“Vices?” Raefe said scornfully. Letter to Reader Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

“Vices?” Raefe said scornfully.

“And what would you describe this as?” he continued. “Aboveboard and openhanded? Honest? To change your name and masquerade as someone you’re not in order to worm your way into a household where you know damn well you’re the last person who would be wanted?” The gray of Raefe’s eyes resembled cold steel as he added, “And that brings us to why you did it.”

The awkward question, of course, Francesca acknowledged, and paused before answering. It proved to be a fatal mistake.

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Look out next month for.

A Daughter for Christmas

by Cathy Williams (#1993)

Accidental Nanny

Lindsay Armstrong

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

SHE was about five feet six and in her early twenties, he judged, with a fine carriage that displayed a slender neck, straight shoulders and breasts that bounced beneath the yellow silk of her shirt like tantalising fruit as she jumped out of a dusty Land Rover. Her waist was small, her hips compact, her legs, in blue jeans, long. She also had an imperious air and glorious toffee-coloured hair. Then she spoke, and there was absolute assurance in her cultured vowels—the inborn ease of someone who had been used to having all and sundry do her bidding from her cradle...

Raefe Stevensen narrowed his eyes then raised a wry eyebrow. So it’s true, he mused. She has been up on Wirra. He paused and watched the girl toss her head as she spoke to the man who had driven her. I can guess why she’s here—and expecting me to drop everything, no doubt. He watched a moment longer, then deliberately reached for the telephone.

Francesca Valentine jumped down from a battered Land Rover and looked around intently. There was not a lot to see—one prefabricated building, a hangar, one runway with a limp airsock, two light planes and a helicopter parked on the apron. Her deep blue eyes brightened at the sight of the aircraft, however, and she turned to the driver of the Land Rover, flicking her toffee-coloured hair back. ‘This’ll do, Jim. You don’t need to wait around. You’ll be wanting to get back to the station before the road is flooded anyway.’

‘Well...’ The driver, a dusty, middle-aged man, hesitated. ‘I don’t like to leave you, Miss Valentine. Your father—’

‘Jim, so long as there are planes, I can get myself flown out.’

‘But just in case you can’t,’ Jim persisted. ‘This is a very small town, Miss Valentine. There’s only one pub where you could stay and you wouldn’t—well, it’s not what you’re used to. Cattlemen, drovers, truckies and the like,’ he added with deep significance. ‘Your father—’

‘If you mention my father once again, Jim, I’ll scream. It was his idea that I spend some time on Wirra Station; therefore, even if indirectly, it’s his fault that I’m all but stranded here!’

‘He couldn’t have organised this flood,’ Jim replied reasonably. ‘And it wasn’t his fault the chopper conked out on us at a time like this.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ Francesca said darkly, but added, ‘Look, surely it’s easier for you not to have me to worry about on top of everything else? I mean, you’re going to have enough on your plate as it is, what with moving stock around let alone yourselves if the waters get up to the homestead.’

Jim sighed and said cautiously, ‘We could be cut off for weeks, I guess.’

‘Exactly! The other thing is, once I get home, I can pull all sorts of strings towards getting you parts flown up to repair the helicopter,’ Francesca finished triumphantly.

‘OK, Miss Valentine, if you say so,’ Jim relented suddenly, and got out to heave her bag off the back seat. ‘I’ll just carry this to the office for you.’

‘I can do it.’ Francesca wrested her bag from him and held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Jim. I do appreciate your concern, and I hope I wasn’t too much of a... time-waster for you. I shall certainly report back that Wirra is in good hands.’

‘Cheerio, Miss Valentine. As for being a time-waster—well, I doubt if those lads have enjoyed themselves as much for years once they got used to...certain things, so don’t you worry your pretty head about it.’ As he shook her hand vigorously he appraised not only her pretty head but also her shapely figure with a genuine and kindly appreciation that gave no offence. ‘You’re a right card at times, Miss Valentine,’ he added. ‘A real chip off the old block—and it’s been a pleasure.’

‘Not too much of a chip, I hope,’ Francesca murmured, but beneath her breath, and then she stayed to wave Jim off before turning once more to survey the landscape of this tiny airfield in the middle of North Queensland’s Cape York Peninsula.

The rain depression that had blown in off the Gulf of Carpentaria had not yet hit, although the sky was heavy. But the floodwaters generated by the depression were creeping inexorably down the channels and river beds and, according to all predictions, it wouldn’t be long before this wild country that was home to some huge cattle stations would not only be awash from those creeping waters but deluged by the skies above. The northern part of Wirra Station was already under water.

Wirra, Francesca mused, and thought back briefly over the last two weeks that she’d spent on the newest acquisition of the diverse, powerful and immensely wealthy Valentine empire.

There had certainly been a tangible restraint amongst most of the employees towards the new owner’s daughter at first. And if it hadn’t been for Jim, whom she’d known for years and who’d been transferred from another Valentine property to take over the running of Wirra, it might have been quite uncomfortable. But with his help I managed to win them over, I think, she reflected. Am I really a chip off the old block? I know Dad can be immensely charismatic when he sets his mind to it, but there’s a hard, cold side to him I hope I haven’t inherited...

‘Oh, well,’ she said aloud, and turned towards the small building that proclaimed from a sign on the roof that it was the home of Banyo Air—the three craft on the tarmac bore the same logo. ‘The sooner I get myself out of here the better!’

It was an unimpressive office she walked into, with one girl behind a battered desk, two uncomfortable orange plastic chairs in front of it and a view through grimy windows of the airfield. There was a watercooler, a sluggish ceiling fan churning the hot, humid air and a variety of blown-up aerial photos tacked to the walls. Francesca dumped her bag down and said crisply, ‘I’d like to see whoever is in charge, please.’

The girl, who looked no more than nineteen, blinked and pushed her dark hair back nervously. ‘He’s on the phone at the moment—’ she gestured to an inner doorway behind Francesca ‘—but if you’d care to wait he shouldn’t be too long.’

‘What’s his name?’

The girl blinked again. ‘Stevensen. Mr. Stevensen,’ she said finally.

‘Then perhaps you can help me, if Mr Stevensen is too busy. I need a flight to Brisbane—’

‘Brisbane?’ the girl echoed, her eyes widening, as if the capital of Queensland were located on the moon.

‘Yes, well,’ Francesca said, reflecting that Brisbane was over a thousand miles away. ‘Cairns, then, or at least somewhere where I can get a regular flight. You do fly to Cairns?’

‘We could,’ the girl said cautiously, ‘but I’m afraid I couldn’t arrange anything like that.’

‘Then would you mind letting this Mr Stevensen know that I am here?’

