The Love-Child

Cathy noticed that he hadn’t offered her a fresh cup. Probably afraid of what she would do with it.

‘And, as I want you to do some typing for me in your spare time I think we should draw up a timetable and get organised.’

Cathy tried not to pull a face. She was very glad that she wouldn’t be staying around here for too long. Cooking, cleaning, baby-minding ... typing! Even Mary Poppins hadn’t had it that hard.

‘Would you like to say anything?’ Pearce leaned back in his chair and regarded her steadily.

Something about his flint-like expression made her temper simmer. There were a few things she would have liked to say, but nothing would be gained from airing her views about him being a slave-driver. Wait until Mike heard about this, she thought grimly.

Instead she asked coolly, ‘How much are you going to pay me?’ Of course she had no intention of hanging around to be paid, but it might make interesting reading.

He frowned. ‘Hasn’t the agency told you?’

‘Yes.’ She shrugged, and tried to look nonchalant. ‘But now you want me to do extra duties, such as typing.’

One eyebrow lifted. ‘You are direct, Ms Fielding. A quality I admire.’ He paused for just a moment. ‘Let’s round your salary up, then.’

He proceeded to name an amount that nearly made her fall off the chair. It was no wonder that Pearce expected a lot—he was paying a small fortune. Her theory about him being a slave-driver had been way off the mark; he was paying for a top service. ‘Is that acceptable, Ms Fielding?’

‘Yes, that’s fine.’ She tried to make her tone flat so that she didn’t sound as stunned as she felt.

‘And you can have Friday off.’

‘Fine.’ Again her voice was neutral. She wouldn’t be here until Friday; she had no intention of lingering a moment longer than was necessary. ‘But I do need to go into Antibes this evening,’ she ventured. She needed to get back into town, phone her editor and collect some clothes from the hotel. ‘I’ve ... I’ve got an appointment and—’

‘You waste no time. Hot date, is it?’ Pearce’s voice was dry.

‘No ... no.’ Cathy shook her head vehemently, perhaps too vehemently because Pearce Tyrone was watching her with a look that could have cut glass at twenty paces.

‘Ms Fielding, I asked for a nanny who could dedicate herself to Poppy for a while. The child needs good quality care to help her adjust to her new surroundings. I don’t want or need a nanny who is panting with desire to escape into the arms of her lover every evening. If that is your calibre then you had better leave now.’

Cathy’s mouth dropped. ‘Panting with desire?’ Her voice trembled with fury. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’

‘Oh, I dare anything, Ms Fielding,’ he assured her solemnly. ‘My priority is Poppy. I need to know she is well looked after. So we may as well be up front about this. You will not go to Antibes tonight. If you feel you cannot dedicate your time exclusively to this baby and this house for the time I have hired you then you had better tell me now, and we needn’t waste any more of each other’s time.’

‘You are also very direct, Mr Tyrone.’ There was an edge of derision in her voice. ‘Now I know why you admired the quality so much.’

‘So, we understand each other?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘Good.’ He drawled the word and leaned back into his chair again, a small smile of satisfaction playing around his strongly sensuous lips.

Her eyes moved over his strong profile thoughtfully, and she mentally penned what she might write about him. He was autocratic, with very little warmth, though fantastically good-looking, like a movie star.

She was very attracted to him. The thought flew in from nowhere and she tried to dismiss it. All women would be attracted to Pearce Tyrone—he had a kind of animal magnetism. It was a type of fatal attraction—at the same time as being drawn to him almost against your will, there was the fear that could just devour you.

‘So...’ Pearce drawled thoughtfully, jolting her back to reality. ‘All that remains is for me to draw you up a timetable for tomorrow. You needn’t bother with dinner tonight—coffee and a sandwich will do. I want to get on with my work.’ Pearce scribbled on the paper as he spoke. ‘But for tomorrow, let’s see... For breakfast, I think, French toast and coffee.’ He glanced up at her in that unnerving way of his. ‘Breakfast, seven o’clock sharp. I like punctuality. I hope that’s not a problem?’

