Assignment: Single Father. Caroline AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
this at the moment. I don’t suppose there’s any way I could talk you into taking it on immediately, even just temporarily, at least the domestic side? I’m more than happy with your nursing skills, but this week I’m stuck completely on the domestic front unless I can get some help, and I can’t expect you to take us on without trying it. Would you consider a week’s trial? Give the kids a chance, give me a chance? And if you hate it, maybe I can find someone else…’
He finally ground to a halt, the flicker of hope fading in his eyes as she watched. He thought she was going to refuse, she realised. Well, she wasn’t.
‘That sounds fine,’ she said, and his eyes fell for a moment. When he raised them to her face the hope was back, hope and relief in equal proportions.
‘Thank you,’ he said fervently, then he dragged in a deep breath and pulled himself together visibly.
‘Right, now that’s sorted, how about that cup of tea? And if you’re really unlucky, I might even cook you lunch.’
They went back to the surgery after lunch, Xavier to his antenatal clinic, Fran to acquaint herself further with Angie and familiarise herself with the room she would be working in from the following morning. At three-thirty promptly, Xavier came into the office where she was talking to Angie about her routine.
‘I’m going to collect the children from school. Do you want to come? It would help you to see it at first hand, before you have to do it yourself.’
‘Good idea,’ she agreed, and wondered why she hadn’t thought of it. Lack of sleep, she decided, or just plain shell-shock.
She went with him out to the car park, noticing for the first time that his people carrier had a rear seat missing, presumably where Chrissie would go in her wheelchair. The enormity of what she was taking on suddenly sank in, and she felt a little flutter of doubt about her ability to do this part of the job.
She must be crazy, she thought. She didn’t know the first thing about looking after children of that age—except, of course, that she’d been thirteen once and had had a younger brother, so she knew all about the dynamics of that! But—Chrissie?
Still, she had no choice. It was a job, it was a home, albeit perhaps only for a week, and with a steadying breath she put the doubts aside.
If Xavier was prepared to take her on, she’d give it a go, at least for this trial period. She knew enough about children to cope for that long, and, besides, Chrissie had problems. Maybe she could help get to the root of them. She’d certainly give it her best shot, although if the girl’s own father had failed, it seemed unlikely that a total stranger could do better.
Except, of course, that it was often easier for an outsider to see the situation clearly.
‘I phoned the hospital, by the way,’ he was saying as he drove. ‘Bernard Donaldson’s made it through surgery—he had a perforated duodenal ulcer.’
Fran dragged her mind back to the earlier events of the day and nodded. ‘Figures. I’m glad he’s OK. They seemed a sweet couple.’
‘They are—truly devoted. Hopefully he’ll be all right now. OK, we’re at the school. You need to go through this set of gates, not the ones further down, so you can get right up to the school to collect them. Otherwise you can’t get close enough.’
Xavier went slowly along the drive and over the speed ramps, parked the car, and then they waited. Children were pouring out of the school, running and pushing and laughing, heading in their droves for the bus pull-in, others going down the drive to their parents, and then the crowd cleared like mist and she saw them.
A slender girl in a wheelchair, her hair hanging long and blonde around her shoulders, her trousers dangling on skinny legs, she looked tired and defeated.
Behind her was a boy the spitting image of Xavier, with a big smile and untidy hair. His shirt was un-tucked on one side, his tie was hanging askew, his face was grubby, but he looked bright and cheerful and disgustingly healthy in contrast to his frail older sister.
He was pushing the wheelchair towards them, and Xavier went over to them and hugged him, bending to kiss his daughter’s cheek. She didn’t respond, just sat there expressionless, and Fran felt the flicker of doubt return in force.
Give her time, she thought, but the girl was looking straight through her as she stood there beside the car, waiting.
‘Children, this is Miss Williams,’ he said. ‘She’s going to stay with us for a while and help me look after you.’
‘Can you cook?’ Nick asked her directly, and she laughed.
‘Most things. It depends what you want.’
‘Pizza—and Chrissie likes spag. bol.’
Fran nodded thoughtfully, transferring her gaze to the unresponsive girl. ‘I think I can manage that.’
Chrissie looked away dismissively, and Fran thought that even without words she managed to communicate her feelings—and just now, her feelings were less than friendly.
‘She’s vegetarian, though,’ Nick was adding. ‘So no meat, worse luck. She doesn’t do meat.’
‘I’m sure Miss Williams knows what a vegetarian is, Nick,’ Xavier put in drily, and opened the side door of the car. ‘Fran, this board slides out of the floor like this, and locks, and then you can push the chair up and it clips into place.’
He pulled and clicked and then wheeled Chrissie effortlessly into the car, then with a clunk her chair was secure and he was sliding the board home and closing the door.
Fran decided to practise with the empty wheelchair before she had to do it for real. She didn’t want to mess up and dump Chrissie on the drive, and she was sure Xavier would be less than thrilled, too, not to mention Chrissie herself!
Nick was piling all their bags into the back and climbing into the seat behind Xavier, chattering nineteen to the dozen about what he’d done and the goal he’d scored in football and that he needed new football boots and could he go on the field trip in February to France, and Harry had been kicked in the chin and had to go to hospital after football because his jaw might be broken.
Finally he ground to a halt, and Xavier shot Fran a wry glance. Still not put off? it seemed to say, but in truth she thought Nick was delightful, just a normal, healthy boy bursting with energy.
Chrissie, on the other hand, was almost unnerving with her silent watchfulness, and Fran wondered how on earth she would communicate with her. The hand-held computer would surely have its limitations, but she’d just watch Xavier and see how he did it, and then talk to him later after the children were in bed.
She’d already established to herself that Chrissie could convey her feelings. It was her needs that were more of an issue here, and of more concern to Fran. She didn’t need to be liked. She did, however, need to be able to do her job, and she was on a week’s trial. The last thing she wanted was to screw up yet another job.
Xavier couldn’t believe his luck. He’d actually found someone—and not just anyone, but a highly skilled professional who by a freak of fate needed a live-in post, just when he was getting desperate.
He wouldn’t trust Chrissie to an amateur—he couldn’t. There was too much at stake, and a nurse of Fran’s experience would be alert to any slight change in her. Not that it was likely, after all this time, but he still wasn’t sure he really believed there was nothing wrong, and all the time he felt as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But Fran—Fran was a gift from the gods, and he hardly dared believe it. He’d phoned her old boss at the London hospital and had received such a glowing reference that he daren’t tell her about it because she’d be so embarrassed. It seemed a tragic shame that her career in trauma had been cut short, but he wasn’t complaining, not if it meant she was free to work for him.
He went into his study, the dogs in tow, and dropped into the chair behind his desk, swinging