‘Yes. As soon as he finishes his call,’ the girl amended. ‘Would you like to sit down, or perhaps you’d like a glass of water?’

‘Both,’ Francesca said with a grin, and helped herself to a paper cup.

The girl seemed to relax, and she spent a few moments covertly admiring Francesca—her designer jeans and silk shirt, for one thing, and her soft kid tan boots. She gazed at her narrow, elegant hands, and the one ring she wore—an unusual gold signet on her little finger—and the way her toffee hair fell to her shoulders in a beautifully ordered, shining mane. Then she sighed discreetly and picked up the phone.

Francesca listened idly, because there was no point in trying not to, and discovered that the girl was talking to the Acme Employment Agency in Cairns with a view to hiring a governess for the unseen Mr Stevensen’s motherless seven-year-old daughter. It further transpired that his sister, who usually looked after the girl, had broken her wrist and that the job would entail living on a cattle station.

‘Yes,’ the girl said into the phone, ‘Bramble Downs, that’s right. Yes, it is a bit isolated, although it’s very comfortable. But no, no shops handy—no cinemas, no libraries, no television or anything like that—and it can get very hot...’

Not to mention flooded out—why don’t you tell them that? Francesca thought with a grimace but did not say. And when the call was ended, and there was nothing else to do as the girl began to bang away at an old typewriter, she pondered on the difficulty of getting staff to these remote areas and found herself wishing Mr Stevensen luck in the matter of a governess for his motherless seven-year-old daughter.

Then she glanced at her watch and discovered that she’d been waiting for twenty minutes, and her goodwill towards the elusive man began to seep away. Another five minutes, she told herself. How busy can he be in this God-forsaken spot?

She waited for precisely five minutes, then she stood up and said politely to the girl, ‘What is your name?’

‘Susan—Look, I am sorry, but he’s still on the phone, although I’m sure he knows you’re here. He would have seen you arrive.’

‘Is that so—Susan?’ Francesca said precisely. ‘Well, will you take this message in to your boss? Will you tell him that Francesca Valentine, daughter of Frank Valentine—yes, that one, the multimillionaire,’ she said as Susan’s eyes bulged, ‘would like to see him immediately? Furthermore, will you tell him that if he keeps me waiting any longer I will buy out this tinpot little airline he works for and have him sacked?’

Predictably, Susan couldn’t find the words to respond, but it was a moment before Francesca realised that she might not be the whole cause of the girl’s distress. Because Susan was in fact staring fixedly at a point over her right shoulder, and she swung on her heel to discover that the inner door must have opened silently during her speech and now a man stood there.

For once in her life Francesca herself was rendered speechless, although only momentarily, because the elusive Mr Stevensen—if this was he—was not what she’d expected at all. What had she expected? she was to wonder later. Had the unpretentious, grimy office with its poor facilities led her to expect the same of the man in charge? Had the locality, which wasn’t that far from the black stump, led her to expect a slowlyspoken cattleman-type, who would blink in awe at her?

How wrong could you be? she was also to think later, because this man was certainly not blinking in awe at her. He was eyeing her narrowly and insolently. He was over six feet tall, with fair hair and grey eyes, and he was in his middle thirties, she judged. And as well as being good-looking, and well although casually dressed, in khaki trousers and shirt, he carried an unmistakable aura of savoir-faire directly alongside the aura of a tough and hard man.

Francesca took an unexpected breath, but opened her mouth immediately. ‘Well, well, is it you at last, Mr Stevensen? To what do I owe this honour, or have I got the wrong man?’

‘I am Raefe Stevensen, and if you wish to be flown out of here, Francesca Valentine, daughter of Frank Valentine, I’d advise you not to take that tone with me.’

‘How dare you—?’ Francesca began.

‘I dare for several reasons,’ Raefe Stevensen said in cool, even tones that barely cloaked the contempt beneath them. ‘You can’t buy me out because I own this airline. You won’t find any other way to get to Cairns today. And, last but not least, your father’s millions mean nothing to me—I can’t stand the man.’

Francesca’s nostrils flared and a steady little flame lit her blue eyes. ‘Then may I say that I’m sure the feeling would be mutual—if this is the sloppy way you run a business.’ She flicked a scornful hand.

‘And may I say that your thoughts on the subject, or any subject, are quite without interest to me, Miss Valentine.’

‘Is that so? Well—’

But he overrode her casually. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, and—’ that cool, insolent grey gaze swept up and down her body ‘—you look about as glamorous and useless as the spoilt little rich girl you are. Why don’t you go away and find someone else to terrorise? I’m not flying you to Cairns today.’

‘Oh, yes, you are, mate,’ Francesca said through her teeth. ‘I’ll pay you...whatever you want—you name it. And, on the subject of how useless I am, I’ve just spent the last fortnight on Wirra, doing most of the things all the men did—’

‘Yes, I heard about that.’ Raefe Stevensen smiled unpleasantly. ‘But being good on a horse and a motorbike doesn’t mean to say you’re any good at anything else. The other interesting item of news on the bush telegraph was that you’d been banished up to Wirra by your father for some rather sordid indiscretion down south.’ He leant back against the doorframe, folded his arms and studied her mockingly. ‘It’s a pity to be the subject of that kind of gossip at—what—twenty-two?’

A white-hot gust of anger visited Francesca, and she stepped right up to Raefe Stevensen with every intention of slapping his face. But, although he moved lazily, he managed to grasp her wrist with one hand and with the other like an iron bar around the back of her waist bent her backwards over it.

Sheer surprise held Francesca transfixed for a second. Then she squirmed vigorously, only to have herself clamped ruthlessly against a body that was as hard and strong as a tree-trunk. She was also unexpectedly assailed by a curious sensation of helplessness and, to her horror, an undoubted awareness of all that was masculinely attractive about Raefe Stevensen.

And in the brief moment before he lowered his head to kiss her she saw, to her further horror, in those cool grey eyes that he was all too aware of the effect he was having on her.

It didn’t take long, his kiss, but it contrived to be comprehensive and merciless. ‘There,’ he drawled as he released her and politely steadied her, adding insult to injury, before dropping his hands from her body. ‘Is that what you wanted, Chessie Valentine? I believe that’s what those in the know call you, and I suppose I could be considered “in the know” now.’ His lips quirked. ‘Sorry it couldn’t have been a bit more intimate, but we do have company.’

Francesca stared up into those supremely ironic grey eyes, blinked several times in disbelief then turned to see Susan watching them with all the pop-eyed intensity of a trapped rabbit. She swung back to Raefe Stevensen; the pause had given her a little time to compose herself.

