Her Parenthood Assignment
Fiona Harper

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Andy, my own grumpy hero.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

STUPID map!

Gaby stood on the deserted quay and cursed herself for being on the wrong side of the river. She reached through the open car door for the map book and squinted at it. Then she turned it sideways and squinted again.

David had always said she was useless at map-reading. Mind you, her ex-husband had said she was useless at most things. She’d spent the last year doing her utmost to prove him wrong and it rankled that one of his thousand-and-one reasons to leave her had some foundation.

She slammed the car door and looked back across the river.

Lower Hadwell was only a quarter of a mile away as the crow flies, but it would take her at least an hour to drive to the nearest town with a bridge and navigate her way back to the little village.

Botheration! Her first prospect of a proper job in almost a decade and she was already late for the interview. And not just fashionably late. She was all out, start-calling-the-hospitals late.

David’s mocking face filled her mind. ‘Shut up!’ she said out loud. Stupid, but it made her feel better.

She looked down at the map and a slow smile crept across her face. A little line of blue dashes. There was a ferry! Not so useless after all. Hah!

On one side of the quay a steep ramp led down to a shingle beach exposed by the receding tide. How on earth was she going to get the car down there without it rolling into the river? She blessed her sensible driving shoes and walked halfway down the ramp to get a better look.

‘Afternoon.’

The gravelly voice that came out of nowhere almost had her speeding back to London on foot. She put a hand over her stampeding heart and faced the stocky man who’d stood up from inspecting a rather unseaworthy-looking boat. He was so much a part of the scenery she hadn’t noticed him before. She half expected him to be covered with the same vivid green weed and barnacles as the ailing boat.

‘Oh, good afternoon.’ She smiled. ‘I was wondering about the ferry. Do you know what the timetable is?’

‘This time of year it don’t have one.’

‘Oh.’

He went back to examining a broken bit of wood and she waited for him to continue, hands clasped in front of her. When it became apparent that he believed their conversation to be over, she crunched her way across the shingle towards him and stopped a few feet away.

He looked up at her again, his face crinkled against the February sun. She had no idea how old he was. The tattooed skin of his arms was smooth, but his face was etched like an old man’s. He looked as if he’d spent most of his life scrunching his face against the reflection of the sun on the water, and the salt and wind had weathered it into deep furrows.

He didn’t speak, but nodded in the direction of a large post in the car park. A brass bell crusted with verdigris hung from it. There was a sign, but she couldn’t read it from down here on the beach, so back up the ramp she went.

Underneath the brief timetable was the following information: ‘30th October to 30th March—Please ring bell to call the ferryman.’

Great! South Devon was obviously still operating on medieval principles.

She took hold of the frayed rope that hung from it and flung the clapper hard against the brass. The salty-looking boatman looked up, wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and sauntered up the slope.

‘Yes?’ he said, folding his face up even further.

Gaby shook her head and looked at him hard. Perhaps all those stories about in-breeding in rural communities were true. She spoke slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. ‘I want to take my car across on the ferry.’

He threw his head back and laughed and suddenly she had the horrible feeling the tables had been turned and she was the one with the single-digit IQ. She brushed the thought away and stood a little taller.

‘There’s a ramp, isn’t there?’

He rubbed a stubby hand across his mouth and brought the rumbles of laughter to a halt. ‘Yep. And that over there is the ferryboat.’

She turned to where he pointed. A small boat, maybe fifteen feet in length, with a square cabin at the front and wooden benches round the back was tied to a ring near a mossy flight of steps.

The map book was still in her hand and she pulled it back in front of her face.

Passenger ferry, it said. Okay, so it wasn’t just map-reading she had a problem with, but reading in general.

She lowered the book to find him still looking at her. He obviously thought she was unspeakably dim, but he was grinning. Probably glad of the entertainment.

‘Hop in,’ he said. ‘Your car’ll be fine here. Last ferry back has to be before six, mind. I go off duty then.’

Her lips pressed together while she thought of something to say. Phrases whirled round her head and the moment slid away until anything she said would just sound forced. So, in the end, she just smiled back, locked her car and followed him down the steps to the ferry.

When he turned to start the motor she scrubbed her face with her hands and half-sighed, half-chuckled. You had to be able to laugh at yourself, right? One thing she’d learnt since her divorce was not to be so worried about doing or saying the wrong thing. Nobody was perfect, after all. Now, if only she could remember that on the next visit to her parents. Especially when they sighed and exchanged glances.

She knew what they thought. She must have been a terrible wife if she couldn’t keep a ‘catch’ like David happy. Her husband had traded her in for a newer, more compact model and it must be her fault. Nothing to do with the fact he was a self-centred, tyrannical little…

She turned her face into the wind so it blew her long brown hair behind her and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her fleece.

Lower Hadwell sat hibernating on the far side of the river, the ice-cream colours of the cottages muted by the winter sun. A narrow road separated a row of houses from the beach, then curved up a steep hill lined by cottages and shops, tightly packed as if huddling together for warmth.

Strange, that a picture-postcard village like this could contain a man with such a dark past. She wondered if they knew. Did the locals close ranks and whisper when he walked into the pub, or had they welcomed him into their little community? She hoped it was the latter. He deserved a fresh start, far away from the twitching net curtains of the suburbs.

Soon the ferry came alongside the string of pontoons that trailed down the beach from the village. The tide was so low that only the last two or three were floating. The rest lay helpless on the shingle, waiting for the murky water to rise and give them some purpose.

Gaby paid the ferryman and hopped out of the boat. No one was around. Well, almost no one. A lone figure in an oversized red fleece stood at the edge of one pontoon, hunched over and staring into the water. It was a girl, not more than eleven or twelve years old, her long dark hair scraped into a severe ponytail. Now and then she looked up and just stared into the distance.

Gaby knew that look. She’d spent many hours as child staring out of her bedroom window wearing the same heavy expression. Wishing her life were different, wishing she’d been born in a different time or a different place.

The girl looked up when she heard Gaby approaching but turned away instantly, more out of sheer disinterest than embarrassment. After a minute or so she lifted a string out of the water to reveal a hook, a small circular weight and some long, stringy bait. She stared at the lonely hook and her shoulders drooped even further.

Gaby itched to say something, to let the girl know the feeling wouldn’t last for ever. One day she’d be free. In the end she said, ‘Never mind. Maybe you’ll catch a fish next time.’

A small huff was her only answer.

‘What’s that stuff on the hook, anyway?’

The girl dropped the line back into the water with a plop and wearily turned to face her. ‘My dad told me not to talk to strangers.’

‘Very sensible advice.’

Advice she should follow herself. The girl turned away and focused her attention on the fishing line once again.

Gaby frowned and wondered whether she was transposing her own childhood worries on to this lone figure. Perhaps she should just leave the girl alone to catch whatever it was she was trying to catch, even though her intuition told her that what the girl really wanted was not going to be found at the end of some orange twine.

Come on, Gaby! You’ve already given yourself a stern talking to about getting too embroiled in other people’s business. You don’t have time to comfort sad little girls on the jetty, no matter how big their eyes or how lonely they look. You’ve got a job to grovel for.

She’d only taken a couple of steps when the girl spoke.

‘It’s bacon.’

Gaby stopped and walked back a few steps. ‘What kind of fish like bacon? Don’t tell me there are sharks in there.’

The girl almost smiled. She started hauling the string out of the grey-green water again. ‘Not fish! Look.’

