‘Widower,’ Guy corrected him. ‘Widows are female. Men are called widowers.’

‘I know why you’re a man,’ Ella chimed in. Josh, at the foot of the bed, grinned.

It was too early in the day for this, too. Guy, closing his eyes for a moment and mentally bracing himself, said, ‘Go on then. Why am I a man?’

‘Because you haven’t any bosoms on your chest,’ declared his daughter with an air of importance. And you don’t wear a bra.’

It was four-thirty when the doorbell rang. Berenice, the soon-to-be-married departing nanny, had taken Ella into St Ives for the afternoon on a shopping trip. Guy was busy in the darkroom, developing black and white prints, when Josh knocked on the door and informed him that he had a visitor.

‘She said it was important,’ he told Guy, his forehead creasing in a frown as he struggled to remember. ‘I don’t know who she is, but I’m sure I’ve seen her somewhere before.’

Maxine was standing before the sitting-room window, admiring the stupendous view of clifftops and sea. When she turned and smiled at Guy, and came towards him with her hand outstretched, he realized at once why his son had thought her familiar yet been unable to place her.

‘Mr Cassidy?’ she said demurely. ‘My name is Vaughan. Maxine Vaughan. It’s kind of you to see me.’

She was here in his house, thought Guy with inward amusement. He didn’t really have much choice. But he was, at the same time, intrigued. Maxine Vaughan was an undeniably attractive girl in her mid-twenties. Her long, corn-blond hair was pulled back from her face in a neat plait, her make-up carefully unobtrusive. The dark green jacket and skirt were a couple of sizes too big for her and she was wearing extremely sensible shoes. It was all very convincing, very plausible. Guy was impressed by the extent of the effort she had made.

‘My pleasure,’ he replied easily, taking her proffered hand and registering short fingernails, a clear nail polish and - oh dear, first sign of a slip-up - a genuine Cartier wristwatch. ‘How can I help you, Miss Vaughan?’

Maxine took a deep, steadying breath and hoped her palms weren’t damp. She’d known, of course, that Guy Cassidy was gorgeous, but in the actual flesh he was even more devastatingly attractive than she’d imagined. With those thickly lashed, deep blue eyes, incredible cheekbones and white teeth offset by a dark tan, he was almost too perfect. But the threat of perfection was redeemed by a quirky smile, slightly crooked eyebrows and that famously tousled black hair.

He exuded sex appeal without even trying, she realized. He possessed an indefinable charisma. Not to mention a body to die for.

‘I’m hoping we can help each other,’ said Maxine. Then, because her knees were on the verge of giving way, she added, ‘Would you mind if I sat down?’

‘Please do.’ Having concluded that she must be either a journalist or a model desperate for a break, Guy gently mimicked her formal style of speech. Either way, he would give her no more than ten minutes; he was all for a spot of personal enterprise but her unexpected arrival wasn’t exactly well timed. He had work to do, phone calls to make and a nine-year-old son demanding to be taken for a swim before dinner.

He glanced at his watch. Maxine, sensing his veiled impatience, took another deep breath and plunged in. ‘Right, Mr Cassidy, I understand you’ll shortly be requiring a replacement nanny for your children. And since I myself am an experienced nanny, I’d like to offer my services.’

It was a good start, but the rest of the interview wasn’t going according to plan, she realized several minutes later. And she hadn’t the faintest idea why not.

On the surface, at least, Guy Cassidy was asking the appropriate questions and she was supplying faultless replies, but at the same time she had a horrible feeling he wasn’t taking her seriously. Worse, that he was inwardly laughing at her.

‘They’re in Buenos Aires now,’ she continued valiantly, as he studied the glowing references which she’d slaved for an entire hour to produce. ‘Otherwise I’d still be with them, of course. The children were adorable and Angelo and Marisa treated me more as a friend than an employee.’

But her potential employer, instead of appearing suitably impressed, was glancing once more at his watch. ‘I’m sure they did,’ he replied. Rising to his feet, he shot her a brief smile.

‘And it was thoughtful of you to consider us, Miss ... er... Vaughan. But I don’t think you’re quite what we’re looking for.’

Maxine’s guard slipped. ‘Why not?’ she wailed, remaining rooted to her chair. ‘I’ve shown you my references. They’re brilliant! What can possibly be wrong with me?’

Guy, enjoying himself, maintained a serious expression. ‘You’re too dowdy.’

‘But I don’t have to be dowdy,’ said Maxine wildly. She knew she shouldn’t have worn Janey’s horrible suit. ‘I’m not usually dowdy at all!’

‘OK.’ Gesturing for her to calm down, he continued. ‘You’re too prim and proper.’

I am not prim!’ Maxine almost shrieked. ‘Please, you have to believe me. These aren’t my own clothes ... I’m not the least bit proper either and I hate these shoes!’

But Guy hadn’t finished. Fixing her with his deadpan gaze, he said remorselessly, ‘And you’re a liar, Miss Vaughan. Which wouldn’t set a particularly good example to my children.

I’m afraid I can’t employ someone who is dishonest.’

Maxine felt her cheeks burn. He was bluffing, he had to be. Stiffly, she replied, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t you?’ This time he actually smiled. ‘In that case, wait here. I’ll just go and find my son.’

He returned less than two minutes later with the boy in tow Although nine-year-old Josh Cassidy had straight, white-blond hair in contrast to his father, Maxine was struck by the similarity of their extraordinary dark blue

‘Hello, Josh,’ she said, dredging up a brave smile and wondering why he was staring at her in that odd way.

But Guy was handing his son a large brown envelope. ‘Here,’ he said casually. ‘I developed that film you gave me earlier. Take a look at these prints, Josh, and tell me how you think they’ve turned out.’

