But she was here now, with Bruno, and she damn well wasn’t going to cry. He and Nina had an understanding: they were more of a business partnership than a real couple, and they weren’t even married. Taking another gulp of Pimm’s, she felt her own resolve weakening.
She’d been alone for eighteen months, mourning the loss of her husband and wondering if life would ever be truly enjoyable again. Maybe it was time she had a little fun. Maybe she should take the plunge and find out.
‘So your life is perfect,’ she said, her smile deliberately provocative. ‘You have everything you want.’
‘Pretty much.’ He nodded in agreement, those devastating bedroom eyes roaming lazily over her body. Janey shivered with sudden longing; it had been so long since she’d felt wanted.
Bruno certainly wanted her, but he had no intention of doing anything about it. Not yet, anyway. Tempting though the thought was, he knew that Janey had her preconceived ideas about him and that if he lived up to them this afternoon she would undoubtedly have her regrets by tomorrow. And he didn’t want their relationship prematurely curtailed by a guilt attack. Where Janey Sinclair was concerned, he had decided, a single afternoon of pleasure simply wouldn’t be enough.
Janey, walking home several hours later, didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Her virtue was still intact, which was good in one way, but at the same time her ego had taken a bit of a knock. For Bruno, true to his word, had behaved like a perfect gentleman. Lunch had been followed by coffee on the sunny balcony, easy conversation and absolutely no untoward moves whatsoever. When she had succumbed to the effects of the Pimm’s and closed her eyes, he had brought cushions for her head and left her to doze whilst he dealt with the washing up. When she awoke, it was to the muted strains of Vivaldi emanating from the stereo and the sight of Bruno, sitting opposite her, quietly reading the Sunday Times.
Glancing up, he’d grinned and said, ‘Oh good, you can help me with the crossword. I’m stuck on eight across.’
Chapter 9
Over at Trezale House Maxine found herself on the receiving end of a similar lack of interest, but in Guy Cassidy’s case it was entirely genuine. Spending his working life surrounded by some of the most beautiful women in the world, she decided sourly, had evidently had some kind of immunizing effect. Instead of the admiration to which she was accustomed, she was only too well aware that when he looked at Maxine Vaughan all he saw was the new nanny. And when he had observed the haphazard way in which she tackled the ironing, he’d been even less impressed.
‘I can’t do it if you’re standing there watching me,’ she’d said defensively, seizing Ella’s fiendishly difficult pink cotton dungarees and realizing that she should have checked the pockets before chucking them into the machine earlier. Shreds of blue paper tissue clung to the bib like burrs.
‘Don’t worry,’ he’d replied, backing out of the kitchen in horror. ‘I can’t bear to watch.’
And now here she was, stuck in the rotten kitchen with the beastly ironing, feeling more like bloody Cinderella than ever. Outside, Guy was fooling around with Josh and Ella, threatening them with the garden sprinkler. Ella, shrieking with laughter and making a desperate bid for freedom, tripped and landed in the flowerbed. As she scrambled to her feet once more, Maxine sucked in her breath; the clean white tee-shirt and jeans were clean no more. And no prizes for guessing who would have to deal with them.
Josh, skidding into the kitchen, grabbed a carton of orange juice from the fridge and emptied the contents into a mug, rubbing ineffectually with his muddy toes at the drops spilled on the floor.
‘Why don’t you come out and play?’ he asked kindly when he had gulped down the orange juice in one go. ‘We’re having fun.’
‘Fun?’ Maxine echoed, glancing out of the window at Guy. Her voice heavy with irony, she said, ‘Oh dear, I’d better not then. Your father wouldn’t approve of that.’
Josh looked troubled. ‘Don’t you like it here?’ Softening, she turned and smiled at him. It was hardly his fault, after all, that coming to work for Guy Cassidy wasn’t turning out as she had expected.
‘Of course I do. I’m just not that keen on ironing.’
‘You aren’t going to leave then?’
Maxine, reminding herself that she didn’t really have anywhere else to go, shook her head.
‘No.’
‘Good,’ he said not bothering to hide his relief. ‘I know Dad’s a bit strict sometimes, but we like you.’ Brightening, he added, ‘And he’s going out tonight, so we’ll be able to have fun without him. We can play poker again. For real money, if you like ...’
In the event, the evening was more entertaining than she had anticipated. Guy, preparing to go out, was in a good mood. To Maxine’s utter amazement, he had even asked her if she’d like him to bring back an Indian takeaway.
‘Where’s he gone?’ she said, when the cream Mercedes had disappeared down the drive.
Josh was sitting cross-legged on the floor, practising his shuffling technique. Ella, curled up next to her on the sofa wearing red spotted pyjamas and furtively sucking her thumb, was engrossed in a video re-run of Friday night’s Coronation Street.
‘Dad?’ Josh shrugged. ‘Seeing one of his girlfriends, probably.’
‘One of his girlfriends?’ Maxine’s spirits plummeted. Despite having got off to a not-terribly-promising start, she still entertained fantasies of her own in that department. The ridiculously handsome widower and the pretty nanny, living and working together and eventually falling in love had a certain ring to it. But this was the first she’d heard of any girlfriends. When Guy had remained un-partnered during yesterday’s wedding reception, she’d assumed the field was clear.
Josh, however, was more interested in mastering the art of the shuffle. ‘He’s got lots,’ he said vaguely. ‘I expect it’s Imogen tonight, because she phoned up this morning.’
Pushy, thought Maxine. Aloud, she said, ‘Is she nice?’
Coronation Street had finished. Ella, who was humming along with the theme tune, took her thumb out of her mouth and said, ‘I like Imogen. She’s pretty.’
Hmm. Maxine decided she couldn’t be that fantastic. Guy had said he’d definitely be home by eleven.
‘She’s quite pretty,’ Josh corrected his sister. ‘But Tara’s better.’
‘Tara can sit on her hair,’ agreed Ella happily, confirming Maxine’s suspicion that the girl in question was Tara James, currently one of the most sought-after models in Europe. Hell, she thought gloomily. Talk about
