The Nanny Affair. Robyn Donald

unemotional courage and expertise.

      And that, Emma scoffed, ignoring a particularly colourful garden, was pure imagination! He possessed a natural male magnetism that attracted a woman’s interest, and she could tell by his muscles that he worked hard, but, although she was certain he could handle himself in any situation, he wasn’t a superhero. They didn’t exist. She’d simply been overwhelmed by an excess of pure male charisma.

      And everyone knows, she thought with a faint, malicious smile, that charisma has nothing to do with character—it’s a fairy godmother’s doting gift, handed to the unworthy as well as the good.

      The big green car passed her with almost no sound beyond a little toot that irritated her even more; setting her chin, she strode down the footpath, examining magnolias and camellias and daffodils with a determined interest.

      Kane had been right when he’d said spring came early in the north; the daffodils were in full glory, daphne bushes perfumed the air with their sharp, exquisite scent, the poplar-like cherry trees she’d noticed were ablaze with tiny rosy-cerise bells, and freesias and annuals mingled in bright profusion in every flowerbed.

      Clearly no gardener in Parahai worried about late frosts.

      The walk calmed her, so that by the time Emma got to the village she was ready to enjoy its atmosphere. First she called into the bank, to make sure that everything was under control with her account, and then she spent a very pleasant hour acquainting herself with the stock in both the bookshop and a small boutique that specialised in chic, casual clothes.

      Nice, but too expensive, she thought, eyeing a smart pair of capri pants with a matching shirt and waistcoat in the crisp, clear grey that suited her. The move from her flat in Taupo to a unit in Hamilton, a bustling city some distance away, had drained more from her bank balance than she’d budgeted for. As she didn’t start her new job for three weeks, she’d have to be careful with her savings.

      She found the local library and organised a temporary membership before choosing a detective novel set in ancient Rome and a big, fat historical novel written by a woman who was both a scholar and a brilliant author. Though Mrs Firth had many books, they were mostly about gardening and cooking; Emma enjoyed them, but wanted a little variety.

      After that she sat out a shower in a coffee bar that overlooked a little courtyard, where a fountain spilled a shimmer of water over three graduated cockle shells and more flowers bloomed in pots, mostly big, blowzy pansies in shades of blue and purple and yellow. Smiling over her coffee cup at the antics of the sparrows outside, Emma let her irritation fade.

      No doubt Kane Talbot didn’t intend to be so autocratic. He’d probably been born that way, she thought, and grinned at the image of a small baby with that imperious nose and chin bending an entire household to his will.

      Finally she went to the supermarket, buying the staples she needed before allowing herself the pleasure of choosing a few mandarins, cushiony and glowing, a dark purplish-green avocado and some smooth, ruby, egg-shaped tamarillos, her favourite fruit, so frost-tender they only survived where winters were mild and short.

      Leaving the bags to be called for, she set off for the garage again, enjoying the salt-tanged, sunlit air and the huge white clouds that sailed rapidly across the bright sky.

      She was a few minutes early, but the mechanic had finished. Wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, he said, ‘I can’t give you a warrant, Ms Saunders, because she needs a new clutch plate. You must have noticed she was shuddering a bit when you started.’

      ‘Oh,’ Emma said blankly. ‘Well, yes, but I thought it was just because the car was old.’

      ‘She’s a dowager, all right, but she’s in great heart and a new clutch plate will make all the difference,’ he said encouragingly.

      Emma asked the probable cost, and frowned at his reply. ‘That’s a lot of money,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to—’

      And stopped, because he glanced past her as someone joined them.

      ‘Trouble?’ Kane Talbot asked.

      The garage owner explained again, and Kane said calmly, That’s all right. We’ll leave the car here and Emma can contact Mrs Firth when she gets home.’ He switched that hard-edged glance to her. ‘If Mrs Firth agrees to the repairs, ring Joe before five this afternoon and he’ll get the part couriered up from Auckland tonight. That way you’ll have the car back almost as soon as if you told him to go ahead now.’

      ‘Yep, that’s right,’ the mechanic said cheerfully.

      Aware that her reluctance to do this was based entirely on the fact that it was Kane who’d suggested it, Emma nodded. ‘OK,’ she said to the mechanic. ‘I’ll contact you as soon as I’ve rung Mrs Firth.’

      ‘Fine.’ The mechanic nodded at Kane before going back into the workshop.

      Emma stood quite still, battling a chill, empty feeling as though somehow the ground had been neatly cut from under her feet.

      ‘Have you left parcels somewhere?’ Kane asked.

      ‘At the supermarket.’

      ‘Right, we’ll go and get them.’

      Because there was nothing else to do she went with him, accepting the unforced politeness that put her into the passenger’s seat. He obviously didn’t care whether she wanted him to extend such courtesies to her—he performed them automatically. After a rapid glance Emma decided that he’d probably never even heard of political correctness or the feminist movement.

      She felt, she told herself crisply, sorry for that woman in Australia.

      The seats were leather and very comfortable. Emma folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. The seatbelt fitting snugly across her chest seemed to be blocking her breath. Deliberately she inhaled, but barely had time to fill her lungs before Kane opened the door and got in behind the wheel.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘ENJOY your morning?’ Kane asked as he turned the key.

      ‘Yes, thank you.’

      ‘It’s a nice little town.’ He changed gear and inclined his dark head to someone who’d tooted and waved from another car. ‘How did that Rottweiler get its name? Lucky is all right for a sheepdog or a Labrador, but it’s no name for a guard dog.’

      Emma was halfway through her answer before she remembered that she’d planned to stay stiff and distant all the way home. By then it was too late, so she kept on going in her usual pleasant voice.

      ‘He was lucky Mrs Firth came to collect Babe from the clinic I worked for in Taupo. Or perhaps he was lucky Babe chased a roaming goat out of Mrs Firth’s garden and hurt her paw. She stayed in the clinic overnight, and while she was there a man brought Lucky in. He’d been given the pup but his wife thought it would grow into a monster that might eat their children, so he dumped it on us. When Mrs Firth came to pick up Babe the pup was in a cage, bawling his head off.’

      ‘And she couldn’t resist him.’ He sounded amused and a little patronising.

      A swift glance from beneath her lashes revealed that he was smiling. No doubt he never did anything on impulse.

      Looking straight ahead, Emma said woodenly, ‘When she went over to say hello, Lucky rushed across and pressed his face into her hand as though she’d been sent to rescue him.’

      Kane laughed quietly. ‘Did he do that to you too?’

      ‘Oh, yes, but I didn’t tell Mrs Firth that. He was going to be put down, you see.’

      ‘Not exactly good pet material,’ he observed. ‘They’re tough dogs, and they need a lot of work to keep them happy.’

      ‘Corgis might look very sweet, but they’re tough dogs too, and Mrs Firth trained Babe well enough.’ This was stretching the point; although Babe was devoted to her mistress,