Jessica Hart: Kissing Santa

Close to, he was much more formidable than he had seemed at first sight. That photograph had been definitely misleading, Amanda decided. Who would have thought that that cool, uncompromising mouth could relax into such a smile?

Not that there was any sign of a smile now. There was a flintiness about him, a reserve edged with irritability that made him appear dauntingly stern, and although the artificial light made it impossible to tell what colour his eyes were it showed enough to tell her that they held an uncomfortably acute expression. The photograph hadn’t warned her about that either, thought Amanda, obscurely resentful. She felt she would have been better prepared if she had known just how they could look through you.

‘All the agency told me was that you were an experienced nanny,’ Blair was saying, still frowning suspiciously. ‘They assured me that you were a nice, quiet girl.’ The penetrating gaze swept from her face to her shoes and then back again. ‘You don’t look very quiet to me.’ His tone implied that he didn’t think she looked very nice either. ‘You’ll forgive me if I seem a little taken aback,’ he went on in an arid voice. ‘I thought I was getting a sensible nanny called Susan and instead I get a glamorous executive type called Amanda!’

Amanda would normally have been delighted to be described as a glamorous executive, but the caustic note in Blair’s voice made it clear that it wasn’t intended as a compliment, and anyway, she was still bridling at the idea of not being considered nice.

‘I’m sorry if you don’t approve of the way I look,’ she said in a voice that was intended to sound quelling but which came out more peevish than anything. ‘But frankly, I don’t see what difference it makes what I look like or what I call myself. I would have thought that the important thing as far as you were concerned was whether I was as sensible as the agency promised.’

‘Quite,’ said Blair acidly. ‘And in my book a sensible girl wouldn’t come to the Highlands in shoes like that in the middle of winter, nor would she be travelling first class. If you’re expecting me to reimburse your travel expenses, you can think again!’

Amanda had opened her mouth to ask whether he always acted like Scrooge or whether it was just in honour of the season when it occurred to her that getting into an argument with her new employer within the first two minutes of meeting him was probably not the best way of ensuring that she got into Dundinnie. She had staked her career on doing just that, so she mustn’t blow it now.

‘I don’t usually travel first class,’ she assured him instead in a conciliatory voice. That at least had the advantage of being true! ‘I bought a standard ticket, but by an extraordinary coincidence I met my godfather in the buffet car,’ she went on, abandoning truth in favour of improvisation. ‘We hadn’t seen each other for ages, so he insisted that I go and sit with him in first class, and he paid the difference...a sort of Christmas present.’

‘Very generous godfather,’ commented Blair dourly. Amanda beamed at him, pleased with her story. ‘Oh, he is.’

‘Quite a coincidence meeting him on the same train!’

‘Wasn’t it?’ she agreed, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘He got off in Glasgow,’ she added, sensing disbelief, and anxious to make sure that he didn’t ask her to produce a godfather to substantiate her story.

‘Hmm.’ Blair favoured her with a hard stare, but to Amanda’s relief he didn’t pursue the matter, merely grunting sceptically as he picked up her case. ‘Well, since you’re here at last, Susan, Amanda or whatever you want to call yourself, we may as well go. I’ve been hanging around here quite long enough.’

Anyone would think that it was her fault that the train had been late, Amanda grumbled to herself, but she swallowed her resentment. She had got over the first hurdle, but she would have to be careful. For a nasty moment there she had wondered if Blair had been going to say that he hadn’t believed a word of her story, and there would have been nothing to stop him simply leaving her to catch the first train back to London, making an ignominious end to her glorious new career.

Eyeing the straight back ahead of her, Amanda reminded herself just what was at stake. This was her chance to break out of the secretarial rank at last. Norris Jeffries had more or less guaranteed a promotion if she got this right, and if she was going to do that she should be thinking about chatting Blair up, not arguing with him.

She hurried to catch up. ‘I’ve just been reading your book,’ she said brightly, but the look Blair cast down at her was not exactly encouraging.

‘Which one?’

Amanda’s mind went hideously blank as she tried to remember the title. ‘It was about the expedition you led to the desert...and you made a documentary when you were there,’ she added helpfully, although she had done little more than read the blurb on the cover and flick through the photographs. Travel books had never appealed to her; fiction, the more implausible the better, was much more her style.

‘That cuts the possibilities down to about four,’ said Blair drily. ‘You don’t remember the name of the desert, I suppose?’

‘No,’ Amanda had to admit. ‘But I thought it was terribly good,’ she made haste to console him. ‘Honestly, it was great’

‘I’m glad it made such an impression on you.’ There was no mistaking the acerbic note in his voice this time and Amanda bit her lip, feeling rather silly. Anyone else would have been glad of a compliment, she thought, instead of making it clear that they didn’t believe that she had read a word of his book! She had been going to pretend that she had seen some of his television programmes too, but she wouldn’t bother now!

Outside the station it was dark and cold and gusts of rain splattered against her face. Unprepared for the sharp drop in temperature, Amanda screwed up her face and wrapped her arms around herself to try and stop the shivering. It had been unseasonably mild in London, and she had packed her coat so that she wouldn’t have to carry it. Now she wished she hadn’t. Clearly, the Scottish weather hadn’t forgotten that there were only a couple of weeks to go until Christmas.

Blair was unlocking what looked like a Range Rover, parked against a wall in the darkness. The back was stacked with boxes, carrier bags and odd assorted pieces of machinery and there was only just enough room to wedge Amanda’s suitcase behind her seat. ‘It looks as if you’ve been shopping,’ she said brightly as Blair leant across to unlock her door and she scrambled gratefully into the shelter of the passenger seat. ‘Don’t tell me they’re all Christmas presents!’

‘Hardly.’ It was obvious that Blair didn’t think much of her effort at making conversation and had already written her down as completely inane. He slotted the key into the ignition and coaxed the engine into spluttering life. ‘I’ve merely been taking the opportunity to stock up since I was coming down to town. Dundinnie isn’t exactly handy for the shops.’

‘So I hear,’ said Amanda a little glumly. She loved shops, but Norris had raved about the castle’s isolated position. ‘The agency warned me,’ she explained quickly, feeling Blair glance at her, and then, to divert him, said, ‘Is the car all right? It’s making an awfully funny noise.’ Sue had told her that Blair McAllister was acclaimed as much for his travel documentaries as for his travel books and daring expeditions, and Amanda would have thought that if he was as successful as he was reputed to be then he could afford a car that sounded healthier than this one. Perhaps Norris was closer to the mark in suspecting that Blair had problems trying to mamtain a medieval Scottish castle at the same time as financing his travels.