peered inside and found a small room, with an even smaller window, full of sturdy boots and sensible-looking coats on hooks.
‘Mr—’ She swallowed the rest of her sentence as the door leading into the rest of the house crashed open.
‘You people never give up, do you?’
Gaby gulped and fumbled to get her bag off her shoulder. In this tiny space he seemed much more menacing, like a caged animal.
‘Get out before I call the police!’
He took a step towards her and she backed away, glancing down at the bag as she rummaged inside it. When she looked up at him again, his jaw was set like steel. Now would be a really good time to do exactly as he’d suggested and run out through the door and down the lane without looking back.
She held her breath as the air fizzled with his barely harnessed anger. And then her fingers felt the corner of the business card she’d been searching for and she pulled it out of her bag, surprised by the deftness of her own movements.
He looked slightly taken aback and she used the split-second opportunity to wave the card within his line of vision. ‘Bright Sparks Agency, Mr Armstrong.’
He stared at the card, then stared at her, then stared at the card some more.
‘I’m here for the interview.’
He looked at her once again, clearly astonished.
‘For the nanny’s position,’ she offered.
The penny finally dropped. She saw a small change in his features as he marshalled his thoughts. He was still giving her a hard stare, but it lacked the zinging fury of the last one. This one felt like a defensive position rather than an attack.
‘You’re late.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. I got a bit—’
‘You’d better come inside, then.’ He turned and went through the small door leading into the house and disappeared down a corridor. Gaby was about to follow him when she remembered the state of her shoes. Now her future employer—fingers crossed—had calmed to simmering point, she didn’t want to do anything to raise his temperature again.
She sat down on a low bench and tried to work out how to take her shoes off while keeping her hands mud-free. Eventually she succeeded and placed them side by side under the bench. Then she hung her fleece on a hook.
Come on, Gaby! Nothing to be frightened of. He should be apologising to you, really. But she stood motionless, her feet feeling the cold of the tiled floor. Somehow, the prospect of being interviewed in her socks made her feel at a disadvantage.
Luke’s face reappeared through the open door and she flinched.
‘It’s this way.’
He pointed down a small corridor. The only thing she could do was scurry through the house after him until they reached the kitchen.
‘Coffee?’
He didn’t wait for her answer, but turned to fill the kettle.
How bizarre! It was as if the whole scene outside had never happened. She’d bet there was only a slim chance of getting an apology too. But that was okay. It was so long since she’d heard anything like that pass a man’s lips, she was starting to think they were genetically incapable. At least she knew what she was getting if he acted like that. Seven years of marriage to David had given her plenty of practice.
She leaned over the kitchen counter slightly to look out of the window. The river was as smooth as glass. Off in the distance she could see the jetty in the village, but no smudge of red fleece was visible.
Slowly, she became aware that he was watching her. She turned and straightened, feeling instantly as if she’d been summoned to stand in front of the headmaster. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look fierce either. He just seemed to be taking her in. Assessing her.
‘They said they’d try to send someone, but I thought our luck had run out.’
‘Pardon?’
He frowned. ‘The agency. Mrs Pullman said she’d try a long shot, but she wasn’t hopeful. When you were late, I assumed the long shot hadn’t paid off.’
‘Well, here I am—at last.’ Far too bright and chirpy. She was overcompensating. ‘Don’t worry about…earlier. I totally understand.’
Old habits died hard. She was apologising for being in the right, yet again.
‘So, as you know, I’m Luke Armstrong. Mrs Pullman didn’t get around to telling me your name.’
‘Gabrielle—well, Gaby, really. Michaels. Gaby Michaels.’
‘Like the angels.’
‘The what?’
‘The archangels—in the Bible. Gabriel and Michael.’
She creased her forehead and looked at him hard. Was he making fun of her? His face was blank. In fact, he looked as if he’d forgotten how to laugh. Definitely not a joke, then.
‘I’d never thought of my name that way.’
He nodded.
Boy, this guy was cryptic! She had no more idea of what he was thinking than she had of when high tide was. They were never going to get through the interview if they carried on like this.
She took a deep breath. ‘How old is your daughter, then?’
‘I thought I was supposed to be interviewing you.’
She shrugged. ‘Interview away. But there are a few things I need to know before I decide if I’m…what you need.’ She had been going to say staying, but something had stopped her. Maybe it was the fact that she suspected he hadn’t always been like this, that he needed a second chance. Heaven knew she was an expert at that. Her ex had used up second, third and three-hundredth chances.
He plonked a mug of coffee in front of her and she saw his eyes glaze slightly as he slipped into autopilot. This definitely wasn’t the first time he’d done this. He asked her the usual stuff at first, but then he put down his mug and looked at her.
‘If you don’t mind my saying, you’re not what I expected. Most of the nannies I’ve seen have been younger and—er—dressed a little differently.’
She didn’t think for a minute it would matter if she did mind, and decided she might as well be equally straightforward.
‘Well, Mr Armstrong, just because I don’t look like Mary Poppins, it doesn’t mean I’m not competent at my job. Some children find meeting new people a little unsettling, especially if they look all starched and pressed. I find it helps if I’m more casually dressed.’
It was one of her strong points—the fact she could still remember that situations adults took for granted could be very uncomfortable for a child. It was why the agency had liked to send her off to deal with some of the ‘problem’