She said grimly, ‘I’m afraid you got it wrong, Mr Stevensen, sir, and—’

‘You’re about to tell me I’ll pay for this somehow or other?’ he suggested. ‘Will you report me to Daddy?’

What shook Francesca as much as anything that had happened to her was that his words were said with the unmistakable indifference of a man who really did not care—a man who believed she was an indulged, useless millionaire’s daughter, if not worse.

Did I ask for it? The thought popped into her head, taking her unawares. I know I can go over the top sometimes, but to keep anyone waiting for nearly half an hour when you’re only in the office next door—surely that wasn’t necessary! It’s not as if he owns Ansett or Qantas. But how the hell am I going to get away from here now?

‘You were saying?’ Raefe Stevensen prompted.

Francesca opened her mouth, closed it, then said stiffly, ‘If I overreacted to being kept waiting for what seemed—I have to be honest—an inordinately long time, I apologise.’

‘Go on,’ he murmured.

‘On? What more do you want me to say?’

‘I was wondering how you might try to cajole me into flying you out.’

Francesca closed her eyes and cautioned herself to stay cool ‘Well...’ She paused, then shrugged. ‘You have the option of flying me out to Cairns at the going rate, Mr Stevensen, or not. It’s up to you.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then it sounds like a night at the pub for me until I can arrange something else—because if you think I intend to grovel at your feet,’ Francesca said softly, ‘you’re wrong.’

‘Not the pub.’ Susan spoke for the first time in a fairly desperate, bewildered sort of way. ‘I mean, it’s full of stranded track drivers and tourists. Raefe,’ she added on an anxious, entreating note, and glanced at Francesca.

For the first time Raefe Stevensen’s grey eyes softened as they rested on the girl’s face. ‘Sorry, Susie,’ he said. ‘That was a bit rough on you. Uh...call Bill, will you? He’s in the hangar and he’s scheduled to take the Beechcraft down to Cairns this afternoon. Tell him to leave as soon as he can.’

‘Rough on you,’ Francesca heard herself repeating somewhat dazedly, and added, ‘I think I must be going round the bend! I mean, I’m sorry too, Susie, but—’ She broke off and shook her head disbelievingly.

‘It’s all right, Miss Valentine,’ Susan said hastily.

Whereupon Raefe Stevensen grinned and murmured, ‘It seems you have one fan, Chessie, despite your high-handed ways.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Francesca warned grimly. ‘How would you like to be paid? I have a credit card, or—’

‘I’m sure you have the lot,’ he drawled.

Francesca, in the act of opening her purse, which did indeed hold an impressive array of credit cards, paused, then tossed her head and laid the open purse down on the desk. ‘You’re quite right. Take your pick, Mr Stevensen.’

‘Well, Chessie Valentine, I think I might give you this one on the house,’ he said. ‘The plane was going to Cairns anyway, and one more piece of—baggage—is not going to make any difference. You should be able to take off within an hour. Good day to you—I’m about to fly off myself. I don’t suppose we’ll meet again, which might be a good thing. Should be back in a couple of hours, Susie.’ And he strolled out of the office without a backward glance.

Francesca barely restrained herself from picking up her purse and flinging it at his retreating back.

She put up at the luxurious Cairns International that night, after finding herself unexpectedly exhausted, although the flight by Banyo Air to Cairns had been uneventful.

But the next morning she woke to find herself in a different mood altogether. She got up early, showered, wrapped herself in a cool, silky robe and ordered breakfast. While she was eating a delicious mango she knew she should be getting on to one of the commercial airlines to fly her south, but in fact she couldn’t tear her mind from the events of the previous day, and the humiliation she’d suffered at the hands of one Raefe Stevensen.

What surprised her, though, was the fact that she was possessed of almost equal desires not only to avenge herself but to prove him wrong. Why? she wondered. A lot of people out there assume I’m a rich bitch. It comes with the territory—especially when you have a father like mine...

She flinched, and got up to examine the view from her window. But no view of Cairns could distract her from the truth, which was that, after her mother’s death when she was six, her father had taken a series of mistresses—some nice, some ghastly—and the only shield between herself and them had been years at an exclusive boarding-school. Years of yearning for a normal family life until she’d grown a protective shell that was both brittle and bright and sometimes outrageous.

I know it, she thought. I know I can be impossible, and I suppose it’s really ironic that when I am impossible I emulate the very worst side of my father, who I basically despise, but that’s not all there is to me.

Still...she grimaced... I must have acquired more of a reputation for being a chip off the old block than I realised, and I certainly must have acquired more of a reputation for being a dilettante, not to mention glamorous but useless, than I realised if people buried in the wilds of Far North Queensland have heard about me.

Mind you, she countered to herself, I can’t be held responsible for the fact that the reason I came to be at Wirra got wildly distorted, and why should I care what one insufferably arrogant man thinks of me?

She returned to the breakfast table with the uncomfortable knowledge that she did care, even if she couldn’t understand why. Her hands stilled as she started to butter a piece of toast, and a gleam came to her blue eyes. Now, Chessie, don’t rush into this, she told herself, but a few moments later she reached for the phone to call Reception and advise them that she required a fax machine. Then she made several calls to Melbourne, her home town—only one of them being to do with the parts required for the malfunctioning Wirra helicopter.

An hour later the faxes started to roll in satisfactorily. Two hours later she dressed carefully in her most conservative clothes.

She chose cream linen trousers, a cream and green checked blouse and polished brown moccasins. She tied her rich hair back demurely with a green ribbon and she wore no jewellery other than her signet ring and a man’s plain watch with a leather band. She applied no make-up.

She folded her faxes carefully and tucked them into her shoulder bag. She then took the lift to the foyer where the head porter, with sweeping bows, procured a taxi for her and directed it to the offices of the Acme Employment Agency.

‘I believe,’ she said to the lady behind the desk at Acme, ‘that there is a governess position available at Bramble Downs—the Stevensen family. I happened to hear about it and, since I have teaching qualifications and I’m on a working holiday in this part of the world, I thought of applying for it.’

The woman, whose name-tag labelled her as Joyce Cotton, blinked, then smote her forehead. ‘Glory be! I was getting quite desperate! Poor Mrs Ellery has broken her wrist, and as if that isn’t bad enough she’s just rung me to say the cook’s gone walkabout. She really needs help urgently now, but they have very high standards and it’s just not that easy to find quality staff—or any kind of staff,’ she added honestly, ‘for these stations.

