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Chapter 6
Melanie stared after the man’s retreating back in undisguised horror. What had she done? She’d completely lost it. Punching a guy! She’d never hit anyone in her life! What if he decided to press charges? She imagined herself being deported in handcuffs less than a day after arriving in a new country.
Oh, God.
“It was fine, Mom. He wasn’t going to hurt me.” Rhys was standing there, examining her face as if he expected her to lose it again. Even worse, she noticed that, unlike her, he was fully dressed… and his bodycam had been carefully pinned to his t-shirt.
They were being recorded.
She looked down at herself, mortified to notice that she was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties, and she was barefoot. She’d launched herself from the house the moment she’d seen her son talking to a strange man, not even pausing to get dressed. And the world would undoubtedly see the juiciest footage, once Queenie’s staff edited it together and aired it on the next show.
And that meant they’d also see her attacking him. Queenie would see her! She had some explaining to do.
She turned and began walking dejectedly back to the house with Rhys at her side, as he hastily tried to explain what had happened. “You were sleeping, Mom, and I woke up and looked out. And then I spotted a whole row of Sciadopitys verticillate down at the bottom of the driveway. Japanese umbrella pines. Taller than I’ve ever seen. So, I went down to take a look. And then this guy was jogging past and stopped to say hello. He said he was supposed to be working with you—”
Melanie cringed. Talk about messing things up. How wrong could you get?
She signed heavily as they walked back inside. “I guess I’m going to have to find a way to fix that,” she said ruefully. She couldn’t imagine refurbishing this wreck without help. She tried to look more optimistic, snatching up her jeans hanging over a chair and pulling them on, motioning to Rhys to turn the cam away as she did so. Then her own cam was pinned on, and she decided it was time to face the day.
The first thing they needed was food. She gave her son a smile. “Hungry?”
“Starving!” he responded.
She laughed, surprised at how easily Rhys had improved her mood. But then again, he was a kid like that. “After all that steak you put away last night?”
“Oh, please. That was hardly a snack.”
“Okay, big man, let’s see what we have here.” She threw open the fridge door. It was on and running… but empty. There was nothing there but a case of bottled water. She went to the cupboards, opening door after door… nothing but glasses and crockery, all nicely washed and stacked away. The long cupboard she guessed was a larder was as bare as Mother Hubbard’s.
You idiot, Melanie,she told herself. This is a cottage—or, rather, mansion—not a hotel. Were you expecting room service?
Her dismayed look was reflected on Rhys’s face, but she quickly schooled her features into something more neutral. She didn’t want to worry him. “That’s okay,” she said cheerily. “We can order in.”
“Your phone’s dead,” he reminded her, not unkindly. “Mine too. No charger, remember?”
Technically, no adapter, thanks to her carelessness. “Well… I guess we’ll have to do some exploring. Take a walk and find a shop, maybe.” All the while her mind flailed frantically, trying to remember whether she’d spotted any stores or restaurants on the way in. How far would they have to walk to find something to eat? This was the countryside, for Chrissakes.
Then there was the sound of an engine in the driveway, the rattle of gravel under tires, and curiously, both of them walked out to the front porch. They were in time to see a slender, petite, very pretty young woman exit the car. She was olive-skinned, dark-eyed, and smiling, with just a whisper of black hair peeking out from under a headscarf that was securely pinned to obscure the rest of her hair. She wore slim-fitting jeans and a long-sleeved navy-blue peasant blouse.
“Good morning, Madame Meyer,” she said as she approached. Her accent was thick and melodious and her warm smile widened.
“Hey,” Rhys said.
She nodded at him. “You must be Rhys.”
Instead of answering, he stared curiously at her, unsure of what to do next.
The woman took the initiative, holding out a manilla envelope that looked pretty fat. “My name is Zanifa Mirza. I was appointed by Madame Queenie Abara as governess to your son.”
Melanie stared, nonplussed. “Governess?” she echoed. She hadn’t known it was possible to have a governess, not since the end of the 19th century.
Zanifa looked momentarily uncertain. “Yes, that is the word, non? Governess? Do you prefer nanny?”
“Um… I guess?”
Rhys giggled. “Nanny McPhee!”
The woman smiled and whispered, “Loved that movie!” Then she winked at Rhys and stole his heart. He turned to look hopefully at his mother.
