counter in the kitchen and made another attempt to start her car. Once she found it was operable, she was a free agent. Whatever he thought, she’d have no reason to stay.
He sighed, fitting his keys into the ignition, and Rosie gave him a troubled look. ‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’ she asked shrewdly. She hesitated. ‘Is it because you haven’t found a nanny? Did you just say that because you don’t like Mrs Armstrong? ’Cos that’s all right. I don’t like Rupert and Nigel either.’
Rupert and Nigel! Matt raised his eyes heavenward for a moment. Nobody but Gloria Armstrong would have called those two imps of Satan Rupert and Nigel. Rosie was always telling him some story or other about what they’d got up to in the classroom, about how Mrs Sanders was forever sending them to the head teacher for extra discipline.
But grumbling about the Armstrongs wasn’t going to help him now. Choosing his words with care, he said, ‘A young woman did come to see me today. Not from the agency,’ he added quickly, holding up a hand to prevent Rosie from interrupting. ‘She’s a visitor. Her car broke down at the bottom of the road and she came to ask if she could use the phone.’
Rosie’s face dropped. ‘So she’s not a nanny?’
‘No.’ Matt shook his head. ‘But she is going to stay with us, at least until tomorrow. So I want you to be especially nice to her.’
Rosie sniffed. ‘So who is she? Why is she staying with us?’
‘I’ve just explained,’ said Matt patiently. ‘Her car broke down and—she can’t get it fixed until tomorrow.’ May God forgive him the lie. ‘She’s nice. I think you’ll like her.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Sara. Sara Victor. What do you think?’
Rosie shrugged, and Matt thought at first that she was going to reserve her opinion until she’d met their visitor. But he was wrong. His daughter was simply considering her options.
‘Perhaps she’ll want to stay,’ she said at last, with childish optimism. ‘If she likes it here, she might want to take the job.’
Matt made no response to this. He was already regretting having to discuss Sara’s arrival with her. But then, he’d known he’d have to give some explanation to his daughter. Unfortunately Gloria Armstrong had precipitated the event.
It seemed to take for ever to get back to Saviour’s Bay. Now that she knew about Sara, Rosie wasn’t interested in talking about her day at school. She just turned the conversation back to Sara, and he eventually gave up trying to talk about anything else.
She wanted to know Sara’s age, what she looked like, where she came from. If she was on holiday, what was wrong with her car? The questions came thick and fast, and Matt dreaded getting back to Seadrift and finding that Sara had gone. He didn’t know what he’d tell his daughter if that happened. And, however slight the association was, he knew Rosie would be very disappointed, too.
Would he be disappointed?
That was a question he chose not to ask himself. Yet he knew he was curious about Sara as well. From a professional point of view, he assured himself firmly. As a psychological case, she interested him greatly. But that was all it was, he told himself. He had no interest in her as a woman at all. The days when he’d allowed his hormones to govern his actions were long gone. Any relationships he had were short and rarely sweet. Which suited him.
It was something of a relief to find that the hired Ford was still parked where Sara had left it. If it wouldn’t have caused complications that he chose not to get into right now he’d have shifted it inside his own gates. But towing it would require her assistance, and she might just be tempted to try and start it herself.
‘Is that her car?’ asked Rosie, peering over her shoulder as they drove up the private road to the house. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘I’ve already told you. I don’t know,’ said Matt, disliking the untruth almost as much as his own behaviour. ‘Can you sit still? We’re almost there.’
‘Where is she?’
Rosie was still full of questions, and Matt expelled a weary breath. ‘I expect she’s in the sitting room,’ he said shortly, hoping Sara hadn’t been invading the rest of the house. He didn’t think it was likely. She’d seemed quite happy in the spacious sitting room, with its broad windows that overlooked the sweep of the bay.
Rosie had her door open as soon as he stopped the car, jumping down onto the paved forecourt, dragging her canvas bag behind her. Scurrying round the corner of the building, she briefly disappeared from view, but Matt could hear the dogs barking as she reached the back door.
Striding after her, he saw her stop outside the dogs’ compound and open the gate. Then, after bending to fuss over the two animals, she turned to enter the house. ‘Don’t,’ yelled Matt, but it was too late. Rosie had already opened the door, and the retrievers bounded boisterously after her.
By the time he reached the kitchen Rosie and the dogs had disappeared, but he could hear them rampaging into the sitting room, barking again. There was shouting, mostly from Rosie, and laughter, which he was amazed to identify as coming from his visitor, and when he arrived at the sitting room doorway he was confronted by a scene he’d never expected. Sara was down on her knees, fussing over the animals, and Rosie was standing watching her with a look of delighted anticipation on her small face.
It was a long time since he’d seen Rosie so animated with someone other than himself, and he felt a twinge of guilt for neglecting her, for making her a hostage to the life he chose to lead. It hadn’t been so bad when they’d had Hester. She’d compensated for the extended family Rosie didn’t have. But since Hester had retired Rosie had had only his parents to rely on. And, apart from the fact that they lived in Cumbria, they were enjoying their retirement too much for him to inflict a lively seven-year-old on them very often.
But Rosie was evidently enjoying herself now, and he suspected Sara was, too, though she sobered a little and scrambled to her feet when he appeared. He noticed she’d discarded the strappy shoes in favour of going barefoot, and he wondered why he was suddenly struck with the fact of how sexy bare feet could be.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, distracting himself. Collecting his wayward thoughts, he indicated the dogs. ‘I couldn’t stop Rosie from letting them in.’
‘That’s okay.’ Sara brushed her skirt, dispersing a fine cloud of dog hairs into the atmosphere. ‘I had to meet them again sometime.’
‘Sara, don’t you like Hubble and Bubble?’ demanded Rosie indignantly, and Matt gave an exasperated sigh. He could do without this.
‘Not everyone’s as mad about dogs as you are, Rosie,’ he retorted, his tone sharper than it might have been because of his own reactions. He forced himself to look briefly in Sara’s direction before adding, ‘And I don’t recall your being given permission to call our guest by her first name. I think you should apologise.’
Rosie flushed at the reproof, but before Matt could feel any remorse Sara intervened. ‘I don’t mind,’ she said, smiling at the little girl. ‘What was it you called the dogs? Hubble and Bubble?’ And, at Rosie’s nod, ‘Well, I suppose they introduced us, didn’t they?’ She held out her hand towards the child. ‘I’m very pleased to meet—all of you.’
Rosie