On the end of the line were three small crabs, the largest the size of the girl’s hand. They were beautiful colours—shades of rust, green and slate. All three were hanging on to the string for dear life and fighting for the turgid bait. The girl shook the line over a water-filled bucket and two plopped into it to join a seething mass of crabs, all struggling to work out where that darn bit of bacon had gone.

The girl gave the line a more vigorous shake to dislodge the stubborn one still clinging on in hope of a square meal. This was a crafty little sucker, though. When the line shook a second time it catapulted itself beyond the rim of the bucket and scuttled towards Gaby’s feet. She shrieked and ran down the pontoon.

The girl burst out laughing.

Meanwhile, the kamikaze crab ignored the commotion and lobbed itself off the edge of the pontoon and sank without a trace. Gaby edged back towards the girl and her bucket. It was good to see her smiling, but she reminded herself she needed to get on. Perhaps the girl could help her find him. She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and read the hastily scribbled address.

‘Do you know where the Old Boathouse is, by any chance?’ she asked, keeping as far away from the bucket as possible.

The smile faded from the girl’s face. She gave Gaby a long hard look and tipped her head to one side. ‘Why do you want to go there?’

‘Um…it’s business.’ That was vague enough to cover all eventualities. The girl looked unconvinced. Still, she pointed to a stone building that seemed to be sitting on the curving shore about a quarter of a mile away.

‘How do I get there? Is there a boat?’

The girl shook her head. ‘There’s a lane opposite the Ferryboat Inn.’ She stopped and looked at Gaby’s suede trainers. ‘It’s a bit muddy, though.’

She thanked the girl and walked up a ramp and on to the main street. The opening to the lane wasn’t hard to find. Before her view was blocked by a line of trees, she looked back towards the river.

The girl picked up her bucket, tipped the angry contents into the river and started all over again.

Muddy? It was practically a swamp!

Gaby lifted her foot and tried to work out whether she could actually still see her trainers through the mud boots she seemed to be wearing. The cold was seeping though the suede and into the bones of her feet.

She was hardly going to look the picture of professionalism when she reached her destination. Her thoughts strayed to the nice jacket and sensible-but-smart shoes still in her car. It might have been a good idea to spruce herself up before she’d got on the ferry, but she’d figured that, since she was almost two hours late, the absence of correct footwear and her one good jacket were the least of her worries.

Soon she caught glimpses of the Old Boathouse through the leafless trees. It was a large building made of local stone. Even to her untrained eye it was obvious that it had once been what its name suggested. Over the years—she wouldn’t like to guess how many—it had been extended, and the half of the house that faced the lane had the appearance of a quaint country cottage with leaded windows and a dry stone wall enclosing the garden.

She was just nearing the sturdy gate when a man appeared from behind the house. She stopped in her tracks. Who was that? The gardener? He looked dishevelled enough, but something about the clothes was wrong.

An image from a TV news bulletin flashed across her mind.

That was him? The man she’d come to see?

Her feet sank further into the mud and she listened to the sound of her own breath. He didn’t even notice her. He just loaded a large cardboard box into the back of a Range Rover and disappeared back inside the house.

He looked different. Leaner. Harder.

His sandy hair was longer and messier and he obviously hadn’t been near a razor in a couple of days. Gone was the respectable-looking doctor, replaced by a wilder, more rugged-looking man. Oh, yes, five years in prison had definitely changed Luke Armstrong.

Suddenly he reappeared. And this time he saw her.

At first his face registered surprise, but it quickly hardened into something else. He dumped the box he was carrying in the boot of the car and strode towards her.

‘What do you want?’

He barked the question out and her heart started to gallop inside her chest. She’d never been very good at confrontation and he seemed ready for a fight. As she struggled to make her lips form her own name, he looked her up and down. And if looks were anything to go by, she knew she’d been fired even before the interview.

‘Mr Armstrong?’ she stammered.

‘You know full well who I am.’

Well, of course she did! She was hoping to be his new nanny.

‘I’m sure you know what brand of toothpaste I use, so don’t turn up here looking all innocent and pretend you’ve lost your way. I’ve heard that one before.’

She certainly didn’t know what toothpaste he used! What was he trying to imply? A sudden rush of heat behind her eyes told her she was more ready for confrontation than she’d suspected. ‘Mr Armstrong, I assure you—’

‘I wouldn’t believe a word that came out of your lying mouth.’ The fury in his eyes stopped any retort she might have had to hand. His face twisted as he shook his head, then he just turned and walked back towards the house. Gaby was so shocked that it didn’t even occur to her to move.

Just before he disappeared from view, he turned to look over his shoulder. ‘You’ll just have to tell your editor you blew it,’ he yelled. And then he was gone.

Editor? He’d said editor, she was sure of it.

Oh…

Now she got it. He thought she was a journalist. She looked down and tried to see what it was about her appearance that had set him down that path. Slightly ageing fleece, go-with-anything black trousers and a pair of comfy driving shoes under a layer of mud. Didn’t look much like a journalist to her. But then, she didn’t look much like a top-notch nanny either.

She let out a long breath and her anger turned tide. No wonder he’d reacted the way he had. The tabloids had given him a really rough ride before, during and after his trial. She’d followed the story in the papers and it hadn’t been pretty.

Luke Armstrong had been charged with his wife’s murder after she’d been found dead in a hotel room in Kent. Each gory detail had been received more thirstily than the last.

‘DOCTOR KILLS WIFE IN CRIME OF PASSION!’ the headline had screamed.

The prosecution had argued that he’d followed her, leaving his young daughter in the care of a neighbour, and found his wife enjoying the luxuries of a country house hotel with another man. In a fit of rage he’d struck out. Mrs Armstrong had fallen and hit her head. And, while she lay bleeding all over the Chinese rug, he’d fled and hadn’t returned home for hours.

Of course, he’d denied it. And he’d been so convincing in court the jury would probably have acquitted him if it hadn’t been for the forensic evidence. When he’d stood in the witness stand, he’d sworn he’d only got as far as the hotel lobby, where he’d seen his wife and her lover lace fingers and climb the stairs together. He said he’d driven off on to the North Downs and sat in his car, trying to work out what to do next.

But DNA evidence had made his words into a fairy tale. He’d been in the hotel room the night his wife had died.

Then, five years later, when the public had forgotten all about the doctor in his prison cell, there had been another headline:

‘DOCTOR CLEARED OF WIFE’S MURDER!’

She remembered something about cross-contamination of samples at the lab.

Of course, now the nation was truly sorry. Never had believed it anyway. He’d always looked like such a nice man…

But he didn’t look so nice any more, thought Gaby, as she remembered the way he’d towered over her only seconds before.

It was strange. After reading all the newspaper reports, even though they’d never been introduced, had never chatted, she felt as if she knew this man. Not the stupid details, like his favourite colour or how he liked his coffee. But she knew he was honest and caring and fiercely loyal to those he loved. She knew the things that mattered.

And it was for this reason, and this reason alone, she was going to make him listen to her, rather than walk back down the lane and head home.

CHAPTER TWO

WELL, if she was going to face him, she couldn’t just stand here getting muddier by the second. But, as much as she wanted to help, she didn’t relish facing the snarling man who’d just stomped into the house, either. It was that look in his eyes, the look that said she was worthless, stupid and way out of her league.

Of course, the look really wasn’t for her. It was for the phantom journalist he’d taken her for. But she’d seen the same look in David’s eyes many a time, and it made something inside her wither. When her ex-husband had looked at her like that, he’d known exactly who he was talking to.

