The Nanny Affair

Later, as they were drinking coffee in the lovely sitting room, one of the men said to Emma, ‘You’ve got that Rottweiler of Mrs Firth’s under control, I hope.’

Acutely conscious of Kane, Emma said, ‘He’ll be on a leash whenever I walk him, and he sleeps in the garage at night.’

‘Just keep him away from my sheep,’ the older man said jocularly. He meant it, however.

Hoping she could deliver on the implied promise, Emma said, ‘Don’t worry. He’s very trainable.’

Annabelle Gill, perched on the arm of her brother’s chair—to show off, Emma thought with unusual annoyance, her lovely long legs—said, ‘Did you read in the paper couple of days ago that Rottweilers are the most dangerous dogs in the country?’

‘To vets,’ Emma returned drily. ‘Closely followed by corgis and chihuahuas. I can vouch for that—I’ve been severely bitten by a chihuahua that looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in its tiny mouth. However, Lucky is not vicious.’

They talked dogs for a little while, and inescapably the conversation drifted to sheep-worrying. Emma listened. She knew that farmers dreaded the sporadic outbreaks of death and mutilation; she understood their concern.

One of the men remarked, ‘Of course the best way to keep a dog safe around sheep is to train him as a sheepdog.’ He looked across at Emma. ‘Perhaps that’s what you should do with the Rottweiler.’

Emma said, ‘They were bred to be guard dogs. I don’t think—’

‘You said he was intelligent,’ Kane put in casually. ‘I’ve got a puppy I’m putting through her paces. Bring Lucky up and we’ll see how he goes with sheep.’

His guests grinned and tossed the idea around, making jokes, guessing how a trainer would deal with something as naturally dominant as a Rottweiler. Emma sat silently, wondering why Kane Talbot had made the suggestion.

But it might be a good idea...

Although she could handle Lucky, she didn’t know if Mrs Firth was strong enough to deal with him when he grew to maturity. Many people weren’t; she’d seen enough big dogs, bred to guard, who terrorised their owners or the public because they hadn’t been trained with any understanding of their natures. Eventually many followed their protective instincts to the extreme, and had to be put down after attacking an innocent bystander.

She said, ‘But if he gets the idea that he’s entitled to be around them, wouldn’t that make him too interested in sheep?’

They considered this. The man who’d first suggested it said, ‘Can’t see it myself. If he’s trained to work them he’ll only do it on command.’

And Kane, who seemed to understand the way her thoughts were going, said coolly, ‘It’s worth a try. A big, intelligent dog needs work to keep active and interested. Sheepdogs have been trained to use their instincts to control sheep rather than attack them. There’s no reason why a different breed shouldn’t be at least taught not to chase them.’

Mrs Talbot smiled. ‘Let’s hope it succeeds,’ she said cheerfully, and gave the conversational ball a neat little twist that spun it in a new direction.

Shortly afterwards a dismayed Emma realised that the safety pin she’d used to secure her slip strap had come undone and, apart from savagely jabbing her shoulder, had relinquished its hold on her slip.

Affronted by the prospect of revealing a scoop of satin beneath her hem, she waited until her hostess was free and explained her predicament

‘Oh, dear, how annoying! There’s a powder room along the hall,’ Mrs Talbot said. ‘I’ll show you where it is.’

Although small, the powder room was luxuriously fitted and decorated with a throwaway charm that was informal and friendly. Family photographs hung along one wall in a kind of mural. Emma saw Kane in various stages—a child laughing at a large dog, an adolescent who’d managed to avoid the gangly stage, a young man sitting completely at ease on a horse.

Hastily she forced herself to look at the other photographs. One image—repeated several times—hit her like a kick in the stomach. Dark, brilliant eyes looked out at the world from a tense face; dark hair was dragged back in the child, drawn sleekly away from the lovely, adult face that bore a faint resemblance to Kane’s.

‘My stepdaughter—Kane’s half-sister,’ Mrs Talbot said, following Emma’s gaze. ‘Diane’s mother died when she was very young, so when I married her father I suppose I should have expected fireworks. However, I was very young myself, and I had no idea how a child could react to a stepmother. I expected it to be roses all the way, and fortunately Diane is as sweet-tempered as she is beautiful, so she accepted me happily. When Kane was born a year later she fell in love with him—not a sign of jealousy!’

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