like that who’s also prepared to live in rural Northumbria—’
‘I know, I know.’ He and Emma had had this conversation too many times for Matt to show much patience with it now. ‘Look, thanks for caring, but I’ve really got to work this out for myself.’
‘If you can,’ muttered Emma huffily. ‘Anyway, that wasn’t why I rang. I wondered if you wanted me to collect Rosie from school this afternoon. I’ve got to go to Berwick this morning, but I should be back by—’
‘It’s okay. I’ve told Rosie I’ll pick her up myself this afternoon,’ replied Matt quickly, wondering what his visitor was making of the one-sided conversation. He hesitated. ‘I appreciate the offer, Em. I really do. Some other time, yeah?’
‘I suppose so.’ To his relief, she didn’t pursue it. ‘Well, I’d better go. There’s nothing you want from Berwick, is there? I can always drop it off on my way home.’
‘Not that I can think of,’ said Matt politely. ‘Have a good day, Em. Speak to you soon.’
When he replaced the receiver he noticed that his visitor dropped her gaze, as if afraid of being caught out watching him. Frowning slightly, he turned back to the filter and saw that the jug was now full and steaming on the hotplate. Unhooking a couple of mugs from the rack, he looked at Sara again.
‘Black? White? With sugar or without?’
‘White with no sugar,’ she answered at once. ‘It smells delicious.’
Matt poured some for her and pushed the mug across the counter. Then, taking a carton of milk from the fridge, he passed that over, too. ‘Help yourself.’
‘Thank you.’
Matt drew a breath. ‘You hungry?’
‘Hungry?’ For a moment she looked almost eager. Then those thick blonde lashes shaded her eyes again. ‘No,’ she responded carefully. ‘This is fine.’
Matt considered, and then pulled a large biscuit tin towards him. It was where Mrs Webb stored the muffins she made for his breakfast and, although these had been made the day before, they still smelled fresh and appetising. Heated in the microwave, they often made a meal for someone who often forgot about food altogether, and Matt offered the tin to Sara now.
‘Sure?’ he asked. ‘I usually heat a couple of these for my breakfast. I can recommend them.’
She looked as if she wanted to take one, but after a pregnant pause she shook her head. ‘The coffee is all I need,’ she assured him. And then, perhaps to divert herself, she added, ‘I gather you’re looking for a nursemaid for your daughter?’ Faint colour entered her cheeks. ‘How old is she?’
‘Rosie?’
Matt hesitated, closing the tin again. Then, deciding there was no harm in telling her, he added, ‘Seven.’ He shook his head. ‘I can hardly believe it. Time goes so fast.’
Sara moistened her lips. ‘Is your wife dead?’ she asked, and then lifted her hand in a gesture of remorse. ‘No. Don’t answer that. I had no right to ask.’
‘No, you didn’t.’ But Matt answered her just the same. ‘Carol left me when Rosie was a baby,’ he said flatly. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not a secret.’
‘I see.’ Sara cradled her coffee mug between her palms. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah.’ Matt gave a wry smile. ‘But, believe me, it was the best thing for both of us.’
Sara looked up at him. ‘For you and your wife?’
‘For me and my daughter,’ Matt amended, hooking his heel around the stool opposite and straddling it to face her. He nodded to her cup. ‘Coffee all right?’
She drew back when he was seated, as if his nearness—or his bulk—intimidated her. It crossed his mind that someone must have done a number on her, must be responsible for her lack of confidence, but he didn’t say anything. In his professional experience it was wiser not to probe another person’s psyche. Not unless you had a reason for doing so, at least.
‘So you live here alone?’ she said at last, apparently deciding to pursue her enquiries, and he pulled a wry face.
‘I have Rosie,’ he said, his lips twitching. ‘Hey, are you sure you’re not a journalist? That’s the kind of question they ask.’
Her face fell. ‘No!’ she exclaimed. And then, as if realising he was only teasing her, she continued, ‘I was thinking about the job.’
‘What job?’ For a moment he was nonplussed, and she took advantage of his silence.
‘Your daughter’s nanny,’ she declared quickly. ‘Would you consider me for the post?’
HE LOOKED stunned. That was the only description Sara could find to fit the expression on his lean tanned face. An expression that was definitely at odds with his harsh compelling features. At least a day’s growth of stubble roughened his jawline and there were dark pouches beneath the deep-set hollows of his eyes.
And why shouldn’t he be shocked at her announcement? thought Sara uneasily. It wasn’t every day that a strange woman turned up on your doorstep asking for work. After all, he knew nothing about her. She didn’t even have the backing of an employment agency. She could be a con artist, living on her wits. Though any con artist worth her salt would surely not try and dupe a man like him.
Sara wished now that she hadn’t made the offer. She didn’t know anything about him either, and just because he had been kind to her that was no reason to trust him. Besides, she wasn’t a nanny. She wasn’t a nursemaid. Her experience with children had been confined to the classroom, but he’d never believe that she’d once been a primary school teacher. That had been at another time; sometimes now it seemed like another life. When she’d been young—and so naïve.
‘You’re offering to become Rosie’s nanny?’ Matt Seton asked at last, and she could tell he was suspicious of her offer. ‘You didn’t say you were looking for work.’
I’m not. I’m looking for sanctuary, thought Sara wildly, but she couldn’t tell him that. And when she’d left London the previous evening she’d had no plans beyond the need to get away. To put as many miles between her and Max as possible.
But she couldn’t think about that now. She needed time to come to terms with what she’d done. ‘I might be,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee to avoid his penetrating gaze. ‘Are you interested?’
‘“I might be”,’ he mocked, echoing her words. ‘Are you used to working with children.’
‘I was.’ Sara chose her words with care. She didn’t like lying but she really didn’t have a choice. And, the more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed to her. A job like this might be exactly what she needed. Somewhere to stay; a means of earning money; a chance to disappear without leaving a trail. She hesitated, and then stated bravely, ‘I used to be a primary school teacher.’
‘Used