Gaby smoothed her hair back with her hands and walked up to the front door. Her heart pounded in time with the three sharp raps she gave with the knocker. She waited, ears straining for a sound, but there was nothing. Just as she was about to knock again, she heard a door slam somewhere inside, and she thought better of it.

He knew she was out here; he was just ignoring her.

She sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. She’d driven for over seven hours to get here. She was cold and her feet were soggy, and she wasn’t going to just turn round and go home again because Luke Armstrong was in a strop.

She followed his footprints round to the back of the house, where she found the back door slightly ajar. He’d probably been too fired up to make sure it had clicked shut behind him.

It gave a creak as she nudged it with her fingertips. ‘Mr Armstrong?’

She peered inside and found a small room, with an even smaller window, full of sturdy boots and sensible-looking coats on hooks.

‘Mr—’ She swallowed the rest of her sentence as the door leading into the rest of the house crashed open.

‘You people never give up, do you?’

Gaby gulped and fumbled to get her bag off her shoulder. In this tiny space he seemed much more menacing, like a caged animal.

‘Get out before I call the police!’

He took a step towards her and she backed away, glancing down at the bag as she rummaged inside it. When she looked up at him again, his jaw was set like steel. Now would be a really good time to do exactly as he’d suggested and run out through the door and down the lane without looking back.

She held her breath as the air fizzled with his barely harnessed anger. And then her fingers felt the corner of the business card she’d been searching for and she pulled it out of her bag, surprised by the deftness of her own movements.

He looked slightly taken aback and she used the split-second opportunity to wave the card within his line of vision. ‘Bright Sparks Agency, Mr Armstrong.’

He stared at the card, then stared at her, then stared at the card some more.

‘I’m here for the interview.’

He looked at her once again, clearly astonished.

‘For the nanny’s position,’ she offered.

The penny finally dropped. She saw a small change in his features as he marshalled his thoughts. He was still giving her a hard stare, but it lacked the zinging fury of the last one. This one felt like a defensive position rather than an attack.

‘You’re late.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. I got a bit—’

‘You’d better come inside, then.’ He turned and went through the small door leading into the house and disappeared down a corridor. Gaby was about to follow him when she remembered the state of her shoes. Now her future employer—fingers crossed—had calmed to simmering point, she didn’t want to do anything to raise his temperature again.

She sat down on a low bench and tried to work out how to take her shoes off while keeping her hands mud-free. Eventually she succeeded and placed them side by side under the bench. Then she hung her fleece on a hook.

Come on, Gaby! Nothing to be frightened of. He should be apologising to you, really. But she stood motionless, her feet feeling the cold of the tiled floor. Somehow, the prospect of being interviewed in her socks made her feel at a disadvantage.

Luke’s face reappeared through the open door and she flinched.

‘It’s this way.’

He pointed down a small corridor. The only thing she could do was scurry through the house after him until they reached the kitchen.

‘Coffee?’

He didn’t wait for her answer, but turned to fill the kettle.

How bizarre! It was as if the whole scene outside had never happened. She’d bet there was only a slim chance of getting an apology too. But that was okay. It was so long since she’d heard anything like that pass a man’s lips, she was starting to think they were genetically incapable. At least she knew what she was getting if he acted like that. Seven years of marriage to David had given her plenty of practice.

She leaned over the kitchen counter slightly to look out of the window. The river was as smooth as glass. Off in the distance she could see the jetty in the village, but no smudge of red fleece was visible.

Slowly, she became aware that he was watching her. She turned and straightened, feeling instantly as if she’d been summoned to stand in front of the headmaster. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look fierce either. He just seemed to be taking her in. Assessing her.

‘They said they’d try to send someone, but I thought our luck had run out.’

‘Pardon?’

He frowned. ‘The agency. Mrs Pullman said she’d try a long shot, but she wasn’t hopeful. When you were late, I assumed the long shot hadn’t paid off.’

‘Well, here I am—at last.’ Far too bright and chirpy. She was overcompensating. ‘Don’t worry about…earlier. I totally understand.’

Old habits died hard. She was apologising for being in the right, yet again.

‘So, as you know, I’m Luke Armstrong. Mrs Pullman didn’t get around to telling me your name.’

‘Gabrielle—well, Gaby, really. Michaels. Gaby Michaels.’

‘Like the angels.’

‘The what?’

‘The archangels—in the Bible. Gabriel and Michael.’

She creased her forehead and looked at him hard. Was he making fun of her? His face was blank. In fact, he looked as if he’d forgotten how to laugh. Definitely not a joke, then.

‘I’d never thought of my name that way.’

He nodded.

Boy, this guy was cryptic! She had no more idea of what he was thinking than she had of when high tide was. They were never going to get through the interview if they carried on like this.

She took a deep breath. ‘How old is your daughter, then?’

‘I thought I was supposed to be interviewing you.’

She shrugged. ‘Interview away. But there are a few things I need to know before I decide if I’m…what you need.’ She had been going to say staying, but something had stopped her. Maybe it was the fact that she suspected he hadn’t always been like this, that he needed a second chance. Heaven knew she was an expert at that. Her ex had used up second, third and three-hundredth chances.

He plonked a mug of coffee in front of her and she saw his eyes glaze slightly as he slipped into autopilot. This definitely wasn’t the first time he’d done this. He asked her the usual stuff at first, but then he put down his mug and looked at her.

‘If you don’t mind my saying, you’re not what I expected. Most of the nannies I’ve seen have been younger and—er—dressed a little differently.’

She didn’t think for a minute it would matter if she did mind, and decided she might as well be equally straightforward.

‘Well, Mr Armstrong, just because I don’t look like Mary Poppins, it doesn’t mean I’m not competent at my job. Some children find meeting new people a little unsettling, especially if they look all starched and pressed. I find it helps if I’m more casually dressed.’

It was one of her strong points—the fact she could still remember that situations adults took for granted could be very uncomfortable for a child. It was why the agency had liked to send her off to deal with some of the ‘problem’ cases when she’d been working full time as a nanny. And why Mrs Pullman had phoned her up out of the blue when every available nanny on her books had baulked at taking this job. She’d jumped at the chance. It had to beat her temporary job at the riotous soft-play centre in Croydon.

‘As for my age, well, I’m returning to work after a few years’ break.’

‘Oh?’ He looked suspicious.

‘When I got married, my husband preferred I didn’t work.’

‘And he doesn’t mind now?’

‘It’s none of his business. We’ve been divorced for nearly a year.’ She didn’t add that her husband had got the seven year itch and had scratched it enthusiastically.

‘And now you’re back on the market? Job-wise, I mean,’ he added hastily.

‘I am.’ She gave a little smile, a real one. ‘Actually, I’m really looking forward to being a nanny again.’

‘Well, I’m glad you decided to come out of retirement for us. Heather definitely needs an experienced hand. How soon can you start? We could do with you right now.’

She’d been planning to visit one of her old school-friends who lived in Exeter after the interview. She hadn’t seen Caroline for years and was looking forward to a week of coffee and gossiping.

‘Oh. I’m not sure I…Don’t you want some time to think? To check references?’

His mouth pulled down at the corners and he shook his head. ‘If you’re good enough for the Bright Sparks Agency, you’re good enough for me. And besides, I’m desperate.’

Her chair scraped on the slate floor as she stood, but before she’d even managed to say she needed time to think, the back door slammed open. She was facing the oposite direction but, from the grim look on Luke Armstrong’s face, she had no doubt that his experienced-hand-needing daughter had just made her entrance.

