The Nanny and the Millionaire: Promoted: Nanny to Wife / The Italian Tycoon and the Nanny / The Millionaire's Nanny Arrangement

‘I beg your pardon?’ She could feel herself flush.

‘Don’t you cost me any trouble,’ he said.

For a moment she felt as though her mind had seized up. ‘I hardly know what you mean.’ Not true. She knew they had connected day one.

He shook his head. ‘I think you do.’

She deemed it best to remain silent. Better silent than try to grapple with the fact they had made that connection. Made it on sight. It really did cloud things when she needed everything to be perfectly clear.

How many men has she slept with? Holt thought as he drove her back to the homestead. How many have touched her flawless white skin with insolent hands, intent on their own pleasure. Who was the man or boy who had seduced her?

He felt an impotent anger that shocked him. It wasn’t often he was disturbed by his own behaviour, but he was now. He had to question exactly why he had hired her, sympathy for her situation, liking for the boy? Or was it because of the beauty of her, the unexpectedness of her, like a white rose growing on a sand dune. Already she had alienated Lois who was certain to report to Tara. Not that he gave a damn about that, but it could bring Tara back to Wungalla—the last thing he wanted. There had been the small matter of finding a governess for Georgy, of course, but an agency could have sent him a competent young woman who didn’t attract attention to herself unlike the blossoming Ms Devlin.

His mind continued to wander. She had fallen pregnant at age what, fifteen? Scarcely more than a child. He was ready to believe it had been against her will. She was so innocent looking, yet despite that so powerfully alluring, there were bound to have been men following her with hot, desirous eyes. Hadn’t he threatened Pearson with instant dismissal if he even so much as glanced again in her direction? He imagined what life would have been like for her, a young girl, saddled with a child. What had happened to her lover after he had so callously dishonoured her? What of her family, the father she spoke of? She was well spoken, well educated, with the unmistakable look of good blood. Was her story much worse than his imaginings? What was she doing out here really? Trying to lose herself and the boy, on the run from some man? It was the kind of nightmare many women and children faced. Any such predator would be a fool to venture into his world after them. On Wungalla they were safe.

CHAPTER FIVE

MARISSA had only just arrived back at the homestead when Olly bustled into the entrance hall to tell her Mrs McMaster was feeling much better today and would like to meet her.

‘Why the bare feet, love?’ Olly asked, staring down at Marissa’s feet in amazement.

‘My shoes are wet. I left them out on the verandah. It’s a long story, Olly. I’ll tell you later. Meanwhile I’d better change these trousers for a skirt. They’re damp around the hem.’

Olly lifted her brows. ‘You found Holt?’

‘He found me,‘ Marissa started to run up the staircase to hide her blushes. Besides, the last thing she wanted to do was keep Mrs McMaster waiting. ‘It’s okay for Georgy to shift down to our wing,’ she called over her shoulder.

‘I’ll get right on it,’ Olly said, ‘after I take you along to Mrs McMaster. Georgy will be pleased. They’ve been as good as gold while you’ve been away. All Georgy wants to do is please Riley. He’s an enormous improvement on Zoltan.’

Here’s hoping it stays that way!

Catherine McMaster, Holt’s paternal grandmother, was a diminutive, almost doll-like, old lady with abundant silvery-white hair, and hazel eyes that seemed to glow in her small, fine boned face. Her skin was relatively unlined, but paper thin, almost transparent. It was easy enough to see she must once have been a great beauty. At eighty-two she still possessed beauty, in one of its other forms. She was very lightly, but perfectly made up. She wore a lovely blue silk embroidered caftan over narrow white linen trousers, little white flatties, like ballet shoes on her feet. Her voice when she spoke was surprisingly strong and clear.

‘Come over here, child. I want to look at you,’ she ordered gently. Outback royalty she might be, but her manner was kind and friendly. Something for which Marissa was instantly grateful.

‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Mrs McMaster,’ Marissa said, doing as she was bid.

‘And I to meet you.’ The old lady remained standing near the open French doors, with brilliant sunlight spilling across the broad rear verandah. She put out her hand.

Marissa took it with great care. She feared crushing the thin, arthritic fingers and causing pain. ‘Holt told me you were pretty but he didn’t do you justice!’ Catherine gave a dry chuckle. ‘Deliberately, I think.’ Her whole manner appeared brimming with interest.

