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a small and very hard-used sitting room. Two elderly cream Labradors were in possession of the sofa and from the quantity of pale hair clinging to the fabric, considered it their personal property.

      ‘Relax, boys,’ she said, in response to anxious wags from two tails. Then, returning to her theme, ‘Jacqui,’ she continued, since Vickie had clearly cottoned on to the fact that she was seriously irritated and had decided to let her get it all off her chest in one go without interruption, ‘who will be invoicing you for a new exhaust.’

      ‘A new exhaust!’

      She’d been sure that one would get a reaction.

      ‘Jacqui, who’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with a precocious six-year-old who not only dresses like a princess, but also thinks she is one…’

      At which point she stopped of her own volition as she belatedly realised what was going on.

      What a simpleton!

      Vickie had said that the new nanny she’d picked for Ms Selina Talbot was on holiday prior to taking up her appointment. Clearly Jacqui was the nanny she’d picked; she just hadn’t told her yet, hoping that she could snare her with her wiles…

      What a fool! She’d even remarked on the coincidence and still hadn’t twigged. ‘Take her to her grandmother’s house…’ That was all she’d been asked to do. Not ‘take her to her grandmother’. There never had been a grandmother, not in this hemisphere anyway.

      And when—shock, horror—it turned out that there was no sweet and cuddly old lady standing by to offer hearth and home, only a deeply grouchy male who wouldn’t let them past the front door, Vickie was counting on Jacqui’s nurturing back-up system to kick in and take over. Knew she’d abandon her holiday to look after the child until her mother returned. After all, what else could she possibly do?

      ‘Jacqui? Are you still there.’

      ‘Oh, yes, I’m still here, but not for much longer. I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake, but you’ve finally been rumbled, Vickie Campbell, and I’m telling you, it won’t work.’

      ‘What are you talking about?’

      She sounded so innocent! As if she really hadn’t a clue…

      ‘Your devious little plan to get me back on your books, earning you money, darling, that’s what! I won’t do it any more, Vickie. I told you. I can’t—’

      ‘Jacqui, you seem distraught. Have you had an accident? Is Maisie all right?’

      ‘Maisie? Excuse me? You’re worried about Maisie?’

      Actually, good point. Where was Maisie? She opened another door. This time it was a small, untidy office. A small, untidy, unoccupied office. She wasn’t sure which of a number of feelings claimed priority: gratitude that she had so far avoided the resident ogre, irritation with Maisie for doing a disappearing act or just plain annoyance at herself for being so gullible.

      ‘I’m worried about both of you,’ Vickie said, reclaiming her attention and settling the matter. This was all her fault.

      ‘Me too, but mostly I’m worried about missing my flight,’ she said. ‘It was a cheap last-minute deal and I won’t get a refund from the airline. I’m giving you due warning that I’ll be looking to you to make good my losses.’ Then, syrup-sweet, ‘I do hope Ms Selina Talbot will understand why a simple two-hour job has cost her so much.’ Finally, giving up the search and resorting to lung power, she called, ‘Maisie! Where are you?’

      ‘Jacqui? Have you lost her?’ Vickie was beginning to sound genuinely worried, which was marginally cheering.

      ‘Only temporarily. I’ll have her safe and sound by the time you arrive to pick her up.’

      ‘Me? I can’t pick her up, I’ve got a meeting with the bank…’ Then, when Jacqui didn’t fill the silence with reassurance, ‘Where are you, exactly?’

      ‘Exactly? I’m in the inner hallway at High Tops, Maisie is somewhere at High Tops, too, but exactly where I don’t know. The one person who isn’t at High Tops is Maisie’s grandmother.’

      ‘I don’t understand. Where is she?’

      ‘In New Zealand.’

      ‘What’s she doing in New Zealand, for heaven’s sake?’

      ‘At a guess I’d say she’s having a holiday…’

      ‘OK, OK, I’m sorry—’

      ‘Don’t be sorry. Be here. It’ll take you an hour and a half and if you leave now there’s a chance I’ll make my flight and if that happens I might even forgive you. Eventually.’

      ‘Jacqui, be reasonable. I can’t leave right now—’

      ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to. The clock’s ticking. You’ve just wasted a minute—’

      ‘Give me ten minutes! I’ll try and get hold of Selina, find out what’s going on.’

      ‘Nice try, but I’ve got you sussed and I’m telling you now, there is nothing you could say, nothing you could offer that would induce me to accept a post as Maisie Talbot’s nanny.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘The ogre was a nice touch, by the way. Where did you find him? No, don’t tell me. He was left over from the local Christmas production of Jack and the Beanstalk. Typecasting. With that scowl he wouldn’t even need make-up.’

      ‘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

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