‘Then there are floods up there, I believe, so Raefe Stevensen—he’s the girl’s father—is going to be desperately busy and can’t be home. Mind you, I’ll have to check you out before I can—’

‘Of course,’ Francesca said, and just thinking of Raefe Stevensen and the way he’d kept her waiting with no sign of being desperately busy, let alone the way he’d kissed her, helped her to say without a twinge, ‘My name is Fran Moorehouse, and I’ve brought along copies of my references and so on. You’re welcome to check them out.’

Not that I’m really telling a lie, she mused, having been christened Francesca Moorehouse Valentine—Moorehouse was her mother’s maiden name. And Fran Moorehouse was a name she often used to escape notice.

To do Joyce Cotton credit, she diligently checked most of them by phone, then said, ‘Right, Fran, I think that will do. Now there’s only the problem of getting you up there. What a pity it’s not yesterday! Raefe had a plane land in Cairns, I believe, but anyway, I’ll get on to him straight away. You can—’

‘Joyce,’ Francesca interrupted, ‘where exactly is Bramble Downs? I’ll tell you why I’m asking: I have a four-wheel drive, and if it’s at all possible to drive myself up there I’d rather do that than have to find somewhere to leave it.’

Joyce Cotton frowned, then pulled out a large-scale map. ‘It’s at least a six-hour drive from here, Fran, on difficult roads. And then there are the floods—but they may not have reached... Look, I don’t know about this,’ she finished anxiously. ‘On the other hand, if it saved Raefe a trip...’

Francesca studied the map and noted that Bramble Downs was on the east coast of the peninsula and about two hundred miles south of the town and airstrip she’d flown from yesterday. ‘Could...?’ She paused and frowned. ‘Perhaps I could get a road report from the RACQ? They should have up-to-date information.’

Joyce brightened and reached for the phone. It transpired that Bramble Downs should be accessible until the following afternoon at least.

‘Well—’ Francesca smiled ‘—that solves that.’

‘And you have no qualms about driving up there on your own?’ Joyce enquired.

‘None,’ Francesca assured her.

‘You know,’ Joyce said warmly, ‘I think you’re just the practical, capable kind of person the Stevensens need!’

‘Thank you,’ Francesca responded, with what she hoped was hidden irony, and ten minutes later she stepped out into the bright sunshine.

She then applied herself to the task of acquiring a four-wheel-drive vehicle at extremely short notice, and also all she would require for a stay of unknown duration on Bramble Downs.

CHAPTER TWO

TEN days later Sarah Ellery, Raefe’s sister, who was in her late thirties, said, ‘Fran, I don’t know how on earth I coped without you! This wretched wrist.’ She waved the offending arm with its plaster. ‘You just don’t realise how difficult it is to manage one-handed. I can’t believe the good luck that brought you our way. Raefe will be so delighted when he gets home—which should be any day now.’

Francesca hid a grimace. The floods had subsided, and although Bramble had been cut off for several days they hadn’t received nearly the inundation that had affected areas further north. The same inundation that had kept Raefe Stevensen from home as Banyo Air was heavily involved not only in moving people about to escape the waters but also in mustering halfdrowned stock. All of which couldn’t have suited her plans better.

But Judgement Day had to come, and, while her resolve stood firm concerning the man, his family was becoming another matter.

She glanced across to where young Jess Stevensen was doing a jigsaw puzzle, with the tip of her little pink tongue sticking out as she concentrated fiercely. She was a fair, serious child, and at first she’d shown an almost adult reserve that had puzzled Francesca slightly. But the reserve was lessening day by day— in fact she was beginning to show flashes of sweetness and affection that were quite beguiling.

Then there was Sarah, thin and elegant, with her brother’s eyes, although darker hair, and a gold wedding ring on her finger but no sign or mention of a husband. Sarah, who’d also been reserved at the start, and had a hint of unexplained sadness about her—although she too had dropped her guard after a couple of days and shown that she possessed a delightful sense of humour as well as being cultured and artistic. She read avidly, painted lovely miniatures and played the grand piano beautifully. Even one-handed.

Indeed, the whole of the Bramble Downs homestead had come as something of a surprise to Francesca. Its facilities alone were impressive, considering how far away from anywhere they were, and represented the considerable amount of money that must have been spent to achieve the degree of comfort there was on a property that had no town water or electricity.

Then there was the house itself. Solid and comfortable, it was in a magical position overlooking a white beach, an island and reef-studded waters that changed colour from aquamarine to dark blue depending on the time of day and tide.

It was surrounded by lawn and smothered in bougainvillea, and its thick white walls, cool tiled floors, wide verandas and Spanish-flavoured interior suited the tropical climate perfectly—it could not have been more different from the virtually tin-shed accommodation on Wirra, and it was obvious the Stevensen family was not short of cash.

Some demon of curiosity had prompted Francesca to ask Sarah one day whether Jess’s mother had been responsible for the uncluttered interior, the lovely pieces of heavy wooden furniture and the occasional splash of colour in a rug or a painting or a giant pottery urn filled with dried flowers.

This had provoked a brief, sad look from Sarah, although no explanation of what had actually happened to Jess’s mother, before she’d composed herself and replied that no, not really, it had mostly been her and Raefe’s mother’s doing. Then she’d gone on rather deliberately to chat about the family history, and Francesca had got the distinct impression that the subject of Jess’s mother was taboo.

But she had discovered that Bramble Downs had been in the Stevensen family for eighty years. It had been taken up by Sarah’s grandfather, and the original residence had been nothing but a tin shed. Now, whilst cattle had always been and still was the largest part of their business, Banyo Air, started by Raefe, was growing most satisfactorily. It was obvious to Francesca that Sarah Ellery was very fond of her brother.

‘He was always fascinated by flying, although he’s a cattleman through and through,’ Sarah added dreamily, then grinned wryly. ‘He even used to try to construct wings. I remember the day he jumped off the water tank and broke his leg. And he couldn’t wait to get into the Air Force. He was one of their top guns,’ she said proudly.

‘Is that all he did?’ Francesca heard herself ask, and hoped the slightly cynical note she heard wasn’t obvious to Sarah.

Sarah blinked and said, ‘Well, he did some sort of aeronautical engineering degree at the same time as he trained to be a pilot. Then he left the Air Force and did a stint for a year as a private pilot for some sheikh. Now that was quite an experience. The man had four wives and fourteen concubines, would you believe, and he used to jet around the world as we might drive into town.’

‘It must be quite a change—I mean from that to running Banyo Air,’ Francesca said casually, and at the same time she thought, so that accounts for the savoir-faire.