‘Heather, this is—’

A red fleece swept past the kitchen table and out into the living room. Moments later heavy feet pounded the stairs in a distant part of the house.

Luke shot to his feet, his eyes blazing.

‘I’m sorry about that. She’s having a difficult time adjusting at the moment. I—I’ll explain later.’

With that, he forged out of the room. More heavy footsteps. Must be genetic. She couldn’t have made that much noise if she were wearing lead boots. Muffled shouting. A door slammed. Then footsteps in tandem.

Luke nudged Heather into the room. Her eyes were on the floor and her bottom lip stuck out like a toddler’s. ‘Luke says I’ve got to say hello.’

‘Heather!’ The rising volume of his voice had Gaby shaking, but it seemed to flow off the girl. Her chin jutted more decidedly into her chest.

‘Heather, I would like you to say hello to Gaby. She’s going to be looking after you when I start work.’

Gaby spluttered. ‘Actually, I—’

At the sound of Gaby’s voice, Heather lifted her head just enough to peer out from under her fringe. ‘Oh, it’s you. The crab lady.’

Luke looked between the pair in astonishment.

Gaby waggled a hand in the air while she waited for the words to come. ‘We met…earlier…on the jetty.’

If it were possible, his face got even more thunderous. ‘Heather! I’ve told you never to—’

‘God! Take a chill pill, Luke. I was only crabbing!’ Then she spun on her heel and stomped off again. Luke looked as if he’d been slapped in the face. Gaby swallowed.

He slumped down on a chair and rubbed his face. The start of his next sentence was muffled by his hands. ‘I don’t know how much Mrs Pullman told you, but we’re facing a rather difficult set of circumstances with Heather.’ He looked up at her, his eyes pleading. ‘Please, don’t let that little outburst put you off. She’s a good kid underneath it all. But she’s had a lot to deal with in the last few years.’

Gaby smiled gently at him. ‘It’s okay. I know about the trial and…everything.’

Luke let out a long breath. He seemed very relieved not to have to run through the details. ‘Good. If that hasn’t put you off, I don’t know what will.’

‘Oh, I—’

He didn’t seem to hear her.

‘She took her mother’s death very hard. And then she had to deal with me being…away. We’ve only been living together again for a couple of months, so we’re still getting to know each other again, really.’ He looked down at the table, as if he hadn’t meant to say all of that in front of her.

The silence stretched. If only there were something to say, something she could do to make it all go away. This was the point at which her alarm bells should be ringing. That little tug at her heartstrings always meant trouble. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall completely in love with her charge again this time.

If getting inside a child’s mind was her strength, the fact she let them too far into her heart was her weakness. Too many times she’d been left heartbroken when a family moved overseas or didn’t need her any more.

She was older and wiser now; she should be past this. And maybe, if David hadn’t kept putting off the issue of children, she would have been. It was probably down to the overly-loud ticking of her biological clock that she was ignoring all the old warning signals. If she had any sense, she would excuse herself and return to London—leave this family to someone who could look at them objectively, help them without getting too emotionally involved. It would be better for Luke and Heather in the long run too.

‘I’d better go and see to my errant daughter.’ He pushed the chair back and stood up.

He looked so lost, so unsure of what to do, that Gaby put a hand on his arm to stall him. ‘Let me go.’ The least she could do before she left was help defuse the current situation.

He started to shake his head, but then he said, ‘Okay. Heather’s room is on the left at the top of the stairs.’

She crept up the stairs, stood outside the door, took a deep breath and knocked gently.

‘Go away! I don’t want to speak to you!’

‘Heather? It’s me—Gaby.’

‘Oh.’

‘Can I come in?’

The door edged open and Heather poked her nose in the gap. ‘It’s a bit messy.’

Gaby smiled. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. You should have seen my room when I was your age. My mum used to have an awful go at me. In the end I just shoved it all in the cupboard and hoped no one opened the door. If they had, they would have been buried in an avalanche of clothes and toys!’

Heather gasped and her eyes got even bigger and rounder.

‘Believe it, kid, you’ve got nothing on me.’

The door swung wide and Gaby walked in. She perched on the edge of a bed decked in pink and frilly bed-clothes. Heather grimaced. ‘He thinks I’m still a baby.’

‘I’m sure he doesn’t think you’re a baby. He was probably trying very hard to make things nice for you.’

Heather made a gagging noise and rolled her eyes, but when her face returned to normal her expression had softened. ‘Are you really going to be my nanny?’

‘Well—’

‘I don’t need looking after, you know. I’m all right on my own.’

Did no one in this house ever let you finish a sentence?

She swivelled to face Heather. ‘I know that. But your dad has to have someone in the house while he’s out at work. He’s not allowed to leave you alone, you know.’

‘’Spose so.’

‘Why don’t we go downstairs and chat to your dad about it?’

‘You can talk to him, if you like.’

It might have sounded as if Heather were reluctant to make peace with her father, but Gaby saw the ache in her eyes. She desperately wanted to be able to open up to him; she just didn’t know how. What had it been like for her while her father had been in prison? How often had she seen him? Had she been carted along in her best dress and told to tell him she was being a good girl?

No wonder they couldn’t communicate with each other. They’d probably spent years being on their best behaviour, each making sure the other didn’t know how they were suffering.

When they reached the kitchen, Luke was so surprised his mouth dropped open. Gaby thought it was a shame he recovered quickly. Too quickly. It would have done Heather good to see the look on his face—that same aching expression she’d been wearing just moments before.

Heather opened the fridge door and stuck her head inside. ‘I’m hungry.’

Luke looked at Heather and then at Gaby. ‘Would you like to stay for dinner? It would be a good chance to get to know us better. Start afresh.’

She was going to decline, say she needed to get back to her car, but she saw Heather’s face above the fridge door and stopped short. The girl’s eyes were wide, as if she were waiting for something important, like the results of a spelling test. When Gaby nodded, she glowed.

‘Heather, why don’t you show Gaby the house, while I get the food ready?’

Heather let the fridge door swing closed and tugged Gaby by the hand.

‘Come on. I’ll show you the terrace. It’s cool.’

Gaby thought the terrace was way more than cool. The flat roof above the kitchen had been turned into a seating area with railings and a stunning view of the River Dart. The light was fading and a gold sun glowed through dense grey clouds. Gaby breathed in the salty air. She could tell it was only a couple of miles to the estuary.

The terrace could be reached directly from two of the bedrooms on the first floor: the master bedroom, which she didn’t look in—it felt too much like snooping—and a guest bedroom. A flight of stairs led down to the kitchen door, making it a great place to have breakfast when the weather improved.

She went still. It looked as if her subconscious was already planning on staying, whether the rest of her liked it or not. That wasn’t a good sign.

The rest of the house was just as impressive. It had an unusual layout and a kind of quirky charm. The best feature by far was the little area just outside the back door. A flight of steps led down to a flat area with rings to tie boats to. At that moment the tide was out and she could see more steps that led down on to the stony beach. But when the tide was up, you could row right up to it and skip straight into the house—like Venice!

Gaby frowned. Another rogue thought of her ex intruded. The only time she’d been to Venice had been with David. He’d liked the first-class holidays and exotic destinations. Although she suspected it was more for the dinner party stories he could tell later, than for the experience itself. He hadn’t stopped moaning the week they’d stayed in Venice; it had sucked all the joy out of it for her.

