Cathy tried very hard to glean something from his expression, but it was hard to tell what was going on behind that cool mask of indifference. His lips curved and she imagined there was a faint, barely discernible hint of contempt. Then he merely shrugged and answered laconically, ‘If you say so, Ms. Fielding...if you say so.’
She frowned. ‘But what do you think?’
One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘I think that I haven’t got time to stand discussing such nonsense with a member of staff.’
Now she knew that she hadn’t imagined that look of contempt. The tone ... the manner were all very definitely condescending. Obviously Pearce Tyrone didn’t just keep the media at bay; he kept himself loftily apart from most people ... depending on their social standing, of course. He was a snob, an arrogant snob who erected social barriers ... who would never be found fraternising with staff! Fury blazed through her at such pomposity.
‘Your bedroom is through there.’ Pearce waved a hand airily towards a connecting door. ‘Shall I get Henri to bring in your luggage from your car?’
This succeeded in bringing her senses sharply back to the situation in hand. It seemed that the nanny was to live in and if Tyrone discovered she had no luggage his suspicions would be aroused. ‘Uh ... no.... I can manage perfectly, thank you.’ Her heart thudded uncomfortably as she wondered how long she could possibly get away with this and where the real nanny was.
‘OK.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Attend to Poppy and then come down and see me in my study...say, ten minutes.’ It wasn’t a question, more a command. ‘It’s at the bottom of the stairs, first on the right.’
As he strode towards the door Cathy sank down on the chair beside her. Her legs felt decidedly shaky. She didn’t like this one bit ... she should never have let it go so far.
She was not a devious, underhanded type of person and this whole situation was way out of her usual league. She had never before pretended to be someone else in order to get a story. But it had just seemed so deliciously irresistible to follow this game wherever it might lead... Curiosity burnt inside her.
Cathy looked down at the baby, who was staring up at her with mesmerising blue eyes.
The child gurgled happily.
‘Well might you laugh.’ Cathy shook her head. She should have owned up; told the man who she was... Deceiving a man like Tyrone was asking for trouble. But she was inside his home...inside Pearce Tyrone’s sacred domain where no reporter had walked before. The dramatic words rattled around her mind, making her smile.
She placed Poppy down on a changing mat on the floor and then reached into her handbag. A few quick photos were in order. It seemed very likely that the real nanny would turn up at any moment so she had better get what she could—and quickly.
CHAPTER TWO
THE room was very well equipped. Everything a baby could possibly need was there. With the imminent threat of discovery weighing heavily over her head, Cathy worked quickly. Several shots of the child, looking up at her in an adoring fashion. A few of the toys and the new clothes that filled the cupboards. They were all from the same, very chic, expensive shop in Nice, Cathy noted.
A noise in the corridor made her fling her camera back into her bag. She was only just in time. A few seconds later Henri came into the room.
‘Having difficulty, mademoiselle?’ he asked as he saw her standing beside the open cupboards.
‘Just familiarising myself with everything,’ she answered breezily.
He didn’t look impressed. ‘Mr Tyrone wants to see you in his study. I will watch Poppy.’
He sat on the chair just inside the door and crossed his arms. Watching her from beneath hooded eyelids.
Cathy found him a little disconcerting, but the scent of a promising story made her linger.
‘Mr. Tyrone has been very busy,’ she remarked nonchalantly, nodding towards all the cupboards. ‘Did he go out and buy all these things when he heard about Ms Sterling’s accident? Or did he have them here from the moment the child was born?’
Silence met the question and she turned enquiring eyes on the man. He just shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say, mademoiselle.’
Couldn’t say, or wouldn’t say? Irritated, Cathy moved further around the room and opened the connecting door.
Her eyes widened at the sight of a luxuriously beautiful bedroom. White carpets and turquoise silk covers on the four-poster bed gave it a very opulent air. Large picture windows gave panoramic views out over the sparkling blue of the Mediterranean.
She could see an en suite bathroom through another door beside the built-in wardrobes.
‘Mr Tyrone believes in keeping his staff in luxury,’ she murmured in total surprise.
‘It is a guest room,’ Henri murmured.
‘I see.’ Cathy turned and with a carefully polite smile she asked, ‘Is this where Jody Sterling sleeps when she visits?’
The man looked at her sharply. ‘This is a large house, mademoiselle; I do not know.’ Then he glanced pointedly at his watch. ‘You should not keep Monsieur Tyrone waiting.’
With a sigh, she turned from him. It was obvious that Henri wasn’t going to be forthcoming. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll just freshen up,’ she told him and headed into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Taking out her camera, she weighed up the possible photos she could take of the room. Then, before taking them, she walked across to the bathroom and turned on the taps in the wash basin, just to cover the sound of the camera’s shutter.
At least she would have something to give Mike, she thought with some satisfaction a few moments later as she pushed the camera back in her bag and then went to turn the water off. Now all she had to do was try and get some unguarded comments from Tyrone himself.
She glanced at herself in the mirror and noticed that strands of her hair were in untidy straggles around her face where Poppy had managed to pull it free of its ties. She grimaced. It might help matters if she looked reasonably tidy before facing the tyrant in his den.
Quickly she pulled her blonde hair free from its plait and drew a brush through its silken length.
Better, she smiled at her reflection. Pearce Tyrone would be easy, she told herself confidently.
She heard Tyrone’s voice before she could see him. She followed the deep booming sound of his displeasure down the stairs. He sounded formidable, and with every step towards his office door she could feel her confidence faltering.
‘Well, your agency assured me of a prompt service,’ he was saying in an irate tone.
Somebody had well and truly rattled the man’s cage, Cathy thought as she stopped in the doorway to his study. Her eyes scanned the room with professional interest, trying to store every detail while he was otherwise occupied.
He was sitting behind an enormous desk in a very beautiful room. The walls were covered in bookshelves and French doors looked out over a picturesque garden, lit by the rosy hue of evening. Beside him there was another desk with a computer and fax machine on it, and angled to one side was a coffee machine.
Pearce didn’t see her immediately. His head was bent and he was raking one hand through his dark hair in an angry way as he listened to whoever was at the other end of the line. Cathy didn’t envy whoever it was. She wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of Peace Tyrone’s temper—he sounded most indomitable. She only hoped that she could get her story and be out of here before he discovered her deception.
‘It’s just not good enough. I pay good money and expect—’ Pearce broke off as he looked up and caught sight of Cathy in the doorway.
His