‘But, you see, he’s his own boss now and Banyo Air is acquiring quite a reputation—it’s actually the perfect combination for a cattleman, especially now that so much mustering is done by helicopter. He has the experience of cattle—he was inducted into that almost before he could walk—he knows the peninsula and the gulf really well, and he’s a first-class flier. So contract mustering is the mainstay of Banyo Air, but he also runs scenic charter flights and so on.’

Francesca thought of the trim craft she’d flown in to Cairns, and indeed of the disparity between all the polished craft that had stood upon the apron that fateful day and the unprepossessing offices of Banyo Air. Her thoughts were tinged with bitterness—if the offices had been as trim and polished as the aircraft Raefe Stevensen flew, might she have been more restrained herself? So why did he operate out of a tinpot sort of office if Banyo Air was so highly regarded?

Sarah answered that right on cue. ‘His next project is upgrading the facilities at the airport he operates out of. It’s badly needed, believe me. But these things take time and money. And planning permission,’ she added with a grimace.

Francesca pondered all this anew as she was getting ready for bed that night. Her bedroom with its en suite bathroom was comfortable and pretty, with a double bed, a cool tiled floor and yellow sherbet coloured curtains and bedspread. She had a dressing table and a writing table, both made from silky oak, and one comfortable armchair, and it was into this she sank to examine, with a rather strange feeling, how well she’d slipped into the lifestyle of Bramble Downs.

Not only had she taken Jess over from the bead stockman’s wife, who had been helping Sarah out since she’d broken her wrist, but the cook’s disappearance had given her the opportunity to exercise her culinary skills. All of which had meant she’d had hardly a minute to herself, yet she felt curiously fulfilled and satisfied.

And, more than that, it was as if she was saying to Raefe Stevensen, yes, I can see that the way the Valentine millions are flaunted and the way I acted that day would be an affront to someone who comes from this quiet but solid, achieving and cultured background of yours—but you still misread me!

The one thing she couldn’t do was visualise his reaction to her presence at Bramble, although she told herself that he surely wouldn’t react too excessively in front of his sister and child. What she didn’t count on was that their first meeting would take place without anyone to witness it...

She woke just before dawn the next morning and listened to the birds saluting the new day for a few minutes—birds you didn’t hear down south, and ones that would always be inextricably linked in her mind with Far North Queensland, with its heat, its isolation, the thick mat of turf beneath your feet as you stepped off the veranda at Bramble, with the casuarinas and pandanus palms that rimmed the beach and the lovely waters of the Great Barrier Reef...

Just thinking of it prompted her to take the opportunity, while Jess still slept, to go for a dawn swim. She pulled on a violet bikini, brushed her hair, reached for a towel and slipped out of the house noiselessly as the first rays of light touched the sky.

Because of the proliferation of crocodiles in this part of the world since they’d become a protected species, as well as the prevalence of the deadly box jellyfish in summer, a wire-mesh and pole swimming enclosure had been built which extended into the water and up the beach. Francesca clicked open the gate, saw that the tide was high, which meant plenty of water to swim in, and ran down the beach to dive in.

It was heavenly—still cool enough to be refreshing, salty and with a gentle swell that lifted her rhythmically off her feet. After she’d swum up and down energetically for about ten minutes, she lay in the shallows and watched the sun rise in a symphony of apricot and lemon as the birds sang on. Then she heard the enclosure gate click open and, thinking it might be Jess, sighed lightly and stood up to start her daily duties.

But it wasn’t Jess, it was the girl’s father, with his shirt and shoes already off and his hands frozen on the waistband of his khaki trousers.

Francesca froze too, and they stared at each other over about six feet of sand, close enough for her to see the disbelief and then the sheer, deadly anger that came to his grey eyes, the way all the muscles of his strong, streamlined torso and arms bunched and the knuckles of his hands went white.

It crossed her mind with a genuine tremor of fear that she might be about to come to an early demise on this beautiful beach so far away from anywhere, but then his eyes changed to unreadable, those muscles relaxed and he unclamped his jaw to say roughly, ‘Fran something or other? What a fool I was not to connect the name when Sarah rang me about the gem of a new governess they’d sent her. How did you do it, Francesca Valentine? Forge a few references? Or did you buy out Acme?’

The savage scorn and disgust in his voice seared Francesca and she went a little pale. But she managed to say evenly, ‘I forged nothing. I—’

‘Oh, come on! How the hell do you expect me to believe that?’

‘I don’t care what you choose to believe,’ she said tautly. ‘But you won’t be able to disbelieve that I have an arts degree with a teaching diploma because I can prove it. I can also prove that I’ve worked regularly with handicapped children, and those institutions were very happy to supply me with references.’

‘What about your honesty and integrity?’ he shot back.

‘Strangely enough, I had no trouble finding several people to vouch for my honesty and integrity—people who were even happy to commit to paper the fact that I had no police record, no vices, no—’

‘Vices?’ he said scornfully. ‘And what would you describe this as? Above-board and open-handed? Honest? To change your name and masquerade as someone you’re not in order to worm your way into a household where you know damn well you’re the last person who would be wanted?’ The grey of his eyes resembled cold steel as he added, ‘And that brings us to why you did it.’

The awkward question, of course, Francesca acknowledged in her mind, and paused before answering to make sure she presented her case coolly and clinically. It proved to be a fatal pause.

Raefe Stevensen advanced several steps to stand right in front of her and look down at her with all his old insolent cynicism as he said softly, ‘Don’t try to con me further, Chessie. I know the answer. You don’t like to think any man can walk away from you, do you? You came here with one aim in mind, didn’t you? To add me to your list of scalps.’

There was so much tension between them that Francesca found herself briefly possessed of the notion that the air was crackling with static, and she realised as she spoke that her voice was alive with it. ‘Don’t you kid yourself, Raefe Stevensen,’ she said unevenly, barely concealing the wild anger that ran through her veins.

But he only looked coldly amused. Then he subjected her damp, glowing body to the most minute scrutiny. Her bare neck and shoulders, her firm lovely breasts and the erect nipples clearly visible beneath the wisp of violet silk, the curve of her hips and thighs, adorned by what suddenly seemed to Francesca to be a particularly small triangle of silk, the sweep of her legs. He scrutinised her so effectively, she was made to feel as if he was running his hands over every curve, every secret, intimate part of her.

Then he said mockingly, ‘This is really why, isn’t it, Chessie Valentine? You can’t believe any man could be unaffected by your...’ his grey gaze swept her body again ‘...admittedly very beautiful body, your lovely face and, most of all, your father’s millions. You assume that they will distract them from your shallow little soul.’

Francesca stared at him with her lips parted incredulously.

‘And that’s why,’ he went on, ‘you’re to be found on my beach in your designer bikini. I’m quite sure if this hadn’t happened first you’d have found the opportunity to parade yourself before me in it somehow,’ he finished with lethal gentleness.