‘Not if it isn’t with Poppy,’ Cathy answered sweetly. Inside she was wondering if this guy was for real. And what the hell was French toast, anyway?

‘Lunch at one sharp, something light; you can surprise me. I’m sure with your talents for cooking you can be quite imaginative.’

Oh, she could surprise him all right, Cathy thought grimly. And with a bit of luck she could give him heart-burn into the bargain.

As she listened to him her mind veered towards the article she was expected to write. It struck her that it might take her longer than she had first anticipated to get the necessary information. It was not going to be easy to break through Tyrone’s businesslike reserve. She could hardly start asking pertinent questions when all he wanted to talk about was the daily running of the house. She needed to approach this cautiously.

She would have to get into town and phone Mike and pick up some of her belongings from the hotel. It was imperative.

She cleared her throat and cut across him. ‘What about the shopping?’ She asked the question in a wild attempt to get away from the house for a while. ‘You haven’t allowed me any time for getting ingredients for dinner and so on.’

‘Don’t worry about that. Henri will probably see to it...or we’ll have whatever you need delivered.’

Silence stretched for a moment as she searched her mind for a way to get around him and out of here. ‘Actually, I prefer to pick my own ingredients for cooking. I’m rather selective when shopping for dinner.’

‘So is Henri.’ Pearce was unmovable, his eyes firm.

‘Yes, but I have to go into town tomorrow anyway... I need to collect the rest of my luggage,’ she said as desperation started to creep in.

‘Where is your luggage?’ He leaned forward. ‘I thought you just flew in from London early this morning?’

‘Well, I... No...’ She felt her skin go red and blotchy with discomfort as she searched around for a good excuse to explain why her clothes were in Antibes. Hell, she was no good at telling lies.

‘There must be some misunderstanding, I have come straight from working for another family in Antibes... Their daughter is going away to school so they no longer need me.’

‘So why leave your belongings in their house?’ His voice was arid, his eyes watchful.

‘Well, it’s...’ She shook her head, willing herself to think quickly. ‘It’s a precaution.’ She almost gasped the words in relief as the excuse came to her in a rush. ‘I like to make sure everything is above board and suitable before I move into someone’s house...especially when that someone is a single male.’

There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in the cool blue eyes as they swept over her heated face. ‘I see. Well, you have nothing to fear from me, Ms Fielding, I can assure you of that.’

Somehow his words sounded more like an insult than reassurance. OK, so she probably wasn’t his type. Jody Sterling was exceptionally beautiful, as well as talented. But there was no need for him to sound quite so disdainful. She wasn’t ugly. Her skin burned with bright, angry colour but she forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘Well, that is a considerable relief.’ She was pleased by the way she was able to match his cool tone. ‘I wouldn’t like there to be any misunderstanding.’

‘Neither would I.’ He fixed her with a level stare. ‘I never fraternise on a personal level with my staff.’

She had to hand it to Pearce Tyrone, Cathy thought grimly. He got ten out of ten for being able to put her back up. ‘Very commendable,’ she said sugar-sweetly.

He smiled and for a moment amusement lurked in his blue eyes. What was so funny about being an insular snob? Cathy thought furiously. He wouldn’t be laughing when he read the article she was going to write about him. The thought was enough to lighten her spirits.

‘As it happens, I have to go into Antibes tomorrow so we may as well go together,’ Pearce continued smoothly.

Cathy frowned, her moment of pleasure dissolving. How would she get her clothes from the hotel and phone Mike if Pearce insisted on tagging along? To top it all he was going to expect her to go directly to somebody’s house and she didn’t know a soul in Antibes. This was getting to be too complicated by far. ‘But what about Poppy? I mean, we can hardly all—’

‘We can take Poppy with us. We shouldn’t be long.’ Pearce glanced at his watch. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Cathy gritted her teeth.

‘Perhaps you would put my supper on a tray and bring it in here for me?’