Hot Pursuit. Anne Mather

Bay.’ Matt regarded her levelly. ‘Actually, I did ring them myself.’

      ‘You did?’ The relief in her eyes made him regret the lie he’d just told her. ‘What did they say? Are they sending somebody out?’

      Matt ignored his twingeing conscience. ‘Not until tomorrow. They’re pretty strapped today.’

      ‘Oh, no!’ Her disappointment was evident. She ran slim fingers up into the hair at her temples, dragging several strands to curl about her jawline. ‘God, what am I going to do now?’

      He guessed the question was rhetorical, but he answered her anyway. ‘You could stay here overnight,’ he suggested, wondering why he was doing this. ‘I have a spare room. You’ve just spent a couple of hours in it.’

      ‘No!’

      ‘Why not?’ He hardened his tone. ‘You were quite prepared to stay if I offered you a job. What’s the difference?’

      She flushed. ‘That was a mistake.’

      ‘What was?’

      ‘Asking you for a job. I don’t know what possessed me.’

      ‘Try desperation?’ he suggested flatly. ‘Come on, Sara, we both know you don’t have anywhere else to go. And until your car’s fixed…’

      She shook her head. ‘I’ll find a hotel. A guesthouse. Something.’

      ‘Around here? I don’t think so. Not unless you’re prepared to hike several miles, as I said. And somehow, in those heels, I don’t think you’d make it.’

      ‘You don’t know what shoes I’ve brought with me. I have a suitcase in my car—’

      ‘No, you don’t. I checked.’ Matt didn’t go on to add that he’d started her car, too. She must have flooded the carburettor when it had stalled and she’d tried to start it again. ‘There’s nothing in the boot.’

      Her indignation was appealing. ‘You had no right to do that.’

      ‘No.’ He agreed with her. ‘But you had left the keys in the ignition. Anyone could have done the same.’

      She sniffed. ‘You can’t force me to stay here.’

      ‘I have no intention of forcing you to do anything,’ he declared dismissively. ‘And very shortly I’ll be leaving to pick up my daughter from school, so you’ll have every opportunity to walk out if you wish.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s your call.’

      Matt covered the distance between Seadrift and St Winifred’s Primary feeling a sense of incredulity. Had he really left Sara—if that really was her name—alone in his house? After spending the last few years isolating himself from everybody but his family and the people who worked for him, had he actually encouraged a complete stranger to spend the night in his home?

      Was he mad? He knew practically nothing about her, and what he did know was definitely suspect. She had no more decided on a change of life than he had. He’d bet his last cent that she was a runaway. But from whom? And from what?

      Whatever it was, he knew that it made his own misgivings about leaving her in his house groundless. She wasn’t a thief. He was sure of that. Nor was she anyone’s idea of a nanny, although he was prepared to believe that she hadn’t been lying when she’d said she’d been a teacher. That had been the only time when there’d been real conviction in her voice. So what was she? Who was she? And what was he going to do about her?

      For the present, however, he had other things to think about. Not least the fact that he had to introduce her to Rosie. He had no idea what his daughter would think of him inviting a strange woman to spend the night. Rosie might only be seven, but she could be remarkably adult on occasion, and she was bound to wonder how Sara came to be there.

      To his relief, he heard the bell that marked the end of the school day as he pulled up outside the gates. He wasn’t late, thank goodness. But his early arrival did mean that he had to get out of the Range Rover and be civil to the other parents who were already gathered outside the school.

      ‘Hello, Matt.’

      Gloria Armstrong, whose husband farmed several hundred acres north of Saviour’s Bay, gave him a winning smile. Like several of the mothers of children in Rosie’s class, she was always eager to chat with him. Matt was by no means a conceited man, but he knew these women seemed to get a disproportionate delight in using his first name. It was a pity Hester wasn’t still here to run interference for him.

      ‘Gloria,’ he responded now, nodding to her and to one or two of the other parents. Thankfully, there was a handful of fathers present, too, and he was able to ally himself with them as he waited for Rosie to emerge from the school buildings.

      ‘I hear you’ve had no luck in finding someone to care for Rosemary,’ Gloria added, not at all daunted by his offhand greeting. Her heavily mascaraed eyes moved over his tall figure with a certain avidity. ‘I wish I could do something to help.’

      Yeah, right. Matt schooled his features and gave a wry smile. ‘I’m sure you’ve got enough to do looking after those three boys of yours,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Not to mention your husband. How is Ron, by the way?’

      Gloria’s mouth turned down. ‘Oh, Ron’s all right,’ she said dismissively. ‘So long as he has his golf and his beer and his cronies, he’s as happy as a pig in muck!’ She grimaced. ‘I sometimes think he doesn’t care about me and the boys at all.’

      Remembering what Rosie had said about the three boys, two of whom were in her class, Matt reserved judgement. There was no doubt they were tearaways in the making, but who was he to condemn them? He’d probably been far worse in his youth. At least if half of what his mother maintained was true.

      ‘I imagine the farm keeps him fairly busy,’ he said neutrally, wishing he could move away from her. He noticed their conversation was being observed by more than one pair of interested eyes, and the last thing he needed was for someone to mention to Ron Armstrong that he’d been seen chatting up his wife at the school gates. Despite what he’d said to Gloria, he knew her husband was a hothead and a bully. He could imagine the headlines if the other man chose to take him to task for being a womaniser.

      A womaniser! Him! Matt stifled a groan. Nothing could be further from the truth. These days he was virtually celibate. The last time he’d got laid had been before Hester retired. He’d had to spend a weekend in London, visiting his agent and doing some publicity, and one of the advertising execs had come on to him. She’d been exceptionally good-looking, he recalled, but their hasty coupling in her hotel room had hardly been memorable. He’d been glad he could honestly say he was leaving London the following morning, and he’d left strict instructions with his agent that he wasn’t to give his phone number to anyone…

      ‘I wish I had a job.’

      He’d forgotten Gloria was still there, but her rueful remark forced him to acknowledge her again. ‘You have a job,’ he said, wishing Rosie would hurry. He glanced at his watch. ‘I wonder what’s holding them up?’

      ‘Who?’ Gloria looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

      ‘The kids,’ said Matt quellingly. Then, with some relief, ‘Ah—here they are.’

      ‘You know, I could look after Rosemary.’ Gloria grabbed his arm as he would have moved away. ‘At least I’ve had plenty of experience.’

      And not just in looking after children, thought Matt drily, shaking her hand off his sleeve. For the first time he felt a little sympathy for Ron Armstrong. Perhaps he had some justification for his temper, after all.

      ‘It’s okay,’ he heard himself saying now. ‘I’m hoping I’ve found someone. She just started today, as a matter of fact.’

      Gloria’s full mouth took on a sulky slant. ‘Well, that’s news,’ she said, clearly not believing him.