Francesca came to life, bent to gather her towel and forced herself to tie it around her waist steadily, although her fingers were trembling, and only when she was done did she say, ‘If you ever insult me again, Raefe Stevensen, or take it upon yourself to kiss me again, believe me, you will pay—even if I have to use all of my father’s despised resources to achieve it. Now get out of my way,’ she ordered.

But he laughed softly, and then really took her breath way. ‘It’s no crime to look. Why don’t you come for a swim with me? Perhaps I could send you away from Bramble not entirely—frustrated.’

And he moved around her, dropped his trousers carelessly to the sand and strode into the water.

Francesca had barely reached the safety of her room and started to toss clothes into her bags when she heard, through her window, Sarah say delightedly, ‘Why, Raefe! When did you get home? How did you get home? Gosh, you’re all wet!’

Francesca clenched her fists then moved to the window so that she could see out of it but was hidden by the yellow sherbet coloured curtain. She was just in time to see Raefe bestow a light kiss on his sister’s brow. He’d put his trousers on but his fair hair was plastered to his head and dripping and his tanned, magnificent shoulders glistened with droplets of water in the early sun.

She heard him say, ‘I’ve only just arrived. I drove down because all the choppers are out. For the last fifty miles all I’ve been thinking of is a swim.’

Sarah laughed. ‘Good thinking! No one’s up yet. Raefe, you wouldn’t believe how lucky we are with the new governess! She’s even got Jess to sleep in—and she cooks too!’

‘Does she, now?’ Raefe Stevensen said on a distinctly dry note, but his sister seemed not to notice.

‘I’m just hoping and praying she’ll stay with us. But I do wonder...’

‘What do you wonder, beloved?’

‘Well, she’s—I’m sure she’s capable of doing much more with her life, somehow. She’s very well educated, and from the odd thing she’s let slip she’s well travelled and so on... By the way, did I mention she’s absolutely lovely as well?’ Was there a touch of ingenuousness in the way Sarah said that? Francesca wondered.

‘You did not—I can’t wait to meet this paragon. Why, if it isn’t Miss Jessica Stevensen!’ he added, and fielded a joyful, flying, fair-haired missile, sweeping her up into his arms. ‘How are you today, poppet?’

‘I’m fine, Daddy,’ Jess replied excitedly. ‘Guess what? I’ve got a new governess. She says I can call her Chessie and she’s teaching me to do long division.’

‘Goodness me—won’t be long before I’ll be able to hand the books over to you, but—’

‘I really like Chessie,’ Jess went on. ‘She’s also teaching me to swim—’

‘You can swim,’ her father objected.

‘But I’m learning to do backstroke now,’ Jess said proudly.

‘I see.’ Raefe put her down but kept her by his side as his long fingers played with her fair curls. ‘Uh—would you tell this Chessie I’d like to see her in my study in half an hour, please?’

‘She’ll be starting breakfast by now—why don’t you see her in the kitchen, Raefe?’ Sarah suggested. ‘By the way, don’t forget I have to get to Cairns somehow tomorrow for an X-ray to see how my wrist is healing.

‘You know, I thought, seeing as you’re not so busy now, and seeing as Fran—or Chessie—is here and coping so admirably, I might just take a bit of a break. I haven’t been to Brisbane for a while.’ Sarah stopped, and it was as if a cloud had gone over the landscape of her expression for a moment. ‘But I really should go,’ she added quietly. ‘What do you think?’

Francesca moved away from the window with a suddenly thoughtful frown.

‘We meet again, Miss Valentine.’

‘So we do, Mr Stevensen.’

‘Sit down.’

It was about an hour later. Francesca had made and served breakfast, although not to Raefe, who had not appeared in the kitchen but sent a message to keep his hot. She had also packed her bags and was dressed in her cream trousers and cream and green checked shirt. Sarah had taken Jess for a walk, fortuitously, so the house was empty, and Francesca had taken the bull by the horns and walked into Raefe’s study. She sank into a chair.

They eyed each other until he said casually, ‘I thought you’d have shaken the dust of Bramble from your shoes by now, Chessie. I presume that brand-new four-wheel-drive vehicle is yours?’

‘It is—I had no intention of being at your mercy again over the matter of transport,’ she replied crisply, then added abruptly, ‘How do you want to do this?’

‘Do what?’ He’d changed into navy shorts and a white T-shirt, and the task of driving two hundred miles overnight appeared not to have made any impact on him as he lounged behind the beautiful mahogany table that served as a desk.

‘As if you didn’t know—arrange my departure,’ she said scornfully. ‘Because I refuse to simply disappear. I don’t do that to children, or people I happen to like.’

He sat up and clasped his hands on the desk. ‘What do you suggest, Chessie?’

Francesca reined in her anger at the insulting way he used her name. Everything was insulting to her, including the way his grey gaze lingered on the front of her checked blouse, as if he was seeing beneath it. ‘I could claim to have had a call to go home for some urgent reason. That way I can say goodbye properly.’

He appeared to reflect for a moment, then said, ‘We still haven’t got to the bottom of why you did this—want to tell me?’

‘Oh, I thought we had,’ she replied innocently. ‘You seem to have worked it out down to the last dotting of the i’s and crossing of the t’s!’

‘I gather you have another version, though.’ There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

‘Ah, but why waste my time, since you’re so determined to disbelieve anything I say?’ she murmured with irony, and added, ‘Look, let’s get this sorted out, shall we? I’d like to get back to Cairns by tonight.’

‘Chessie...’ He frowned, then sat back. ‘What would you believe of a girl who is frequently seen on the social pages in revealing gowns and with renta-crowd escorts? Whose twenty-first birthday party was a three-day event on Hayman Island? Who was given a Porsche for her eighteenth birthday? Whose name has been linked romantically with a lot of men and who, apparently, was banished up to this neck of the woods by her father because of an involvement with a married man?’

Francesca blinked. ‘Who told you that?’

‘It’s not true?’ he countered coolly.

‘No, it’s not! Not in that sense—I wasn’t banished. If you think my father can afford to moralise to me—’ She stopped abruptly.

‘Go on—so there was no married man?’ Francesca stared at him, then said wearily, ‘Yes, there was, but, believe me, it was he who was making a nuisance of himself, not the other way around.’

Their gazes locked and held, and Francesca’s deep blue eyes did not waver. Nor did they hide her sense of outrage.

This caused Raefe Stevensen to smile briefly and say, ‘So why did you do this?’

