara guessed, too, that the hazel eyes set in a flawlessly oval face would miss little.

      But for now the woman was obliged to acknowledge the housekeeper’s greeting. Sara thought it was lucky that she hadn’t let the dogs out. Mrs Proctor didn’t look the type to appreciate having their paws on her clothes, and she ignored them as she produced an answering smile. ‘Hello, Mrs Webb,’ she said politely. ‘Isn’t it a perfect afternoon?’

      And it was, thought Sara, glancing up at the clear blue sky above their heads. She just hoped the newcomer wasn’t going to spoil it.

      The realisation that she had no right to think things like that brought her up short. For heaven’s sake, she chided herself, she probably had less right to be here than anyone else. In fact, scrub ‘probably’. She had no right to be here at all.

      ‘Is Matt working?’

      Mrs Proctor’s voice matched the rest of her: cool and cultivated, yet with an underlying note of arrogance. Sara had the impression she didn’t care much for Mrs Webb either. But she was obliged to be civil.

      ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ Mrs Webb had brought the dogs’ slip collars out with her, and now she handed them over to Sara. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

      In a pig’s eye, thought Sara drily, guessing that the visitor would want nothing from the housekeeper. But it wasn’t anything to do with her, and, dipping her head, she went to unbolt the compound gate.

      ‘You’re not going to let them out, are you?’ Before Sara could open the gate, the woman stopped her. ‘I mean—’ She glanced down at her immaculate appearance. ‘I really wish you wouldn’t.’

      Sara looked at Mrs Webb, and the older woman gestured resignedly towards the house. ‘Perhaps you’d better come in then, Mrs Proctor,’ she said, without enthusiasm. ‘Maybe you’d like a cup of coffee before you leave.’

      There was definite annoyance in the young woman’s expression now, but she controlled it. ‘That might be very nice,’ she agreed, but her gaze had returned to linger curiously on Sara. ‘I didn’t realise Matt employed someone to exercise the dogs for him.’ She wet her already glossy lips. ‘Are you a local, Miss—Miss—?’

      ‘She’s from the agency.’

      Matt’s interjection caught them all unawares. Sara had assumed he was still closeted in his study and she was disturbed at how eagerly her eyes turned to him.

      He was still wearing the black tee shirt and jeans he’d been wearing when he’d come into her bedroom, and, although she hadn’t realised it at the time, his appearance had registered with her. The dark colour accentuated his raw masculinity, drew her unwilling attention to the impressive width of his chest, to the powerful muscles in his thighs. Looking at him, she could hardly believe how gentle he had been with her, how sensual his lips had felt against her skin…

      But then what he’d said registered, too, and she dipped her head again, unable to meet his eyes. Dear God, was he offering her the job as Rosie’s nanny? And, if so, what did she intend to do?

      ‘I told you I was still looking for a nanny, didn’t I, Emma?’ Matt continued, addressing his remarks to the visitor. ‘Meet Miss Sara Victor. We’re giving each other a week’s trial to see how it goes.’

       Emma!

      As Sara realised that this must be the woman who’d phoned Matt the day before, Emma Proctor looked decidedly put out. ‘I thought you said that you hadn’t seen any suitable applicants,’ she exclaimed, giving Sara a disparaging look. ‘This was rather sudden, wasn’t it?’

      ‘Isn’t that always the way?’ remarked Matt with amazing sanguinity. ‘Sara just arrived yesterday.’

      ‘She’s very good with Rosie,’ put in Mrs Webb, not to be outdone, and Sara wished they’d stop talking about her as if she wasn’t there. Though she had no wish to draw attention to herself, she reminded herself firmly. And she could hardly object if Mrs Webb was sticking up for her.

      ‘That’s true,’ Matt added now, but Sara noticed he raked a restless hand through his hair as he spoke. Perhaps he wasn’t as relaxed about this as he appeared, she fretted anxiously. And was it fair to expect him to cover for her this way?

      Meanwhile Emma Proctor was doing her best to hide her resentment and, ignoring Sara completely, she remarked, ‘Mrs Webb told me you were working.’ She treated the housekeeper to the kind of look she’d given Sara earlier. ‘I was hoping you’d have time for a chat. I’ve been meaning to ask you about the books you said you’d sign for Darren’s school fête.’

      Matt’s smile looked a little forced now. ‘Well, I am working, Em—’

      ‘But you’re not working right now, are you?’ she pointed out smoothly, with another impatient glance at Sara and Mrs Webb. ‘It will only take a minute. And I have driven over specially.’

      Matt took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ he said, apparently accepting defeat. ‘You’d better come in.’

      Mrs Webb pulled a wry face at Sara as Emma went triumphantly up the steps and into the bootroom, and Sara felt an unexpected sense of camaraderie with the older woman. But when she started towards the dogs again Matt caught her arm.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Miss Victor asked if she could take the dogs for a walk,’ said Mrs Webb, before Sara could respond. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it?’

      ‘No, it’s not all right,’ he retorted, and Sara, who had been momentarily struck dumb by the possessiveness of his strong fingers, shook herself free.

      ‘Why not?’ she demanded, aware that Emma Proctor had paused to listen to their exchange. Her eyes challenged his. ‘I’ve got nothing to do until Rosie comes home.’

      ‘Because you’re not familiar with the area,’ he said tersely, clearly aware of his audience. ‘You can come with Rosie and me when we take them out later.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘I doubt if—Miss Victor, is it?—is likely to lose her bearings around here,’ observed Emma Proctor, once again reminding him of her presence. ‘This is the only house along this stretch of the coast.’

      ‘Even so—’

      Matt didn’t say anything more, but his expression was compelling and Sara knew she couldn’t go against him. He was sticking his neck out by allowing

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