Marissa smiled, but made no response. She had learned to take comments on her looks with a smile and a minimum of embarrassment. Her looks were so much a part of her it was difficult to feel self-conscious about them. But there was a downside. Sometimes those very looks caused her trouble, like Wade Pearson for instance. She’d had to avoid many a Wade in her time.

‘Let’s sit, shall we?’ Catherine McMaster invited most winningly, still holding Marissa’s hand. Marissa, in turn, guided the old lady to the comfortable looking day bed drawn up near the French doors. Catherine settled herself gingerly, a clear indication her bones ached. ‘Thank you, my dear.’ She still spoke with a pronounced English accent for all her many long years in Australia. Her grandson’s voice had the same precision, Marissa thought. ‘I tire easily these days. Just another one of the set-backs of old age. There’s very little to recommend it.’

‘I’m sorry if you’re in pain,’ Marissa said.

‘One learns to live with it. It all comes down to acceptance.’ Catherine gestured Marissa into the armchair nearby.

It was a beautiful, large, light filled room they were in, all white, the walls, the sheer curtains, the lovely bed coverings on the antique iron and bronze bed, the silk upholstery on the armchairs and Catherine’s chaise longue. Colour came from silk cushions in an exquisite shade of blue, a collection of beautiful flower paintings in gold frames, and another fine collection of blue and white Chinese porcelain housed in a tall white cabinet. Nothing had a hard edge. It was all soft and dreamy. Marissa loved it.

Catherine noticed. She smiled, ‘You like my room?’

‘I love it!’ There was no mistaking Marissa’s sincerity. ‘There’s an absolute peace about it. It’s a beautiful retreat.’

‘I’ve always had an affinity for white,’ Catherine said. ‘I grew up in a house that had the most beautiful garden. People used to come from all over to see it. I have pictures of it somewhere I must show you. In one section of the garden all the flowers were white. Do you like gardens?’

‘How could I not!’ Marissa smiled. ‘Since they never fail to give pleasure. Gardens are very special places. They add so much to our sense of place, don’t you think?’

Catherine nodded in agreement. ‘Indeed I do.’ They spoke for a while about their favourite flowers, finding a shared taste. Catherine allowed the young woman to talk happily. Holt had told her Marissa had brought a child with her, a little boy of seven who miraculously had bonded with Georgia. The young woman claimed the boy was her half brother. Holt had somehow formed the opinion the boy was her son.

Many things happened in life, Catherine thought. Good things. Bad things. She wasn’t about to steamroll her way into this young woman’s most private areas. The full story would come in its own good time.

‘You can imagine what a job I had getting a garden going here,’ Catherine declared. ‘I had enormous help from a dear friend. He wasn’t a professional landscaper but he might well have been. We planned Wungalla’s home gardens together.’

‘And they’re magnificent!’ Marissa could see the great spreading trees outside. ‘I’ve seen the park in Ransom. The jacarandas are in bloom right now, a glorious sight. Deidre O’Connell told me you were responsible for the park, how you had it developed and the jacarandas planted.’

‘And haven’t they thrived!’ Catherine said with immense satisfaction. ‘Though I haven’t seen the park in many a day.’

‘One of my earliest memories is of jacarandas in bloom,’ Marissa confided in a dreamlike voice as though she had just suddenly remembered. ‘In those days we had a beautiful old colonial. It sat on top of a hill with 360-degree views. The house was surrounded by huge jacarandas. For the short time they were in bloom it was paradise. Then the summer storms always came to blow the blossom away like the cherry blossom in Japan.’ Unconsciously her expression had saddened, something that wasn’t lost on Catherine.

‘How old were you when you shifted house?’ Catherine asked gently. ‘This was in Brisbane?’

‘Yes.’ Marissa nodded, gathering herself. ‘I would have been eight.’ The days when she was happy; the days when her father had often declared himself to be ‘the happiest man in the world.’ Marissa kept her voice steady. ‘A few years later my mother was killed in a car accident. My father was at the wheel.’

‘And he blamed himself terribly,’ Catherine supplied in a quiet understanding voice, seeing the young woman was having difficulty going on. The traumatisation had included father and daughter. ‘I’m so sorry, Marissa,’ she said. ‘I understand the pain doesn’t go away. I lost my husband, a giant of a man, then my son, Holt’s father. I was stoic at the death of my husband. I had to carry on. I was like a mad woman after I lost my son. My only consolation is I’ll go long before my Holt.’