Both Gaby and Heather didn’t need to be called when dinner was ready. Smells were emanating from the kitchen and Gaby’s tummy suddenly rumbled. She hadn’t stopped to eat on the journey down here—not even a plastic sandwich at a service station. She’d been too intent on making it to Lower Hadwell before dark.

They arrived back in the kitchen just in time to see Luke slapping pizza slices on to plates. Her appetite took a nosedive. It looked like the worst sort of convenience food. Luke and Heather didn’t seem to mind. They attacked their share with relish.

Gaby gingerly put a slice to her lips. Anaemic cheese and a cardboard base. Yuck! Still, she wasn’t going to be rude. She took as big a bite as she dared and chewed the minimum amount of times before swallowing.

‘Is there any salad?’

Two pairs of eyes locked on to her. She might as well have asked them if they wanted a side order of slugs. Vegetables were obviously a foreign concept in this household.

‘Never mind. This is…lovely.’

She looked out of the window to try and take her mind off the artificial taste. The sky was a beautiful slate-blue. It was getting quite dark. Suddenly she stopped chewing and scanned the kitchen for a wall clock.

She gulped down her mouthful. ‘What time is it?’

Luke looked at his watch. ‘Just gone six.’

Drat! Just when she’d thought the day couldn’t get any more complicated.

‘Is something the matter?’

‘I think I just missed the last ferry.’

Luke put his pizza slice down. ‘You came over on the ferry?’

‘I left my car across the river.’ She stood up. ‘It’s a long story. I’m not very good with…If I run, do you think I can catch the ferry guy?’

She started off in search of her shoes. Luke followed her into what Heather had called the ‘mud room’ during their tour.

‘It’s too late. Ben will be in the Ferryboat Inn by now and the only thing that’ll move him is the bell for last orders.’

Gaby dropped her face into her hands and massaged the kinks out of her forehead. ‘Today was not supposed to be like this!’ Her return to being a nanny was going to be marked by a new, calm professionalism. Not ferries and mud and little girls with big round eyes. Suddenly everything felt so tangled and messy.

Luke’s voice was taut. ‘Are you saying you don’t want the job?’

‘Yes!…No. I mean, I’m not sure I’m what you and Heather are looking for. I need time to think.’

Silence.

Her hands dropped to her sides. He was staring at her, but he didn’t look angry, he just looked…defeated.

‘Of course, I understand your decision. Not everyone is comfortable taking on a family with a history like ours. That narrowed down the candidates considerably in the first place.’ He swallowed. ‘Heather will just have to go and stay with her grandparents while I sort something out.’

Now it was her turn to swallow. The look on his face was all her fault.

‘Are you sure you can’t stay, Gaby? I know it might not look like it, but Heather has taken a shine to you. She didn’t manage to speak at all to the other interviewees. She just grunted and tried to evaporate them with her laser vision.’

Gaby let out a little giggle. Luke seemed completely taken aback, as if he’d forgotten he could be funny and had just surprised himself. She put a hand over her mouth and tried to stifle her growing smile. It was no good. The smile accelerated into a laugh.

‘I can just see it!’ she blurted between giggles. ‘Heather plotting to put crabs in their beds…’

And then Luke was laughing too. That was all she needed. It started her off again. And while she leant against the wall for support, her mind drifted free and she wondered if this was the same kind of hysterical laughter that attacked people at funerals, because there truly wasn’t anything to laugh about.

The laughter finally ebbed away and they stood there looking at each other in the gathering gloom. Luke sobered.

‘It’s a pity. I have the feeling you could be very good for us…for Heather, I mean.’

Gaby felt her heart beating in her chest and knew she was going to say something truly stupid.

‘I’ll do it. I’ll take the job.’

CHAPTER THREE

LUKE checked the digital clock on the oven. Five forty-five. Much too early to make breakfast, or wake Heather, or do anything else he could think of to fill the time. He carefully opened the kitchen door and went outside.

It was dark, really dark. He still hadn’t got used to that. In prison, there had always been the harsh yellow glow of a bulb somewhere. Always a clang, or a hum, or a shout to break the silence.

Here on the river it was completely still. The water was glassy and inky black, reflecting the myriad stars above. On a clear night here you couldn’t even see the main constellations, there were so many stars in the sky. Like now, he could see the dusty sweep of the Milky Way and, if he kept really still, sometimes he could see a satellite cutting its way through the overcrowded sky in a clean even line.

He shivered and looked back at the water. He couldn’t spend too long watching the sky when it was like this. It felt too big.

If only he could sleep better. It might stop him feeling as if he had to hold himself together, as if the world had too many possibilities and he had to stop himself from thinking about all the choices, the different avenues life could take. Right now he had to concentrate on being still, on being solid. On being someone Heather could depend on.

Having Gaby here was going to help. He looked up at the guest room windows and envied the long, unbroken sleep she was having. There had been nothing for it but to have her stay the night. Her car was the other side of the river and there was nowhere to stay in the village. He supposed she would have to return home and collect some things before she moved in full time.

Thank heavens she’d changed her mind at the last minute. He was starting work at the medical centre next week and, if he hadn’t managed to sort something out, Heather would have had to stay with Lucy’s parents again, and then they’d be back to square one.

Since it was low tide again, he went down the steps outside the kitchen and on to the beach, careful to keep close to the house so the lights from the kitchen gave him some idea of where he was treading.

Heather had changed so much in the last few years. When he’d left, she’d been in her first year of school. Her uniform had been too big and Lucy always used to do her hair in cute little bunches.

Lucy’s parents had brought her to see him on visiting days and he’d seen her change over the years. Not smoothly and slowly, hardly noticing the little differences, but in fits and starts, like flicking through a series of snapshots. He smiled when he thought of the time she’d arrived and shown him her first missing tooth, announcing proudly, ‘Look Daddy, my tongue has a window!’

Over time, the gaps between visits had got longer. Her grandparents had begun to send notes saying it was upsetting Heather too much to come and see him. They thought she needed to have a normal life, as much as possible. And, in their book, seeing your father across a dingy prison table, being artificially bright and pretending nothing was wrong, was obviously not normal. Hell, it wasn’t even normal in his book.

He picked up a handful of small flat stones and concentrated on throwing them into the water. The reflected stars distorted and scurried away. He kept throwing until the light turned a milky grey and the thoughts he didn’t want to stir were lying at the bottom of the river with the pebbles.

Gaby could see him out there on the beach—a dark figure, barely visible in the dull glow of the kitchen lights. What on earth must he have gone through to make him turn out like this? It didn’t bear thinking about.

But she would have to face it sooner or later, because she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to be able to help Heather unless she helped Luke first. In her experience, the parents often needed training more than the children did.

She walked away from the window and got back into bed. The sheets were still warm and she snuggled down and thought about the future. Luke seemed to want her to start as soon as possible. And since she was here—with a bag packed for a week—and she’d started to bond with Heather, it seemed daft to leave so soon.

She could always go and visit Caroline in a couple of weeks. Now she’d be closer, she could go for the weekend or something.

She rolled over and tried to ignore the fact she was already making little sacrifices for this family, already putting their needs before her own. It always started this way…

‘I don’t want to go to Jodi’s to play! I hate her.’

Heather’s voice was clearly recognisable through the closed guest room door. Gaby tried not to listen as she brushed her hair, but there wasn’t much chance of escaping the exchange between father and daughter.

‘It’ll be good for you to get to know some of your classmates better. You’ve been there half a term and you haven’t made any friends.’

‘Good for who? You just don’t want me here!’

‘Heather! You know that’s not true!’

The only answer Luke got was the slam of Heather’s bedroom door.

