A Nanny For Keeps. Liz Fielding

so wrapped up in her own problems that she’d allowed herself to be fooled by this little girl’s apparent self-assurance into believing her unaffected by what was happening to her.

      It didn’t matter a damn that the last thing in the world she needed right now was to be responsible for someone else’s child. With her mother flying off on some major assignment and her grandmother on holiday on the other side of the world, it only left the giant to care for her. And that was never going to happen. Maisie needed reassurance and she was going to get it, no matter how it messed up her own plans.

      ‘No, Maisie. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’re adopted,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s simply that—’

      Maisie lifted her head and looked straight into her eyes. ‘I think that’s why Harry doesn’t want me,’ she said.

      Jacqui was shocked to the core, and her automatic response was, ‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.’ But even as she said the words she remembered the way he’d looked at Maisie as she’d waited in the car. His blank, emotionless response. Remembered the way Maisie had slid down in the seat as if to hide from him.

      If she’d given the matter any consideration at all, she’d have assumed that even bad-tempered giants in story books had family feelings…

      OK, so she was family by adoption. Jacqui tried to remember everything she’d read about that. There had been plenty of coverage in the lifestyle magazines at the time, but precious little in the way of detail that she could recall…

      Not that who Maisie was, or where she came from was any excuse for Harry Talbot’s behaviour.

      Harry.

      The name didn’t suit him at all, she decided. It had a warm, cuddly feel to it. It was the name of a man who’d give you a hug when you were miserable, tell you good stories, know the words of every single nursery rhyme. It wasn’t the name of a man who’d reject a little girl because she was adopted…

      Actually, she couldn’t think of a name horrible enough for a man like that and she wanted to hug this little girl so hard… Show her that at least one person in the world cared what happened to her. In other words, a straight-from-the-heart emotional reaction to the situation.

      Not good.

      Fighting it, she folded herself up and, instead of enveloping the child in a hug, sat on the lowest step so that she was level with Maisie. Then, taking her hands, she held them in her own and in the most matter-of-fact voice she could muster, said, ‘Just you listen here, Maisie Talbot. It wouldn’t make one jot of difference to me if you were sky-blue-pink with green hair and purple spots, do you understand?’

      Maisie regarded her steadily for long moments. Then she gave a couldn’t-care-less little shrug and said, ‘OK.’

      Not an overwhelming endorsement of trust, but what did she expect? There were no instant results with children. Trust had to be earned. She’d just have to show the child that she was genuine and, since she suspected that glossing over the situation was not going to impress Maisie one bit, she’d start with the truth.

      ‘You’re a smart girl, so I’m not going to mince words. We’ve got a problem. This is the way it is. The plan was simply for me to bring you here and hand you over to your grandmother. You know that I wasn’t supposed to stay here, not even for a little while, don’t you?’

      She shrugged again, this time staring at her shoes and refusing to meet her gaze. ‘I s’pose.’

      ‘It’s not because I don’t like you, it’s not because you’re black, it’s because I’m supposed to be catching a plane in…’ she glanced at her watch and realised that time was fast running out ‘…well, quite soon.’

      ‘Like my mother.’ It was a flat, expressionless statement that suggested she was someone else who was flying off and abandoning her. Not fair. But then, in Maisie’s shoes, she probably wouldn’t give a hoot about what was fair, either.

      ‘Well, no.’ Nothing like Selina Talbot, who’d be flying first class—probably with a sky bed—and would arrive in Beijing looking a lot fresher and more relaxed than she would after being crammed in like a sardine for three hours on a charter flight. ‘Your mother is working, which is really, really important. I was only going as far as Spain…’ already she was talking about it in the past tense ‘…for a holiday.’