Part-Time Father

James had never made any secret of his admiration for her, but he was confident and rich and handsome enough not to take her laughing refusals to go out on dates with him to heart. She had told him she never dated people she worked with, which was true. Although she actually had a reason for not dating anyone who happened to ask her.

She had tried dating, and it didn’t work. She couldn’t cope with the physical thing. The unfortunate legacy of her brief kiss with Harrison was that no other man moved her in any way that even remotely resembled the way she’d behaved in his arms that day.

Which was a good thing, she reasoned, since she had been so disgusted with herself afterwards. If passion turned you into a wild, mindless creature at the total mercy of your body—then you could keep it! Kimberley would manage just fine with her brain!

She emptied her fridge, cancelled the milk and switched on the answerphone, threw her suitcase into the back of her MG, and set off back up the motorway.

Her journey was uneventful, save for the episode when a low, black and infinitely more powerful car than her own forced her to move over into the middle lane and then roared off spectacularly into the distance. For Kimberley, who took some pride in her driving and was fiercely competitive, this proved irritating.

Obviously a man, she thought, slightly unfairly. Probably someone who’s into phallic symbols to compensate for his own weediness.

She saw the car again, parked outside the one really up-market restaurant in the village, which was a few miles from her mother’s house and well off the beaten track—not a tourist trap at all. And she wondered vaguely who, round here, was driving such an expensive piece of equipment.

She arrived back at her mother’s, unpacked and then concocted some supper from the food she’d brought with her. The two women were just enjoying a quiet glass of wine when Mrs Ryan dropped her bombshell.

‘Er—Kimberley?’

How well she recognised that voice! Kimberley felt a bubble of amusement welling up inside her. ‘Mother?’

‘I’d like to ask you a favour, dear.’

‘I somehow thought that you might. Go on—ask away.’

‘Er—it’s a little difficult to know how to put it.’

Obviously a very big favour, thought Kimberley. ‘Mmm?’

‘You know I mentioned that Duncan’s got engaged?’

Kimberley smiled. Mothers could be so transparent! ‘Yes, Mum—and I don’t mind, honestly!’

Mrs Ryan gave her a severe look. ‘I wasn’t imagining for one minute that you did—since you were the one to break it off. Still, better before the marriage than after, I always say.’

Kimberley sighed. ‘You were saying?’

‘Oh, yes. Well, the thing is that he’s due to arrive in a couple of days’ time and, with my leg and all, there’s no one to get the place ready for him…’

Kimberley put her wine-glass down on the table and looked incredulously at her mother. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at, exactly.’

‘Well, I was wondering if you could help me out?’

‘Help you out?’

‘Just stand in for me—until my leg is better.’

‘You mean—clean Brockbank House for you?’

‘That’s right, dear.’

Kimberley shook her head. ‘I’ll pay someone from the village to stand in for you.’

Mrs Ryan shook her head. ‘But I doubt you’d get anyone at this short notice, and so near to Christmas. Besides, you know how fussy Margaret Nash is—she won’t let just anyone near all those antiques.’ She caught a glimpse of her daughter’s expression. ‘You wouldn’t have to do much, darling,’ she said hastily. ‘Just hoover the place and flick a duster around. And the kitchen floor could probably do with a bit of a wash. I mean’ she gave Kimberley another stern look ‘—look on it as a kind of atonement, if you like.’

Kimberley blinked in astonishment. ‘Atonement?’

‘Mmm. It would be rather a nice gesture, wouldn’t it—after jilting Duncan? Getting the house nice for him. Unless, of course, you’re not being entirely truthful with me. Perhaps you are a tiny bit jealous…?’

Kimberley stared at her mother very hard, before throwing her head back and laughing loudly. ‘You know, Mum, for sheer cheek you’re world-class!’ Then she thought of something else. ‘But surely Mrs Nash wouldn’t want me near the place?’

‘Oh, no, dear—she’s quite happy to have you there. She likes you, you know—she always has. She always said that she thought you were quite wrong for Duncan.’

Interesting. She hadn’t said a thing at the time. ‘Oh, did she?’

‘Will you do it, then?’

Kimberley sighed. ‘I suppose so! Anything for a quiet life. But only on one condition.’

‘Yes, dear?’

‘Where’s—Harrison?’

‘Oh, he’s in France or Germany or somewhere. Living there while he takes over another company. His mother says he works himself into the ground. She says——’

‘Fascinating as I’m sure you and Mrs Nash find it,’ Kimberley interrupted coolly, ‘I really have absolutely no interest in hearing about Harrison.’

Her mother’s face said, Well, you did ask me!— but to her eternal credit she didn’t utter another word.

It was just unfortunate that hearing about him was one thing, but trying not to think about him was another—and the moment she set foot over the threshold of Brockbank House more memories of that hateful, scheming man came flooding back to haunt her.

Kimberley wondered how she could have allowed herself to be talked into doing this particularly distorted ‘favour’ for her mother. She hadn’t been near the house, not for over two years, not since that dreadful day when Harrison had given her the cheque.

Despite her mother’s assurances she had been dreading seeing Mrs Nash, but Duncan’s mother held her hand out immediately she opened the front door. She was a tall, graceful woman, with Duncan’s soft brown eyes; Harrison, Kimberley knew, was the image of his father who had been killed in a yachting accident when both boys were quite small.

‘Hello, Kimberley,’ said Mrs Nash. ‘It’s good of you to help me out.’

‘It’s no trouble. Really. Mother insisted I stand in for her.’

Mrs Nash smiled. ‘Eleanor’s so terribly conscientious. I really don’t know what I’d do without her.’ There was a pause. ‘She told you that Duncan’s getting married?’

‘Yes, she did.’ Kimberley hesitated. ‘I’m very happy for him, Mrs Nash. Really, I am.’

Mrs Nash smiled. ‘I rather thought you might be.’ She laid her hand on Kimberley’s arm. ‘Won’t you come and have some tea with me?’

Kimberley shook her head. ‘Another time, perhaps. I’d rather get started, if you don’t mind.’

‘I understand.’

Did she? thought Kimberley. Not really. She imagined that even the fairly liberal Mrs Nash would be shocked if she knew the real reason for Kimberley’s reluctance to linger any longer at Brockbank House than she needed to. What would she say if Kimberley told her that the sight of that framed silver photograph of Harrison on the hall table was playing havoc with her equilibrium?