Gaby closed her eyes. She felt like collecting her car this morning, then driving back to London at eighty miles an hour, without stopping. She wanted to tell Luke she couldn’t take the job after all. It was all too close, too raw. What if she couldn’t do this?

But if she left, Heather and Luke would be separated again and their relationship might not survive. The thought that she might be able to turn the tide and see father and daughter happy together made her wrap all of her own feelings of insecurity in a bundle and pack them away somewhere dark inside herself.

Luke had offered her a lift down to the village to get her car. Not because it was too far to walk, but because it was drizzling on and off and her most sensible shoes were still slightly damp from the day before.

When Gaby got outside, Heather was already in the back seat of the Range Rover, arms folded and looking as if she were willing it to sink into the mud. Luke locked up the house, opened the driver’s door and got in without a word.

She turned to smile at her charge and Heather rolled her eyes. Gaby pressed her lips together to stop herself smiling. She wasn’t going to encourage Heather to be cheeky, but she was glad the girl saw her as an ally, not another enemy.

It was only a matter of minutes before the Range Rover had ploughed through the muddy lane and arrived in the village. Luke pulled in near to the jetty to let Gaby out.

‘Just out of interest, why exactly did you leave your car over the other side of the river and get the ferry over?’

Gaby shuffled in her seat and bent to pick her handbag up from the footwell. ‘Well…it’s a little difficult to drive and navigate at the same time in these lanes.’

‘In other words, you got lost.’

‘No! Well, just a bit. I was following directions for Lower Hadwell. I just didn’t notice the little boat on the signs.’

Luke sighed. It was a world-weary noise that said typical very eloquently. Why couldn’t he just laugh at her, like the ferryman had? She could handle that. He shook his head and pulled out of the parking place.

Where were they going now?

Obviously Luke had made an executive decision of some kind and didn’t think it was worth discussing with a dimwit like her. She was tempted to roll her eyes à la Heather, but she just clutched her handbag with rather more force than necessary and looked out of the window. They were climbing up the steep hill that led out of the village.

‘Where are we going? I need to get my car.’

Luke didn’t bother looking at her when he replied. In fact, it seemed as if he was taking it as a personal affront that she should dare ask. ‘I’m going to drop Heather off at Jodi Allford’s, then we are going to get the ferry and fetch your car round.’

‘We?’

‘I don’t want my new nanny ending up in Cornwall when I need her here.’

She glanced across to see if that was a joke. His mouth was set in a hard line.

He was treating her like a child! And if this was only a fraction of what he dished out to Heather, she could see why father and daughter were getting along so famously. Talk about a complete sense of humour failure!

But then, this man didn’t have a lot to smile about. Her fingers loosened their grip on her innocent bag. She wasn’t being fair.

‘Are you going to navigate, then?’

‘That’s the plan. Don’t worry. You’re not putting me out. We’ll pass through Totnes and I was intending to go to the bank there this morning anyway.’

Her put him out!

Old resentments bubbled below the surface. She did not need another man treating her as if she only had one brain cell. She slumped down into her seat and fumed. No would you mind if I came along…? or what do you think if…? She ought to tell him to drive himself to the flipping bank. She could do just fine on her own.

Instead she just nodded and said, ‘Okay.’

Then she rolled her eyes at herself. Why did she always do this? Swallow what she really wanted to say and give the nice, polite, acceptable answer?

That little exchange set the tone for the whole journey. Luke merely nodded at Ben, the ferryman, when they hopped aboard his little boat, and he hadn’t said much more than ‘next left’ and ‘second exit’ since they’d driven away from the quay in her battered old car.

There was hardly any traffic in the lanes this time of year and Gaby had time to let her mind wander. What was wrong with Luke this morning? Yesterday evening, once the storm with Heather had blown over, he’d been polite and, while not chatty, she’d thought they’d begun to form an acceptable sort of working relationship. Even outbursts of frustration were better than this stony silence. He seemed so distant.

‘Straight on at the crossroads.’

There it was again! That little edge in his voice that made it seem like an order and not a request. As she slowed to wait at the junction, she looked sideways at him. His face was blank and he was staring straight ahead.

At least he wasn’t criticising her driving. David had always had something to say about how fast she was going. Well, how slow, to be exact. He always had an opinion on how things ought to be done. But he’d seemed so charming and knowledgeable in the early days of their relationship—and she’d been so young—that she’d deferred to him on everything. He’d been her husband, after all, and she’d wanted to make him happy.

A little dig here, a cutting remark there, and David had moulded her into the image of the perfect corporate wife. And the really tragic thing was she’d let him, without hesitation or question, because she’d been so stupidly grateful a dashing young banker like him had even looked at her, let alone wanted to marry her.

She suspected now he’d just seen her as a blank canvas. And when they’d separated she’d gone about changing herself, scrubbing away the traces of his influence on her.

She’d lost quite a bit of weight. That had given her a grim satisfaction. David had always made little remarks about how she should get down the gym more. And now she dressed how she wanted to dress, in comfortable clothes, not a designer label or a gold earring in sight.

She had never really loved him, she knew that now. She’d just been so terrified of losing him that she’d erased her own personality. And, in doing so, she’d paved the path to rejection herself. He’d run off with Cara, a career woman, who was exciting and intelligent and unconventional…All the things she wasn’t, according to David.

She’d become a suburban version of Frankenstein’s monster. A patchwork person, put together with all the right bits in the right places, but somehow the life—the spirit—had been missing.

Luke’s voice boomed in her ear. ‘I said, “Get into the right-hand lane.”’

‘What?’ She came to and realised they’d reached the outskirts of a town. ‘Sorry. Must have drifted off.’ She didn’t look at him, but she could tell he was giving her a long hard stare. When he thought he’d made his point, he folded his arms and looked straight ahead.

She turned right, following his directions, and managed to park near the town centre without further embarrassment. Luke unfolded his long frame from the passenger seat and got out, slamming the door as he did so. When she’d finished untangling her handbag strap from around the gear stick and joined him, she found him staring down the street.

‘I’ll meet you back here in half an hour,’ he said and marched off without looking back.

He walked into the car park and spotted her leaning against the car, a crowd of shopping bags at her feet. She looked like so many of the other shoppers in her jeans and hooded jacket. If he hadn’t been looking out for her, he probably wouldn’t have given her a second glance. She looked quite ordinary.

But he was looking out for her. And, as he looked more closely, he noticed something. Even without make-up and her hair scragged into a ponytail, she looked fresh and vibrant—not in the same way as Lucy, who’d been packed so full of restless energy she had hardly been able to contain it—but in the sense that she seemed full of untapped potential. On the cusp of something. He envied her that.

He’d expected to shed the sense of hopelessness with the regulation uniform when he’d walked out the prison gates. But it still weighed him down and he didn’t know how to shake it off. And now, here was this woman doing it all so effortlessly. He wasn’t sure whether he was fascinated or frustrated.

She turned to him as he neared the car and he said something—anything—to hide his confusion. ‘What have you got in those? Clothes?’

‘Food.’

‘But we don’t need any—’

‘Luke, I looked in your freezer this morning. It’s full of cardboard boxes and shrink-wrapped nasties. It’s about time you and Heather ate something with nutrients in it. Goodness knows, it might improve both your moods.’

Luke was about to protest that his mood was just fine, thank you very much, but then he remembered how tightly clenched his intestines were all the time and how Heather just had to give him one of her glares and his head would swim with the effort of keeping a lid on his temper.

He grunted and saw a small smile appear on Gaby’s lips.

