Liz Fielding: The Baby Plan

‘Well, yes. That’s why I’m planning ahead. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the problem of getting the right nanny.’

‘Nanny?’ Beth’s voice rose a notch.

‘Have you any idea how big the demand is? My sister-in-law’s baby isn’t due until the end of January, but Jilly has already started interviewing. It seems to me that it’s an area crying out for the Garland touch.’

Beth grabbed the change of subject with both hands and ran with it. ‘We have more work than we can handle just keeping up with the demand for our secretaries.’ She paused. Amanda said nothing. ‘Domestics, maybe,’ she conceded, doubtfully. ‘We’d need more staff, bigger offices, of course—’

‘The ground-floor offices are becoming vacant shortly. They will be perfect.’

Beth opened her mouth, closed it again, then said, ‘It’s a specialised market, Amanda.’

The intercom buzzed from Reception. ‘The driver wants to know how much longer he’s going to have to wait, Miss Garland. The traffic warden is getting restive.’

‘I’m coming now,’ she said, rising to her feet, gathering her document case and her laptop.

‘Amanda! You can’t just leave …’

‘We’ll talk on Monday. I only mentioned it now because I want you to do a couple of things for me. Walk me down to the street.’ She headed for the door. ‘First, I want you to contact the Department of Employment and find out what, if any, regulations there are relating to the employment of nannies. And find out what you can about training, qualifications, that sort of thing.’

‘And the second thing?’

Amanda pulled open the heavy glass street door. ‘Give my doctor’s office a call and ask her receptionist to make an appointment with the clinic for me.’

Daniel Redford, leaning against the bulk of the Mercedes, checked his watch impatiently and glanced up at the first-floor offices of the Garland Secretarial Agency. So much for the fabulous Garland Girls. They were reputed to be the classiest, best-qualified temps in town, but punctuality clearly wasn’t one of their virtues.

‘You going to be there much longer?’ The traffic warden had already passed him once. Before he could answer, the door to the agency opened and his passenger emerged, all apologies.

‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’ Daniel had a swift impression of gloss. Sleek, dark hair, a gleaming mouth, a pair of silvery grey eyes that included the traffic warden in a sunburst smile that would have won his dilatory passenger forgiveness for anything. ‘I had a few loose ends to tie up.’ Low and husky, her voice stroked against his skin like fur, and as she looked up at him Dan felt as if the ground was shifting dangerously beneath his feet.

She could tie him up any time. Hell, he’d have himself gift-wrapped and delivered …

Then, as Dan moved swiftly to open the car door, still reeling from the stunning effect of so much classy womanhood, he took the knock-out blow of her legs as she stepped up into the rear of the car. Legs clad in sheer black nylon beneath a skirt that did little more than peep from beneath the long line of her dark grey jacket—legs stretched almost to infinity by a pair of very high, very slender heels. The traffic warden saw them too, flashed him a grin that said ‘lucky devil’ before he shrugged and moved on.

Dan cleared his throat. ‘No problem. We’re all over the place ourselves this morning.’

‘Are you?’ Amanda, still enjoying the shocked look on Beth’s face as she’d let the door swing shut, leaned across to put her laptop and document case on the seat. Then she realised that the driver still had the door open. She glanced up into a pair of smoky-blue eyes that for just a moment made her heart miss a beat; smoky-blue eyes that shone out of the kind of sun-weathered face that a man gets when he spends as much of his time as possible out of doors.

And that was before he smiled. It wasn’t exactly a textbook smile. It was a lop-sided, conspiratorial affair, a lift at one corner of his mouth that pulled the deep lines etched down his cheeks into sharp relief. For some reason it made her think of a pirate with a cutlass between his teeth.

‘Yes?’ Her mouth felt as if she’d been chewing blotting paper.

‘You won’t forget your seat belt?’ he prompted, before closing the door.

‘What?’ Then, ‘Oh, yes.’ A deeply caring pirate. She gave herself a firm, mental shake and clicked the seat belt into place. ‘Why?’ she asked as he eased himself into the driving seat and started the powerful engine before glancing over his shoulder at the traffic.

‘Why what?’

‘Why are you all over the place?’ She found such details interesting. It was paying attention to those kind of details that had made her so successful. And she wanted to keep him talking.

‘We’re a man short,’ he explained, as he waited for a gap in the traffic. ‘The driver booked for this job had to rush off to the hospital.’

‘An accident?’

‘I wouldn’t care to comment on that.’ He grinned. ‘His wife is having a baby.’

Baby. The word triggered that gooey feeling that had been with her for weeks. She’d put on that high-powered, organised career woman faćade this morning because it was the only way she knew how to handle it. Beth was the gooey one. The one who fell in love at the drop of a hat, who sighed over babies. She’d thought she was immune.

Then her brother had announced that his new wife was pregnant.

Her mother had been so thrilled at the prospect of finally becoming a grandmother after giving up hope of either of her children doing the decent thing. She’d been delighted, too. After brushing aside that infinitesimal moment of chilling emptiness, of something that might just have been envy.

Brushed it aside, but not away. It had refused to leave her, which was probably why she had found herself in the baby department of a nearby department store a few days later, looking for a suitable gift for her first niece or nephew. Something pretty to decorate the nursery being prepared for the new baby.

She had only intended to spend ten minutes picking out some fluffy toy. Then she’d seen this tiny pair of velvet baby boots. White. Soft as down. With the littlest turn-back cuff.

A baby. ‘Her first?’ Amanda asked, on an odd little catch of breath, in a voice she scarcely recognised as her own.

‘Her fourth.’

Four babies. Amanda immediately found herself assailed by the image of four little bundles wrapped in white with blue ribbons, each one with smoky-blue eyes and a lop-sided smile. That was how it had been for weeks. Just the word was enough to trigger all kinds of fantasies.

‘She’s done it three times and she still needs her husband to hold her hand? How pathetic,’ she said, her tongue firmly in her cheek. How romantic, the unexpectedly soft centre whispered.

Daniel turned his head a little further and saw that his lovely passenger was smiling. Encouraged, he said, ‘To be honest, I think it’s more a case of her holding his.’ An hour ago Dan had been cursing the woman for going into labour early when they were so busy, forcing him to cancel a meeting and take out one of the cars himself. Quite suddenly he was prepared to take the philosophical view. ‘Men are such wimps.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Not that she believed he was a wimp. Not for a minute. Not even the crisply efficient Miss Garland thought that. And her soft centre was absolutely certain that he would be a tower of strength, holding her hand, wiping her brow, reminding her when to breathe, when to pant. Stop it, right now! she ordered her hyperactive imagination. Then, as he waited for an opening in the seemingly endless string of traffic, she made a determined effort to pull herself together, concentrate on the matter in hand. ‘How long will it take to get to The Beeches? Can we make it by ten?’