‘Please, don’t go, Mrs McMaster,’ Marissa found herself saying in a heartfelt voice. ‘I want us to be friends.’

Catherine’s eyes sparkled. ‘And we will be, I’m sure. I must meet this young brother of yours, Riley. That is his name?’

Someone actually believed her! Marissa’s smile lent radiance to her face. ‘Yes. He’s a lovely boy with a strong bright character. He won’t be any trouble. In fact he and Georgy appear to have formed an instant bond.’

‘So I’ve heard! Due no doubt to something angelic in Riley’s nature. Georgy has suffered as any child would suffer as you did, my dear, from the loss of a mother. Your mother and I’m sure you loved her greatly was taken from you. Georgy’s mother gave her away. Holt has been wonderful through it all. No one—and I include myself—was fully aware of Tara’s true nature. A lot was kept from us, but this abandonment was what turned Georgy into the willful capricious child she has been up to date. If yours and Riley’s influence can calm her, I’m certain we can expect better things.’

Marissa left Catherine’s bedroom feeling very much happier in herself. She had not been expecting the—from all accounts formidable Mrs McMaster—to be so kindly and so approachable. They had talked easily, their conversation covering a range of subjects apart from the gardens they both loved. It was discovered they took joy in the same things. Books, music, poetry which they both thought very neglected and what Marissa found absolutely enthralling, Catherine’s recollections of what it had felt like coming as a young bride to a strange, new country so very different from her own. It hadn’t been a case of her transplanting fairly easily to one of the major cities where she would have lived a life far more in keeping with the one she had left. Madly in love she had broken the ties of love and blood that held her to her beloved parents and her own country, to take on the daunting task of becoming mistress of a vast Australian Outback cattle station. Her family at home had widely believed given the isolation, and the ‘savagery’ of her new environment the marriage would fail.

The marriage had not only endured; it had thrived through every set-back, every obstacle—through pitiless drought, and raging floods, family tragedies, station tragedies. Wungalla to everyone’s amazement became Catherine’s passion. She was a coloniser; a woman who put down dynastic roots. Small wonder she was widely regarded as being a great lady, a true pioneer.

Marissa had found comfort in being around her. A woman of such wisdom and experience offered spiritual balm. Marissa felt in need of it. Her own happy family life had come to an end with the death of her mother. Marissa still desperately missed her. For her father after her mother’s passing there had been no glimmer of light. He must have experienced short bursts of feeling human after Riley was born she thought, impossible to be around Riley and not feel the light. Hadn’t little Georgy, abandoned by her mother, responded to that light of Riley’s slanting over her?

A few days later—extremely uncomfortable days for Marissa when she had to come into contact with Lois at dinner—Holt elected to fly Lois to Sydney himself.

‘I don’t want you having to go to the bother of organising a charter flight,’ he told her smoothly. ‘I have business I can attend to while I’m there, so it’s no problem.’ He turned his shoulders slightly as he waited for her answer.

Marissa feared there would have been an explosion only for Catherine’s gracious presence at the dinner table. Marissa had supervised the children’s tea well over an hour before, now she had joined them in the breakfast room off the kitchen, where the family ate their meals when they weren’t entertaining. The formal dining room was much too big and too grand, for day-to-day living. Which wasn’t to say the ‘breakfast’ room wasn’t enormously pleasing. It opened directly onto the rear garden allowing the scents to waft in. She liked the way it was furnished, as well, with comfortable rattan chairs upholstered in turquoise and white set down a long refectory table that allowed plenty of room for everyone and the array of dishes Olly served. A timber sideboard even longer than the table held tea and coffee and the various offerings Olly set out for breakfast at which times they helped themselves. The room’s close proximity to the kitchen made Olly’s work very much easier although she had many a helping hand in the form of the house girls who moved about quiet as shadows. Marissa had attempted conversation but so far their responses had been confined to muffled giggles and shy smiles.

Lois was taking her time answering, staring down into her half empty wineglass as though at the bottom lay her answer. ‘It sounds like you want to get rid of me.’ she said finally, a throb in her voice.

It was Catherine who answered, looking distressed. ‘No, no, Lois. That’s not it at all. You’ve been so good giving Georgia your time and attention, but you must be missing city life. I’m sure your friends are missing you.’