Maxine spotted the offending item a fraction of a second before Josh. Having tipped the photographs out of the envelope and spread them across the coffee table, he was still studying them intently, one at a time, when she let out a strangled cry and made a grab for it.

Guy, standing behind her, whisked the photograph from her grasp and handed it, in turn, to his son.

‘Golly,’ said Josh with a grin. Staring at Maxine, who was by this time redder than ever, he added, ‘I thought I knew you from somewhere!’

‘And the moral of this story,’ she muttered sulkily, ‘is never trust a member of the paparazzi.’

‘You look different today.’ Studying the glossy ten-by-eight at close quarters and looking pleased with himself, he said, ‘I think I prefer you in the white dress. It’s a good photograph, isn’t it?’

It was a bit too good for Maxine’s liking. No wonder Guy Cassidy had been able to recognize her. There she was, captured for posterity in that stupid wedding gown, laughing as she clambered out of the panda car and not even realizing that her skirts had bunched up to reveal white stocking tops and a glimpse of suspender. And the expression on Tom-the-policeman’s face, she observed with resignation, didn’t help. He was positively leering.

‘Hang on a minute.’ Josh was looking puzzled again. ’If you got married yesterday, why aren’t you on a honeymoon?’

‘I wasn’t getting married,’ said Maxine impatiently.

‘Or arrested. It was a fancy-dress party, that’s all. Then I ran out of petrol on the way home and the policeman gave me a lift.’ Fixing Guy with a mutinous glare, she added, ‘It was nothing sinister, for heaven’s sake.’

He shrugged. ‘Nevertheless, I’m sure you understand why I can’t consider you for the job.

I’m sorry, Miss Vaughan, but I do have the moral welfare of my children to take into account.’

‘At least I’m not dowdy and prim,’ she muttered in retaliation.

‘Oh no.’ This time, as he drew a slim white envelope from his shirt pocket, he laughed. ‘I’ll grant you that.

But I’m afraid I have work to do, so maybe I could ask my son to show you out. And Josh, I’ve written out the advert. If you run down with it now, you’ll just catch the last post.’

‘Well?’ said Guy, when his son returned twenty minutes later.

‘She gave me five pounds and a Cornetto.’ Josh looked momentarily worried. Was that enough?’

Amused by his son’s concern, Guy ruffled his blond hair. ‘Oh, I’d say so. Five pounds and a Cornetto in exchange for a first-class stamp and an empty envelope. It sounds like a fair enough swap to me.’

Chapter 4

The response to the advertisement when it eventually appeared the following week wasn’t startling, but it was manageable. Guy preferred to do his own hunting as a result of the futile experiences he’d had three years earlier when he’d tried using an agency. Having also learned to expect applications from star-struck girls and would-be second wives, he had omitted his name from the advertisement.

But last time he had struck lucky. Berenice, profoundly unimpressed by his celebrity status, had fitted the bill to perfection. Stolid, hard-working and not the least bit glamorous, what she lacked in sparkle she’d more than made up for in dependability. Guy, whose work required him to travel abroad at short notice, was able to do so without a qualm, safe in the knowledge that his children would be competently looked after by someone who cared for them and who would never let him down.

It had come as something of a shock, therefore, when Berenice had shyly informed him that she was shortly to be married, and that since her future husband had been offered a job in Newcastle, she would be leaving Trezale.

Guy hadn’t even been aware of the existence of a man in her life, but discretion had always been one of Berenice’s major attributes — as he had himself on numerous occasions had cause to be thankful for. The courtship, it appeared, had been conducted on her days off. And although she was sorry to be leaving, she now had her own life to pursue. She hoped he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding a replacement.

Interviewing the half dozen or so applicants, however, was both tedious and time-consuming. What Guy wanted was a clone of Berenice with maybe a sense of humour thrown in for good measure.

What he got, instead, was a succession of girls in whom it was only too easy to find fault.

Josh and Ella, dutifully trotted out to meet each of them in turn, were equally critical.

‘She smelled,’ said Ella, wrinkling her nose in memory of Mary-from-Exeter.

‘She laughed like a sheep,’ Josh observed bluntly when Doreen from Doncaster had departed.

Neither of them could make head nor tail of Gudren from-Sweden’s singsong accent.

‘She’s all right, I suppose.’ Josh, referring to another contender, sounded doubtful. ‘But why did she have a bottle of vodka in her handbag?’

They finally settled on Maureen-from-Wimbledon, a pale, eager-to-please twenty-five-year-old who was keen to move in and start work as soon as possible. Carefully highlighting her good points — she didn’t smell, possess an irritating laugh or an incomprehensible foreign accent — Guy prayed the children wouldn’t make mincemeat of her before she had a chance to find her feet. She barely seemed capable of looking after herself, but maybe she’d just been too nervous to create a dazzling first impression.

And at least, he thought dryly, recalling the very first candidate, she hadn’t fluttered inch-long eyelashes at him, surreptitiously edged up her short skirt and treated him to a flash of emerald-green knickers each time she’d crossed and re-crossed her legs.

Janey was working in the shop when Guy Cassidy and his children walked in.

‘I need some flowers,’ he said without preamble, removing his dark glasses and surveying the myriad buckets lined up against the wall. ‘For a wedding reception next Saturday. If ‘I place the order now, would you be able to bring them to my house on the Friday afternoon and arrange them?’

‘Of course I would.’ Janey was delighted. Men for whom money was no object were definitely her kind of customer. Reaching for her clipboard she said, ‘Tell me what type of arrangements you have in mind and which kind of flowers you think you’d like.’