Jill Mansell - Sheer Mischief

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 competition.

Josh was now painstakingly dealing out the cards. Looking up and glimpsing the expression on Maxine’s face, he said in matter of fact tones, ‘They’re OK ‘I suppose. But none of them is as good as Mummy. She was prettier than anyone.’

‘Really?’ Maxine was intrigued. ‘I’d love to see some photos of her.’

‘We’ve got loads,’ said Josh cheerfully. ‘I’ll bring them downstairs later and show them to you.’

She looked hopeful. ‘We could do it now’

‘We have to play poker first,’ he replied firmly. ‘And I need to buy some new batteries for my Gameboy tomorrow, so we can’t stop until I’ve won at least two pounds.’

It took some deft manipulation on Maxine’s part, but she managed; a respectable forty minutes later, Josh was two pounds and twenty pence up and he hadn’t noticed the sleight of hand which had been necessary in order to achieve it.

‘Well done,’ said Maxine, clearing away the cards with some relief. ‘Go on then, run upstairs and find those albums. I love looking at other people’s photographs.’

Particularly when they belonged to Guy Cassidy. And there were hundreds of them, depicting his life over the past decade. Josh steered her through the albums, pointing with pride to the many pictures of Véronique. ‘That’s Mummy with Ella, just after she was born. This is me with Mummy in Regent’s Park when I was four. And this one’s Mum and Dad at a party in St Tropez. He’s laughing because Sylvester Stallone just asked her for a dance and she said no.’

Véronique Cassidy had certainly been beautiful. Maxine pored over the close-ups which revealed stunning blond good looks in all their glory. Even more dauntingly, she had been a natural beauty, never over-embellishing herself, simply allowing the exquisite basics to speak for themselves.

But what shone through most of all was happiness. Maxine knew instinctively which of the photographs of his wife had been taken by Guy. And those featuring the two of them together were almost unbearably poignant. Their obvious love for each other shone out; it was almost a tangible thing.

Quite uncharacteristically, she felt tears pricking at the back of her eyelids. Something approaching envy curled in her stomach; not for Véronique, but for their shared happiness.