Lois blinked rapidly, perhaps fighting back tears. ‘You’re very kind, Mrs McMaster, but I feel like I have to go. In fact I feel like I’ll never be invited to this house again.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Lois!’ Holt showed his impatience with histrionics. Clearly he had seen too much of it. ‘I swear I will invite you. Have no fear. I didn’t realise you found Outback life so fascinating. You never have in the past.’

‘Tara never wanted me here,’ she said.

Because she knew you were in love with her husband.

Marissa looked away, hating to be caught in the middle of this. Couldn’t Lois have waited to speak to Holt privately?

‘Tara, I believe, is overseas. Is that right?’ he asked, his expression sufficient for anyone to change the subject.

Lois nodded slowly. ‘She’ll be home soon. She’s in Dubai at the moment. Loves it!’

‘Probably catching up on her shopping,’ Holt said suavely. ‘Don’t you want to see her? She’s most likely brought you back something you don’t want.’

Lois threw down her napkin. ‘I hate you, Holt,’ she cried, her tongue loosened by the wine.

‘Well, it’s better than loving me,’ he said.

‘Holt!’ Catherine shot her beloved grandson, a swift, reproving glance.

‘Look I don’t want to upset you, Lois,’ he responded to that glance with a much more conciliatory tone, ‘but I think we’ve reached a point where you’d be happier back home. I assure you we are looking forward to having you back at Christmas.’

‘Oh, shut up!’ Lois wailed, jumping to her feet. ‘It’s all this one’s fault, isn’t it?’ She stabbed an accusing finger at the mortified Marissa. ‘I’ve worked so hard, done so much but I haven’t been appreciated. Mark my words this one will turn out to be worse than the other two.’

‘This one’s name is Marissa,’ Holt stressed. ‘And I’m determined to give her a fighting chance. You’re upsetting Gran, Lois. I won’t have that. I was enjoying having her company at dinner.’

Lois looked like she’d been slapped across the face. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs McMaster,’ she apologised hastily. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me.’

‘You’re very uptight, Lois,’ Catherine said quietly. ‘Sometimes the isolation can strain one’s nerves. And there’s no denying Georgy has been quite a handful. We very much appreciate what you’ve tried to do. Please, sit down again, dear. I don’t like to see you upset. But you mustn’t upset Marissa, either. She doesn’t deserve it.’

Incredibly Lois gave way to a gale of bitter laughter. ‘You’re not getting any of this, are you?’

‘Yes, I am, Lois,’ Catherine said, for a fraction of a second showing her anger. ‘We will excuse you if you would like.’

Lois thrust her chair back, heading for the door. She was almost there, when she turned. ‘How can you trust her?’ she demanded of Holt looking directly at him. ‘Do you really need a person like that to teach Georgia, to live in your house? Have you even bothered to check out her background? I bet she’s got plenty to hide.’

The strain of Lois’s antagonism finally caught up with Marissa. She closed her eyes, then opened them quickly. ‘I don’t have a police record, Ms Aldridge,’ she said. ‘I’ve done nothing unlawful in my life. I’ve presented Mr McMaster with my references. They’re excellent. I’m well qualified to teach your niece.’

‘And there’s more!’ Holt leaned back in his chair. ‘She could probably teach you a thing or two, Lois.’

Lois wasn’t about to let that go by. ‘Nothing I’d want to learn!’ she hurled at him, before stalking off.

There was a long pause while they all waited for the clack of Lois’s high heels on the marble tiles to fade away.

‘Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear,’ Catherine softly moaned. ‘When was the last time Lois put on a turn like that? It must be what, two or three years?’

‘I believe it was around the time of the divorce,’ Holt said his handsome face as unyielding as rock.

‘She does have her nose out of joint,’ Catherine said, fully realising Lois felt threatened by the presence of a beautiful young woman at Wungalla. ‘Did you really have to goad her, my darling?’

‘Goad her?’ Holt’s fine white teeth clenched. ‘Good God, Gran, she was out on the attack. She didn’t give a damn if she upset you, or Marissa. In fact I think she was aching to get it off her chest.’

‘Would you like me to leave?’ Marissa asked quickly, looking first at Catherine, then Holt.

‘Why should you?’ he countered, impatiently. ‘You haven’t finished your meal. Neither have I. Gran has, no problem there.’

