Accidental Nanny

‘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.