‘For the sheer pleasure of proving to you that I am not useless,’ she said proudly.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I must have hit quite a nerve.’

‘And I presume it would be too much to expect for you to admit that you may have made a mistake about me, but it doesn’t matter,’ she said swiftly, and stood up. ‘As they say in Asia, I hope you have an interesting life, Mr Stevensen. Your brand of arrogance certainly deserves it!’

But he only laughed softly. ‘Chessie,’ he remonstrated, still grinning, ‘you have a very short memory! Are you not the girl who started all this by threatening to buy out my means of livelihood and have me sacked? If that’s not arrogance...’ He shook his head wryly.

Francesca clenched her fists, and he watched with interest the effort she made not to take the bait. ‘Look, I’m going,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell them whatever I please, and—’

He interrupted her to say, ‘I’ve got another idea. Why don’t you stay for a couple of weeks?’

‘Oh, no. Oh, no! How can you possibly—?’

‘Perhaps we could start again,’ he said smoothly.

‘Start again? You’ve got to be joking.’ Her glance was withering.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘And neither am I. You seem to forget that all I did was take exception to being kept waiting for so long—the first utterly arrogant action in this duel if you ask me—’

‘I was on the phone,’ he said mildly.

‘And you surely don’t believe what I said was anything more than a retaliatory tactic?’ she shot back. ‘Whilst you...you insulted me, kissed me against my will and this morning took the unbelievable liberty of—of undressing me with your eyes, which is to put it very mildly. No. And don’t bother to offer to pay me either, Mr. Stevensen. This—baggage—would rather you owed her one.’ She turned on her heel.

‘There wasn’t a lot of you left to undress,’ he said. ‘But—I apologise for that.’

Francesca looked over her shoulder. ‘Only that? Oh, well, I didn’t think you had it in you to do even that. It won’t get you anywhere, though. Good day to—’

‘I apologise for the rest of it, then. Perhaps I did rather overreact.’

Francesca paused, then swung around. ‘You must rate me as really cheap, Mr Stevensen,’ she said gently. ‘That won’t do it either.’

‘All right, Chessie.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘What would do it?’

‘Nothing that I can think of—so you might as well get right on to Joyce Cotton at Acme, although I must tell you she was at her wits’ end until I turned up.’

She watched and waited, and saw his frown deepen as he studied her. Then he said abruptly, ‘Look, it so happens I really need you for the next couple of weeks. And, since it would appear that you have been both an excellent governess and cook, I would be much obliged if you would help me out. I take back the “useless” tag unreservedly.’

Francesca was silent for a moment, because she wasn’t sure that she believed him entirely, nor was she altogether sure whether she should be doing what she was doing. Then she discovered that she still had a few things to prove to Raefe Stevensen.

‘OK, I’ll do it. For two weeks.’

‘I thought you might,’ he said drily.

‘What do you mean?’ She blinked.

‘You heard Sarah this morning, didn’t you? It’s just occurred to me we had that conversation on the lawn virtually outside your window. And, accordingly, you knew I’d be fairly desperate. I’m only surprised you didn’t ask me to grovel at your feet.’

A faint tinge of colour came to Francesca’s cheeks but she didn’t deny the charge. ‘Yes, I heard. And, yes, I decided to milk as much of an apology out of you as I could. You’re welcome to sack me for it.’

‘Why?’ he said simply.

She looked at him steadily. ‘Are we back to that? Because I still have some things to prove to you, Mr Stevensen. And one of them is that when I do walk away from Bramble your—scalp or whatever you like to call it won’t be attached to my belt.’

‘That’s a very rash statement, Chessie,’ he murmured.

‘Just wait and see.’

He considered for a moment, then said with a faint shrug and a wry little look, ‘Aren’t you at all afraid of the opposite happening?’

‘Opposite to what?’

‘Well. in light of my “unbelievable liberties”, quote unquote, mightn’t I have designs on your scalp?’

‘You know, I almost wish you would,’ she said thoughtfully, and there was a sudden glint of contempt in her eyes. ‘For the sheer pleasure of knocking you back as well as proving to you that you’re no better than the rest of them, despite the high moral tone you’ve taken with me. But in fact you’ll have to content yourself with this—one hint of any further liberties, even in anger, and I will leave you and your daughter high and dry.’

He gazed at her, then smiled suddenly. ‘It should be an interesting fortnight—but I give you my word; if you’re happy to leave me alone in that... er...direction, I shall be only too happy to do the same for you.’

The glint in Francesca’s eyes changed from contempt to anger, but Jess and Sarah came into the study at that point. And Raefe stood up to say, ‘Well, we’ve got Chessie for a while longer, at least, so why don’t you plan your trip to Brisbane, Sarah?’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I HOPE you don’t feel as if I’m—imposing,’ Sarah said that afternoon. Francesca was helping her to pack and Raefe had taken Jess for a drive to inspect stock and fences.

‘Why should I think that?’

Sarah gazed at her. ‘I just thought I detected a slight restraint in you.’

Francesca bent over the suitcase on the floor and laid a linen skirt neatly in it. ‘She’ll be fine with me, I promise you.’

‘It’s strange,’ Sarah said after a moment, ‘but I’ve got the feeling I know you, Fran. I’ve had it since we first met—silly, of course, because I’ve racked my brains and I know we haven’t ever met.’

Francesca sat back on her heels, pushed her toffee hair back and considered. Then she said, ‘You’ve probably seen me on what your brother so scathingly calls the “social pages”.’ She turned to Sarah and added levelly, ‘I’m afraid I’ve misled you.’ And she told Raefe’s sister the bare bones of how she’d come to be at Bramble Downs.

Sarah sat transfixed for half a minute as it all sank in, then she said in an awed voice, ‘You didn’t—I mean, you did, obviously, but how brave!’

Francesca grimaced. ‘Not so much brave—I have an awful temper, and impossibly high-handed ways at times—but what really annoyed me was his assumption that I was a glamorous but useless and spoilt little rich girl.’

Sarah blinked.

‘Perhaps 1 shouldn’t have told you—if it’s going to worry you,’ Francesca said after a pause. ‘But I’ll tell Jess my real name and I do promise I’ll take great care of her, I won’t let it affect her.’

Sarah came to life. ‘I’m quite sure Raefe wouldn’t do anything to affect her adversely either—she’s so precious to him. No, I’m consumed with admiration. Raefe’s got such a mind of his own—has had since he was a baby,’ she said wryly.

‘You’re not wrong,’ Francesca agreed drily.

‘You’ll probably find he admires you underneath it all,’ Sarah suggested after a moment’s thought.

Francesca stood up and smiled down at this sometimes sad woman she’d come to like a lot. ‘I wouldn’t bank on it.’