‘Just you wait. Your taste buds will sing.’

‘Pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?’

Still, she was probably right. The food inside had been even worse than the contents of his freezer. In comparison, the ready meals tasted like ambrosia. Perhaps he shouldn’t have subjected his growing daughter to such a limited diet.

‘I didn’t hire you to cook, you know. I’m not paying you any extra.’

‘I like cooking. And besides you did hire me to look after Heather. And I feel I would be failing miserably if I let her eat fast food and junk all day long.’

‘I’ve looked after Heather just fine up until now, thank you.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

She rummaged in her pockets and pulled out the car keys. He watched her unlock the car, shaking her head as she did so, obviously deciding it wasn’t worth the effort to answer him.

He picked up the shopping bags and put them in the boot. He hadn’t meant to bite her head off like that. It was just that he should have thought of the quality of the food he was giving his daughter, not left it up to a stranger who’d been in their lives less than twenty-four hours. It was just another area he was failing in.

He wanted to say sorry, but the words wouldn’t come. Too many years of burying all sense of civility had left their toll on him. It had been too dangerous to show any sign of weakness, so he’d had to act tough to survive. He’d blithely thought that, once he was home, he’d be able to flick a switch and return to the man he’d once been, but it wasn’t that simple. What had once been a choice had now become a habit.

As they climbed in the car and drove away, he looked across at Gaby. Two little creases had appeared between her eyebrows while she concentrated on the winding roads. He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. He’d been like a bear with a sore head this morning and she’d just taken it. No screaming, no temper tantrums. She seemed to understand that he was struggling with a new addition to the household and gave him space accordingly.

He cranked the handle by his side to open the window a little. The air was cold and very fresh, but he needed a break from the smell of her. Nothing fancy. No perfume or expensive cosmetics, just the scent of a clean woman. A good woman. She had to be a saint to take his family on. And perhaps this good woman could help him remember how to be a good father. Once it had been so effortless.

But that was the problem. He wanted Gaby here for all the obvious practical reasons, but a part of him was resisting her presence. There was something about her that eroded his barriers while he didn’t even notice. He’d laughed with her. Had actually laughed. He’d opened up with her. Those kinds of things were dangerous. If he didn’t look out his iron-plating would buckle and then he’d lose control—and that would be no good at all for Heather.

However much this Gaby made him want to breathe out and smile, he had to resist it.

‘Next left.’

Gaby didn’t move.

‘Gaby, I said next left! Now look…We’ve gone past the turning. You’ll have to stop in the passing place up ahead, then go back.’

He watched her fingers tighten over the gear stick and she jerked it into place. His eyes widened slightly.

So, he was getting to her. Perhaps she wasn’t as au fait with his sore-headed-bear routine as he’d thought. Well, good! It would be easier to keep her at arm’s length that way. Then he wouldn’t be bothered by her clean smell and the warmth in her eyes.

CHAPTER FOUR

A LASAGNE was bubbling away in the oven. Gaby fished her mobile phone out of her pocket and dialled a number while she had a spare minute.

‘Hello, Mum. It’s me.’

‘Good grief, Gabrielle. What are you doing calling at this hour? You know we always sit down to dinner at six-thirty sharp. Your father will only get difficult if his soup goes cold.’

‘Sorry, Mum. This won’t take long.’

‘Well? What’s the emergency?’

‘I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be away for a while.’

‘Oh, good heavens! You’re not going on holiday with that Jules you share a flat with, are you? She seems the sort to get into trouble in a foreign country, if you ask me. Always got too much flesh on display.’

Gaby closed her eyes, took a deep breath and answered. ‘No, Mum. I’m not going away with Jules.’

‘Just as well. I don’t know, Gabrielle. Your father and I didn’t raise you to go gallivanting off at the drop of a hat. I just don’t know what to think since you broke it off with David.’

‘Mum, David was the one who—’

‘Well, that’s beside the point, isn’t it? I don’t know why you can’t make another go of it—let bygones be bygones. Goodness knows, your brother and Hattie have had their problems, but they’ve been able to make it work. Look at them now, two lovely boys and another baby on the way. You’re running out of time, you know, if you want a family. And at your age it’s going to be hard to find a nice man to take you on with all your history.’

Gaby tuned her mother out and made the appropriate noises at the appropriate moments. Why did every conversation always end up with her mother pointing out that she wasn’t making a success of her life like her golden-boy brother? Next to him she just felt ordinary.

Once her mother had given up on her following Justin to Cambridge, she’d hatched a plan to train her up as a nanny and pack her off to look after Lord and Lady So-and-so’s kids. What a coup that had been at her afternoon teas.

Gaby sighed. She’d done everything she could to make her parents proud of her, but it was never good enough. She even wondered whether one of the reasons she’d married David, one of Justin’s university buddies, had just been so she could bask in some of the reflected glory.

She was jerked back to the present by the raised pitch in her mother’s voice. ‘I’m going to have to dash. Your father has just started bellowing.’

‘Bye, Mum. Send my love to—’

But her mother had rung off. Gaby walked over to the fridge, still staring at her phone. Her mother hadn’t even asked where she was going, or how long for. She popped the phone back in her jeans pocket and got on with making the salad dressing. There was a creak by the door as she measured out the vinegar.

Luke.

She wasn’t sure how she knew it was him, she just sensed it. She carried on pouring the oil into the dressing mixture and waited for him to say something. The fine hairs on the back of her neck started to lift and she became so self-conscious she whisked the dressing into a tornado.

In the end, she couldn’t stand it any more and she turned slowly. Her eyes met his.

‘Is there anything I can do to help, Gaby?’

She shook her head. ‘No. It’s just about ready. You could call Heather, though, if you like?’

He just stood in the doorway and kept looking at her. She looked back, doing her best not to fidget. And then he disappeared without saying anything. A shadow seemed to hover in the doorway where he’d been standing, as if the intensity of his presence had left an imprint in the air. The whisk in her hand was hanging in mid-air, dripping dressing on the floor. She quickly plopped it back in the jug and reached for the kitchen towel.

By the time Luke returned with Heather, the lasagne was on the table and Gaby was ready and waiting with an oven mitt in one hand and a serving spoon in the other. Heather slid into a seat and eyed the serving dish suspiciously. Gaby gave her a small portion, then spooned a generous helping on to a plate for Luke.

She waited, eyebrows raised and spoon poised to cut through the pasta, waiting for him to signal if he wanted more. He nodded so enthusiastically that Gaby couldn’t help but smile as she dolloped another spoonful on to his plate and passed it across.

‘Do start,’ she said, serving herself.

The Armstrongs weren’t ones to stand on ceremony, it seemed. Both Luke and Heather started to demolish their dinner without further hesitation. Gaby, however, took her time and watched. She tried with difficulty to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up as Luke closed his eyes and let out a small growl of pleasure. It was the first time she’d seen him genuinely forget his troubles and live in the moment.

She shook her head and stared at her own plate. Get real, Gaby! A nice lasagne is hardly going to undo five years of emotional torment. But when she looked up at Luke and Heather, both on the verge of clearing their plates, she couldn’t help feeling just a little triumphant.

‘This is even better than Granny’s,’ said Heather, her mouth only half empty before she shoved in another forkful.

‘I thought you were boasting this afternoon, but you were right. My taste buds are serenading you. Where on earth did you learn to cook like this?’

Gaby flushed with stupid pride. Luke’s approval shouldn’t matter. He was talking about her cooking, not passing judgement on her as a person. She really needed to calm down. ‘Just cooking courses at the local adult education college.’

