A Nanny for Christmas by Sara Craven

Author:Sara Craven
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-03-10T16:00:00+00:00

Tara was in buoyant mood when Phoebe collected her.

'I like Mrs Blake,' she announced, dancing to the car where her father waited silently, his face unreadable. 'I wish she was my teacher for everything.'

'Mrs Franks seems very nice,' Phoebe volunteered mendaciously, 'She has pets,' said Tara. 'And I'm not one.' She climbed into the rear seat. 'Mrs Blake is teaching me a surprise, for Christmas,' she went on gleefully.

'What kind of surprise?' Dominic looked at her, his expression softening.

'If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret any more,' Tara said severely. 'You'll have to wait and see.'

She chattered happily all the way home. As soon as they arrived, Phoebe whisked her up to the nursery to do the small amount of homework the school had set. The child wasn't exactly being stretched by the tasks, Phoebe thought, watching how swiftly and almost offhandedly Tara completed them.

'May I watch television for a bit?' the little girl appealed when she'd finished.

'I don't see why not,' Phoebe conceded, although it occurred to her that she hadn't yet noticed a television set. 'Where do you do that?'

'In the other sitting room—the little one. The piano's there too, so I can do my practising as well,' Tara informed her virtuously.

'Better and better,' Phoebe said drily.

The small sitting room was at the back of the house, and was a homelier version of the drawing room, with faded chintzes and a big sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace, which housed a living-flame gas fire.

With Tara settled raptly in front of a children's programme, Phoebe took the opportunity to look through a glass-fronted bookcase. It contained mostly fiction, some of it dating back to the beginning of the century, but there was a wide selection of modern authors too, with the unashamedly popular rubbing shoulders with the literary.

Phoebe, who envisaged spending most of her time in the safety of her room, thought gloatingly that this book collection could become her personal gold mine.

There was a complete set of Georgette Heyer novels, most of which she'd already read, but it would be good to renew her acquaintance with such an elegant and accomplished writer. Inside the front cover of Friday's Child a bookplate announced that this book was the property of Phyllida Ashton.

'My mother,' Dominic said from behind her.

Phoebe started so violently the book nearly flew out of her hands. She said breathlessly, 'I was going to ask if I might borrow it—not just take it.'

His brows drew together. 'Phoebe, for the time being, this is your home. You don't have to ask permission for every little thing.' He turned to his daughter, his frown deepening. 'What are you watching, Tara?'

'Only Down Under,' Tara returned, mentioning a popular soap opera a mite warily.

The cool grey eyes rested on Phoebe. 'Isn't that slightly out of her age group?'

'Everyone in my class watches it,' Tara pouted. 'When they talk about it, I don't know what they mean.'

'All the same I'd prefer you watch something more edifying than Australian soap opera.

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