‘Stay, dear,’ Catherine urged Marissa, giving a little shake of her hand. ‘I suppose there’s no point in going after Lois?’ she asked of no one in particular.

‘No point at all,’ Holt confirmed shortly. ‘She’ll cool off by morning. Did she upset you?’ He looked at his grandmother keenly.

‘Not really, darling,’ Catherine answered a little too quickly. ‘But I do think I might retire now. I was so enjoying being with you right up to the moment you suggested flying Lois home. Though I’m sure it’s the right thing.’

‘It is from where I’m standing,’ Holt said, getting to his feet. ‘Come on now, sweetheart, I’ll take you upstairs.’

Marissa had never thought to hear him speak so tenderly. He was such a complicated man, very difficult to get used to.

‘Thank you, darling.’ Catherine’s hazel eyes met Marissa’s. ‘Try to excuse Lois, my dear. Sad to say, you’ve awakened the not so nice side of her. Lois can be charming and she has tried with Georgy.’

‘Or we’re going to pretend she did,’ Holt said. ‘Want me to carry you?’

‘Your grandfather used to,’ Catherine said, looking way up at him with twinkling eyes.

‘And I’m not the man to run away from a challenge, either!’ He swept his doll-like grandmother off her feet, pausing only to tell Marissa to stay put.

A moment or two later, Olly who had obviously heard raised voices—perhaps even listened in?—came through the kitchen door.

‘What was that all about?’ she asked in a conspiratorial whisper. It was obvious right from the beginning she felt free to ask questions of Marissa.

Marissa took a deep breath. Lois mightn’t be thrilled about her presence on Wungalla, but Olly was treating her as if she were a bona fide member of the family and not the new governess. ‘Holt offered to fly Lois back to Sydney.’

‘Ooooh!’ Olly staggered back against the sideboard. ‘So that’s what it was all about. I bet she took it badly?’

‘Very,’ Marissa said, feeling largely to blame.

‘I just hope she didn’t upset Mrs McMaster,’ Olly rallied, jamming her hands into the wide front pocket of her apron. ‘She really has made an effort to come downstairs for dinner. She likes you, love.’

That made Marissa feel better. ‘Well, I like her,‘ she exclaimed rather emotionally. ‘I would love to have a grandmother like that.’

‘But what about your own grandmothers?’ Olly prompted. She had formed the definite opinion—and she was rarely wrong—Marissa had braved her way through a dysfunctional childhood into adolescence and young womanhood. Talking about it might take a lot of pressure off her Olly reasoned.

Marissa allowed her mind to range back to the beginning of the bad times. ‘My maternal grandmother was lovely, but she was shattered when my mother was killed. She turned overnight into a different woman. It took her years and years to recover. In fact she never did. She’s dead now. My father’s mother had a very full social life. Neither of them was in the position to take on a grieving child. My uncle Bryan, my father’s brother and his wife, Allison, reared me. I lived with them until I started University. After that, I lived on campus in a women’s college.’

‘Uncle Bryan and Aunt Allison, were they good people?’ Olly didn’t want to be too pushy but there were things she wanted to know. Marissa and young Riley were already weaving tendrils around her heart.

Marissa met Olly’s shrewd but kindly eyes. ‘Uncle Bryan is a good, conscientious man. He did his best for me.’

‘And Aunt Allison?’ Olly had her first glimmering of what Marissa’s home life might have been like.

‘She did her best, too,’ Marissa said briefly.

‘And your dad?’ Olly rushed in where angels fear to tread.

But Marissa couldn’t talk about it. She feared bursting into tears. ‘I’m sorry, Olly.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t go there. There’s too much pain. Maybe when I—’

‘Now, now, I understand, love,’ Olly broke in, cursing herself for speaking too soon. ‘You’ve let your meal go cold.’ She clicked her tongue looking at Marissa’s half empty plate. She had served up a beautiful roast beef fillet wrapped in prosciutto with potato gratin and fresh green peas ‘There’s plenty more in the kitchen.’

‘And it was lovely, too, Olly. But really I’m fine. You’re a wonderful cook. Perhaps some time when you’re in the mood you could give me a few lessons. I’ve done a lot of study in my time but I’ve never had cooking lessons. Aunt Ally wouldn’t let me anywhere near the kitchen except for the cleanup jobs and emptying the dishwasher. She hated that. So did Lucy.’