Six of them. Including the Cordon Bleu one. David had insisted. He’d liked the idea of hosting dinner parties for his business associates. But he’d never savoured her food the way Luke was doing now, as if every bite was a small piece of heaven. Perhaps their marriage would have been salvageable if he had, but everything had been too salty, lumpy or cold for David.

Not for the first time, she sighed with relief that catering to David’s fussy eating habits was now Cara’s job. Or perhaps it wasn’t. She doubted that Superwoman did anything as mundane as cooking. The thought of David tucking into a plastic-wrapped meal with his silver-plated cutlery made her feel strangely warm inside.

A small smile still lingered on her face as she started to stack the plates at the end of the meal. This kitchen seemed warm and inviting and cooking for Luke and Heather had been a joy. She’d thought she’d be treading on eggshells while she stayed at the Old Boathouse, but it all felt very natural.

She balanced the plates on top of the serving dish and picked the pile up, only to find Luke step towards her and place his hands over the top of hers. The tingle where their fingers made contact was unexpected—so unexpected that her smile flickered out and she stared hard at the pile of dishes and tangle of fingers. They both went very still.

The tingling got worse and she gripped harder.

‘Thank you, Gaby. I really appreciate you doing that for us. It was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.’

Now pins and needles were travelling right up her arms until they broke through her skin in big pink blotches on her neck. She could feel it. That always happened when she was…

‘I’ll do the dishes,’ he said, giving the stack a little tug.

She nodded her response. The words wouldn’t come.

He smiled. ‘You need to let go of the plates, then.’

‘Of course.’ But her fingers were blatantly ignoring his very logical suggestion. ‘I’ll make the coffee.’

Then, before she knew it, fingers and dishes were whisked away. She wiped the remnants of the tingles away on the front of her jeans.

‘How do you take it?’ she asked him as the last of the plates were being stacked on the rack and the kettle was bubbling madly.

Luke dried his hands and looked over his shoulder. ‘Black, one sugar.’

The same as she did.

Somewhere inside, all the silliness to do with plates and fingers and lasagne and black with one sugar consolidated into a glow in the pit of her stomach. She tried to quench it, but the embers warmed her all the same.

She handed Luke his coffee and started to walk out of the room with her own.

‘Gaby?’

She turned.

‘Aren’t you going to stay and drink it in here?’

‘Um. No. I’ve got…things I need to do. Upstairs.’ She looked up at the ceiling and caught her breath. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Luke. I think I need an early night.’

He sat down at the table and supported his chin with his hand.

‘Okay, then,’ he said, breaking eye contact. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Gaby took a short trip back to London the next weekend to collect more of her things, and to let Jules know she wouldn’t need her spare room for a while. Jules was a friend from her art classes at the adult education centre.

She’d been lovely while the divorce had been going through and had offered Gaby her spare room when the marital home had been sold and Gaby had needed somewhere to stay while she’d looked for something more permanent.

She suspected she’d been cramping her flatmate’s style recently. Jules had just started dating a guy she’d had a crush on for months, and would probably be glad of the extra privacy.

Since most of Gaby’s larger possessions were already in storage, it was just a case of packing a couple of bags and she’d be ready to go. She was just stuffing the last few bits into a holdall when the phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Gabrielle?’

‘Mum!’

‘I thought you were going away with that Jules person.’

‘No, Mum. I—’ Hang on a second. ‘Why are you calling if you thought I’d be away?’

‘It’s obvious, dear. I was going to leave a message on your answer phone about Justin’s birthday for when you get back.’

‘Justin’s birthday,’ she said slowly. That wasn’t for another two months.

‘Just so you don’t double-book yourself.’

Of course. Harriet was having one of her big parties, but then Harriet always made a fuss about Justin’s birthday.

‘Well, Mum, I’ve got a new job. I’m not sure I’m going to—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! You can’t miss your own brother’s party. It’s the sixteenth, dear. Are you writing it down?’

‘Of course, I am,’ Gaby replied, looking at the pad on her beside table and doing nothing to move towards it.

‘I’ll be in touch in a few weeks to fill you in on all the details. Bye now.’

Then all Gaby could hear was the dial tone purring in her ear.

Luke tugged frantically on the strings of the kite, but it was too late. It fell out of the air and crashed on to the deserted beach. He sighed and trudged towards it. Gaby might be a bit of a shrinking violet at times, but she could talk an Eskimo into buying snow, and what was more, he’d love her for it!

This outing to the beach with Heather had been her idea.

You’re not working this Sunday, she’d said. The weather report says it’s going to be sunny but windy, she’d said. Great weather for flying kites. Heather would love it…

And before he knew it, he was buying a multicoloured contraption in town and spending his Sunday afternoon watching it nosedive into the shingle again and again.

Heather had lost interest after ten minutes. So now he was left to keep up the pretence while she and Gaby wandered along the shore, arm in arm, and collected shells and bits of quartz.

He stopped to watch them. They were deep in conversation, sharing girl-type secrets, no doubt. His heart squeezed a little. Gaby had made such a difference to their home in the last three weeks. He still had to duck when Heather was in a foul mood, but more and more she was laughing and smiling, and he’d even caught her singing to herself.

He could see glimpses of the happy little girl she’d once been. That same cheeky smile she’d had, aged three, when she knew she’d said something funny or cute. The way she stroked a strand of her own hair when she was tired.

And it was all down to Gaby. He couldn’t take credit for the tiniest bit of it. All he managed was to stretch his mouth into a smile when it was required, and to say the right things—as if he were reading from a script—and watch his daughter blossom.

Gaby was getting closer and closer to Heather and, miracle of miracles, Heather was letting her.

And, all the while, he stayed on the fringes and watched. He was just as much on the outside of his daughter’s life as he’d been all those years behind bars. Why he couldn’t work his way into the centre—where all the laughter and warmth was—was more than he could fathom.

He watched as Gaby and Heather broke into a run and chased each other along the edge of the surf. The wind was cold and it blew their scarves in front of their faces, which only made them laugh all the more.

How did she do it?

The woman he’d thought at first seemed ordinary, nothing special, had the ability to reach out to a heart and see it respond. A very rare thing indeed. He caught himself studying her, trying to work out what her secret was, where all that warmth and courage came from.

He alternated between admiring her and hating her for it.

He tore his gaze away and returned it to the kite lying a short distance away on the small round pebbles. It seemed injured, lying there fluttering half-heartedly. He walked over and surveyed it with dismay.

The two figures walking along the shore hadn’t even seen it crash.

It was all in a tangle and he didn’t know what to do with it.

Heather sat in the passenger seat of Gaby’s car and fiddled with the catch on the glove compartment.

‘Come on, Heather. You’re going to be late if you don’t actually get out of the car and walk through the gates.’

Heather grimaced and opened and shut the glove compartment a few more times. ‘Twenty’ she said, casting Gaby a weary look.

Okay. Heather was taking a cryptic tack again. Gaby was getting used to this. Heather had problems expressing her fears. Rather than blurting out how she felt, she would leave a trail of crumbs, making her interrogator work for answers she was actually desperate to give. But they didn’t have time for this; the school bell was going to ring in less than a minute.

‘Twenty what, Heather?’ Twenty more slams of the glove box and the whole car would fall apart? She took hold of Heather’s hand gently and removed it from the glove box catch. Heather pulled her hand away and tucked it under the school bag on her lap.

‘Twenty school days until the Easter break.’

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