Equal Opportunities. Penny JordanЧитать онлайн книгу.
was going to on her behalf. ‘But he’ll have to live in.’
There was a small, surprised silence, and then Camilla said briskly, ‘Well, you’ve got a spare room, haven’t you?’ adding firmly, ‘Good heavens, Kate! From what I’ve heard, this man is more likely to be terrified that you’re going to rape him, rather than the other way around…if that is what’s worrying you.’
‘No, of course it isn’t,’ Kate told her testily. ‘It’s just…Well, I’m not used to sharing my home with a man.’
‘No, you’re not, are you?’ Camilla agreed drily, and then reminded her, ‘One day Michael’s going to be a man, Kate, and quite honestly, for his sake…’
‘Yes…yes, all right,’ she agreed, giving in. ‘How old is he, by the way?’
She was acutely conscious of how close she had come to making a fool of herself…of inviting Camilla to ask questions for which she had no answers.
‘I’m not sure. Sue described him as mature. She says she can vouch for his references, by the way. In fact, she wanted to know all there was to know about you…which isn’t a great deal. Apparently this isn’t the first time she’s had complaints from the men on her books about the—er—extra-curricular duties demanded by their female employers. It seems that there’s more than meets the eye to employing a male nanny,’ she added with a grin. ‘Anyway, I’ve managed to convince her that you’re not likely to demand your evil way with him, and so she’s sending him round for an interview. Some time this weekend, but I’m not sure when. I thought I’d come round and alert you. As well as making this young man’s acquaintance…’ She paused to tickle Michael, who grinned back at her. ‘Oh, and I explained to her that you couldn’t afford to provide him with transport, etc., but she said not to worry, he has his own car.’
‘Umm…It seems odd, though, don’t you think?’ Kate commented doubtfully. ‘A man caring for a small child?’
‘Not at all,’ Camilla contradicted robustly. ‘I know quite a few that do. Not professionally, perhaps, but I know a fair number of couples where it’s the wife who has the career and the husband who’s bringing up baby, and very well it works, too. Kate, do stop worrying,’ she instructed kindly. ‘If you don’t like the man when you interview him, then simply send him away and we’ll try and find someone else. All I can tell you is that Sue is very particular about who she has on her books, and according to her this man is one of her best. Mind you, you won’t be able to look upon him as a permanent fixture, I’m afraid. She did also say that he’s studying some kind of advanced computer course. Apparently he’s worked abroad for some years and was made redundant. Now he’s trying to re-train himself for the job market and earn himself a living at the same time. Hence the nannying. Look, I must go. I’ve got to collect the girls from their dancing class at one, and then we’re taking them out for lunch. Oh, how about dinner some time next week?’
‘I’ll give you a ring if I may. After all, unless I get a nanny, I won’t be going anywhere, never mind out to dinner,’ Kate told her drily.
By the time Camilla left, Michael was grizzling for his lunch. Kate took him downstairs with her while she opened the fridge and removed the puréed soup she had already made.
Michael, sitting in his high chair, banged demandingly on the table with his spoon while she heated the soup. Already in four short weeks she had become dangerously attached to him; already she could see how he was changing, growing, and her heart ached for Jen and Alan. They had wanted Michael so much. Loved him so much.
After lunch Michael had a sleep while Kate got changed and did her hair. She had shopping to do, mainly food, but she liked to buy things that were as fresh as possible.
The rain had stopped, but the pavements were wet, and the air damply cold. Pulling on her trench coat, she checked that the safety harness was secure, and then manoeuvred the pushchair down the steps.
In the high street several men looked at her, admiring the slenderness of her ankles and the elegance of her high cheek-boned face. Her dark hair gleamed in the light from the shop windows, her immaculate make-up making several other women wonder how on earth she found the time to look so good, when she had a small child to take care of.
Despite the fact that her clothes were probably not much more expensive than those worn by her fellow shoppers, Kate stood out from the crowd. She shopped with the same brisk efficiency she brought to everything she did, quite prepared to haggle when she considered that what she was being offered was not value for money. She had learned in her early days in London to make her money stretch a long way. Not for her expensive and un-nutritious ready-made meals. She preferred to shop economically and make her own soups and stews, to search out the best bargains in fresh fruit and vegetables; frugal habits which she had maintained even though they were no longer strictly necessary.
It was almost five o’clock before she had finished her shopping. The streets were dark and damp. She paused outside a toy shop already decked out for Christmas. This would be Michael’s first Christmas. She remembered Christmases at the children’s home: busy, noisy affairs with presents bought and donated by various charities; church in the morning; then lunch and then a party at teatime.
Everyone had done their best, but Kate knew she hadn’t been the only child there with a cold miserable place in its heart, mourning the Christmases that had once been.
Jen had once told her that she was lucky, because she at least had once had parents. She reached into the pram and touched Michael’s face. He smiled back at her, and for a moment tears stung her eyes.
A woman of twenty-eight crying in the street—ridiculous. She straightened up firmly, but at the back of her mind lurked the knowledge that she mustn’t fail Jen; she mustn’t prove unworthy of the trust Jen had placed in her.
She had bought one of Michael’s favourite treats for supper—bananas to which she added just the smallest spoonful of natural yoghurt. It was never too early to start teaching a child good eating habits, although she suspected that there would come a time when, like all children, Michael would insist on living for weeks on something like baked beans or fish fingers. Tea over, it was bathtime, a ritual which they both enjoyed, although it was only at weekends that Kate was able to share it with him.
One grim-faced nanny had complained to Kate that she didn’t like little boys who made so much mess, and Kate, who wanted to encourage Michael to have as much enjoyment in life’s simple pleasures as possible, had not been sorry to see her go.
This last one had been different; young and warm-hearted, she had seemed almost ideal. However, as she explained to Kate, her boyfriend did not like her having to work so many evenings, and so she had found another job which paid more and carried far less responsibility.
She was just preparing Michael’s bath when the doorbell rang. Frowning over the unexpected interruption, Kate picked him off the bedroom floor and carried him downstairs with her.
Shielding him from the cold, she opened the front door. The man standing there was unfamiliar to her, and with the light behind him it was hard to pick out individual features. She saw that he was dressed in casual clothes; the streetlight shone faintly on the softness of a metallic grey leather blouson, and she also saw that he was very tall…tall and broad, with a silent, unmoving stance that was rather intimidating.
‘Kate Oakley?’ he asked her in a cool, firmly modulated, accentless voice, the words clipped and economical, as though he was a man who disliked waste, of either time or energy.
‘Er—yes.’ Kate stepped back into the hall automatically, and the man followed her inside, even though she had not invited him to do so.
‘Let me introduce myself,’ he began, and Kate’s slight frown lifted as she realised who he must be.
‘Oh, you’re from the agency,’ she interrupted. ‘They did warn me that you would call round some time this weekend. Please come in…I’m just about to give Michael his bath. Would you like to come upstairs? We can talk up there. I don’t like to