‘But-that is what you’ve set out to prove, more or less, isn’t it?’

Francesca had turned away, and was glad she had because Sarah’s words unearthed a strange feeling at the pit of her stomach. But she managed to say slowly, ‘Not to make him like me, if that’s what you mean—I don’t think we could ever see eye to eye as much as that. It’s just...’ She stopped and sighed suddenly.

‘It’s not that easy to avoid publicity with a high-profile name like mine. A lot of it is speculation—although, I have to admit, there are times when my...’ she hesitated ’...temperament leads me into falling into traps of my own making. But—oh, well...’ She shrugged.

‘And people, particularly men, can be quite dense sometimes, can’t they?’ Sarah said sombrely.

Francesca grimaced. ‘They’re certainly quite prone to believing the worst of me.’

She turned back to Sarah and they suddenly exchanged smiles of understanding that gave Francesca an oddly warm feeling.

Early the following morning a helicopter from Banyo Air landed on the lawn and Sarah left for Cairns and eventually Brisbane. Raefe, Francesca and Jess waved her off.

It was Francesca who noticed that Jess, as the little craft rose, hovered then flew away like a noisy bird, seemed to droop.

‘Why don’t we go for a swim?’ she said casually. ‘We can try some more backstroke—and don’t forget I promised to build you the biggest sandcastle in the world today!’

Jess brightened immediately, and Raefe Stevensen said, ‘Yes, why don’t we?’

Francesca turned to him abruptly with her nostrils pinched, her mouth set in a grim line, but Jess was so obviously delighted to have her father along as well that she turned away immediately and schooled herself to behave as normally as possible.

She would have been even more annoyed, although not entirely surprised, had she been able to read his mind. Because Raefe Stevensen was watching her taut back at the same time as he found himself thinking, nearly got you there, Chessie Valentine—it’s not going to be as easy as you think, is it, my beautiful termagant? I wonder how many men you have driven out of their minds with your wilful ways and that gorgeous body?

‘I can do it! I can do it!’ Jess sang excitedly, then stopped and sank as she swallowed a mouthful of water.

Raefe brought her up, spluttering. ‘The trick is probably not to talk while you’re doing it—don’t you agree, Chessie?’

Francesca nodded, and did some backstroke herself while Raefe patiently took his daughter through the motions again. The water was like pale blue glass as it stretched away to the horizon, and the sky was the same blue, while the air was starting to shimmer with heat. It should have been a pleasant experience, this swim, she mused, before the fierce power of the sun turned the water tepid. But she felt uncomfortable and tense.

Mindful of what had happened to her the previous morning, she’d put on a one-piece buttercup-yellow swimsuit—and been on the receiving end of a wickedly raised eyebrow for her pains. But, of course, the difficulty of it all was that she’d virtually given herself as a hostage to this man since making the promise she had to his sister, and not only that—she wouldn’t upset Jess, anyway—but why hadn’t she stopped to consider all the implications?

Now look here, Chessie, she reminded herself as she floated on her back, isn’t that exactly what you set out to prove? That you could remain quite unaffected by him? So why this faltering at the first fence?

She twisted over suddenly and dived beneath the surface. When she came up, it was to see that Jess and Raefe were wading through the shallows to the beach, and it all came clear to her.

There was, much as she’d like to think otherwise, an undeniable frisson between her and Raefe Stevensen. The kind of frisson that was going to make it hard for her to leave the sea with water streaming off her body and the buttercup Lycra moulding every curve of her figure—hard, that was, beneath those cool, sometimes derisive eyes.

Because she had no doubt he would be watching her, and no doubt that, whatever he might think of her shallow mind and her father’s millions, her body was not a matter of complete indifference to him. Nor, perhaps more unfortunately, were the clean, strong lines of him quite lost on her, and she knew that it would not be possible to deny the trickle of awareness that would run through her as a result of it all as she walked up the beach.

Damn, she thought. I must be mad! Why did I do this? How right was he?

It was this thought that steadied her. Because he hadn’t been right about her; she wasn’t a collector of scalps. And just recalling his words made her stiffen her spine, swim to where she could find a footing and stride out of the water with what she hoped was the appearance of complete indifference.

‘There. Big enough?’ Raefe said to Jess.

Francesca had covered herself with a white cotton shirt and a wide-brimmed straw hat by this time. Jess always wore a specially protective swimshirt over her togs to minimise the effect of the sun on her fair skin, and a floppy white hat, but Raefe was bare-shouldered and hatless as he worked away at the sandcastle.

He sat back and admired his handiwork—the castle was almost as tall as his daughter. He’d done most of the digging while Francesca and Jess had shaped it and adorned it with stones, little wild flowers gathered from the grassy verge beside the beach, and boatshaped leaves to float in the moat that surrounded it.

‘What we need is a flag,’ Francesca murmured. ‘Tell you what—it’s really getting a bit hot out here now, so why don’t we go in and do a bit of schoolwork and make a flag?’

‘Yes. Yes!’ Jess jumped up and down enthusiastically. ‘But—’ her eyes widened ‘—what happens when the tide comes in? Will it still be here?’

‘Ah,’ her father said. ‘Good point. But you’ve got at least four or five hours, because the tide’s going out now. You know...’ he looked around with a frown ‘...for years I’ve been meaning to build a sun shelter on the beach.’

‘And you were also going to build a barbecue here,’ Jess reminded him gravely, and laid a small, sandy hand on his cheek.

For some reason, Francesca saw Raefe Stevensen take a sudden breath as he gazed at the little girl. And for some equally unexplained reason he then raised his eyes to Francesca, and they were as cold as steel.

She blinked, but the moment had disappeared and he was saying wryly to Jess, ‘You’re so right, Miss Muffet. OK, I’ll start doing something about it today. Over to you, Miss Valentine,’ he added expressionlessly.

Francesca hesitated, but he got up and strolled down the beach, obviously intent on picking a site for his sun shelter and barbecue. And although Jess seemed to notice nothing amiss it was, to Francesca, an unnecessarily abrupt dismissal. But she shrugged and took Jess’s hand and they went up to the house together.

Part of the wide, screened veranda that led off Jess’s bedroom had roll-down blinds to keep out the sun, as well as sliding windows, and had also been furnished as a playroom and schoolroom in one.

There was a two-storeyed, fully furnished dolls’ house, quite old by the look of it, but well made, and Jess adored it and played with it for hours, and there was a rocking horse, an array of teddy bears in all sizes, two golliwogs, six dolls, a pram, a giraffe that was taller than Jess and a menagerie of smaller toy animals.

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