‘Just a minute,’ Caroline interrupted, startled now. He was going too fast for her. She stood up and took the card he held out to her but didn’t read it. ‘I can’t just put down everything to suit you and your mother’s whims.’ She saw a flash of impatience in his eyes but wasn’t in the least bit perturbed by it. She lifted her chin. ‘I’ve other commitments——’
‘Do you want this commission or not?’ he snapped.
Caroline’s green eyes widened. ‘Yes, I want your commission but I don’t need it, Mr…’ she lifted the card and read from it’…Mr Frazer.’ Her eyes went back to meet his. ‘This is a family business, not a hobby venture. My mother and I have other work on and——’
‘Name your price.’
‘It’s not a question of money,’ Caroline protested, her skin darkening with anger.
‘It’s aways a question of money,’ he said darkly. He reached in his inside pocket again.
Caroline held up her hands in protest. ‘Just a minute. If you’re reaching for your cheque-book, forget it!’ she almost shouted, then calmed herself. This was obviously something important to him and work was work, though she suspected working for him could never be a labour of love. ‘Look, I’m not refusing the work,’ she said in a placatory tone underpinned with firmness. ‘But I do have other commitments that must be dealt with first——’
‘Forget it, then,’ he said dismissively, his mouth a thin line of displeasure that someone wasn’t snapping at his hand for the work he was offering.
Caroline was just about to protest that he was being thoroughly unfair when she heard the kitchen door slam, followed by her mother’s voice calling. ‘Caroline?’
Caroline went to the door and shouted across the hall to her mother. ‘Yes, I’m here.’
‘Martha’s got something for you. I must dash down to the post. Be back in a minute.’
‘Mummy!’ Martha shouted, bursting through the door and launching herself into Caroline’s waiting arms. Caroline gathered her up, hugging her tightly to her. She smelled of the sea and sand and camomile that grew between the patio stones. Her faded denim beach-dress was powdered with sand and there were tufts of dry grass sticking out from her bare toes in her sandals. In her small, chubby brown hands she clutched a collection of flotsam from the seashore: damp seaweed, several pieces of bleached wood, a red sauce bottle-top and a brittle, sun-dried starfish.
‘Nanny said you’ll make a picture for me.’ She thrust her treasures at Caroline but she had no free hand to catch them and they spilled to the floor, at Mr Frazer’s feet.
Caroline looked across at him and shifted Martha to her hip, the child’s arms tightening around Caroline’s neck as she realised there was a man standing in the room. The man, Frazer, was staring at the child. This didn’t surprise Caroline: everyone stared at Martha when they first met her. She wasn’t a conventionally pretty child but her looks were stunning. Her skin was olive, her eyes huge, dark pools, the pupils only visible in a certain light; her lovely oval face was framed by hair too dark and salon-glossy for such a small, delicate child of three going on four, and it was straight, dead straight to her shoulders with a fringe lapping over her forehead. Not a curl, not a wave, not a kink to soften it against her creamy skin. Yes, she was an unusually lovely-looking child and Frazer obviously thought so too. His eyes hadn’t wavered from her.
‘This is Martha,’ Caroline told him. She turned her face to the child. ‘Say hello to Mr Frazer.’
‘No.’ Martha pouted rebelliously and buried her face in Caroline’s neck.
‘She’s not used to men,’ Caroline told him.
‘You don’t have to apologise——’
‘I wasn’t apologising,’ Caroline told him firmly. ‘I was explaining.’ Frazer frowned in disapproval and Caroline added, ‘It’s not for me to apologise for Martha’s rudeness. She’s quite able to do it herself. Have you something to say, Martha?’
The child lifted her head and grinned wickedly at Frazer. ‘Sorry, Mr Frazer.’ She wriggled to be free and Caroline set her down. Martha rubbed her sticky hands down her dress before offering one to the man who stood as tall as a giant in front of her. She said sweetly, ‘Hello. Are you my father?’
Vibrant colour rose to Frazer’s face and he actually took a step back in astonishment. He was still staring at the small child but his eyes were wild with panic now. It was all Caroline could do to stop herself bursting out laughing.
‘Now it really is for me to apologise for that,’ Caroline said with a grin. ‘And explain. Martha has a friend in the village who has a real father and she doesn’t really understand why she hasn’t got one too. The few men she meets are potential fathers to her. I’m sure when she’s old enough to realise what she is saying she won’t embarrass any more men.’
Martha was still holding her chubby hand up to him and Frazer felt obliged to take it. As he did he spoke for the first time since Martha had burst into the room.
‘Charmed to meet you, Martha.’ He forced a smile to grim white lips, a smile that didn’t fool Caroline for a minute. The child unsettled him—no, more than that, little Martha terrified him! So children were something else he wasn’t au fait with. He was probably an only child himself, one who doted on his mother and certainly hadn’t a wife in his life, Caroline mused as she watched a small muscle pulse at his jawline while Martha held on tightly to his hand, determined not to let him go till he admitted he was her father.
Caroline wasn’t too unduly worried about this phase Martha was going through. It was understandable in an intelligent, inquisitive child such as she was. There were no men in Caroline’s or her mother’s life, and the child was growing up in an all-female household. Martha was beginning to question why.
‘Are you my father?’ Martha persisted, sounding far more mature than her years.
‘N-no, I’m…I’m not…’
Diversionary tactics were needed, Caroline decided. The Frazer man was obviously extremely uncomfortable with Martha’s scrutiny and blatant demands for an answer. But before Caroline could intervene Martha herself saved the day. She pulled her small hand out from his and, looking up at him with eyes wide, she said, ‘You can’t be because my father is a foreign prince and princes wear crowns and you haven’t got one.’
With that, the child immediately lost interest in him, which was a great relief to Frazer and Caroline. She squatted down on the floor and started to gather up the treasure she had brought back from the beach and without another word she went through to the kitchen across the hall and they heard her depositing the collection on the kitchen table and a chair being dragged across the tiled floor.
Caroline realised the man was staring hard at her now. Explanations were on the tip of Caroline’s tongue but she held them back. Martha’s hearing was as sharp as her intellect and besides, their private life was no concern of his.
‘She’s an extraordinary child,’ Frazer murmured at last.
Caroline nodded. ‘Yes, she is,’ was all she said.
‘How…how old?’ he asked, obviously still quite taken aback by the little girl.
‘She’ll be four at Christmas,’ Caroline told him, feeling that she must add something more but not too much. ‘She’s advanced beyond her years but, as you have just seen for yourself, she can switch from reality to fantasy just like a three-year-old.’ She lowered her voice to a soft murmur. ‘Her father isn’t a foreign prince, of course.’
The stranger made a feeble attempt to smile through his discomfort. ‘Of course not,’