‘And you a dairy farmer and all.’

‘Dairy farmers aren’t necessarily mechanics. Plus I’m a commerce graduate. And a PA.’

‘Right, I forgot,’ he said, but absently, and she knew his attention was on whatever he needed the tension wrench for.

She watched his legs for a little. His attention was totally on the car.

She watched the boys for a little. Their attention was totally on the car.

Guys doing guy stuff.

Befuddled, she headed back to the dairy, where Letty was sluicing. They cleaned almost in silence but she was aware that Letty kept glancing at her.

‘What?’ Meg said at last, exasperated.

‘He’s lovely.’

‘So why are you looking at me?’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, he’s not lovely. He’s covered in grease.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Okay, I do,’ she admitted. ‘But you know who he is, so you can stop looking at me like you think I should do something about it. He’s William McMaster, one of the wealthiest men on the planet. He’s my boss and I have one of the best jobs in the world. If you think I’m messing with it by thinking he’s lovely…’

‘I suppose it would mess with it,’ Letty said. ‘Falling for the boss…’

‘It’d be a disaster.’

‘I don’t know how you haven’t before.’

‘Because I’ve never seen him in overalls before.’

‘They do make a man look sexy,’ Letty said thoughtfully. ‘That and carrying a grease gun. My Jack was always attached to a grease gun. Mind, once I had to get the grease off his clothes the novelty pretty soon wore off.’ She sighed but then she brightened. ‘But times have changed. Domestic equality and all that. He could get his own grease off.’

‘You’re seriously suggesting William McMaster could do his own laundry?’ Meg even managed a chuckle. The idea merited a chuckle.

As was thinking of those legs, sticking out from under Letty’s car. As was thinking that William McMaster was sexy.

Legs or not, even if the man carries a grease gun, he’s still my boss, she told herself. A good servant knows her place. Just plaster that message across your box of hormones and leave it there.


They ate dinner on the run. The boys were in no hurry to go home. At dusk they took off, pack-like, whooping away on their bicycles, and Meg knew they’d be back first thing in the morning.

This was priceless.

Scott was almost asleep on his feet, but lit up almost as much as the Christmas tree in the sitting room. He fell into bed happier than she’d seen him for years.

Letty commandeered William to take him over to the shed to show her what he was doing with her car. Meg headed out behind the hay shed. Millicent was still doing little of interest, the small fawn and white cow chewing her cud and gazing placidly out at the fading sunset.

‘Mind if I share your sunset?’ she asked, and Millicent turned her huge bovine eyes on her and seemed to ask a question.

‘He’s only here until Monday. Then it’s back to normal,’ Meg said, as if Millicent really was asking the question. Only what was the question? And what was normal?

She hitched herself up on the fence and started sunset-gazing. But she wasn’t seeing sunset. ‘This is just a hiccup in our lives,’ she said out loud. ‘But it’s a great hiccup.’

She was under no illusion as to how big a deal this was. Ever since the accident Scotty’s mates had been drifting away. They were nice kids. They included him when they could, but increasingly he was off their radar.

Today they’d returned and they’d hated leaving. Here was a project designed to keep kids happy for months, if not years. A project with a working car at the end of it… A Mini. They’d be back and back and back.

And it was all down to William. William of the sexy legs. William of the sexy…everything.

And suddenly, inexplicably, she was tearing up. She sniffed and Millicent pushed her great wet nose under her arm as if in sympathy.

‘Yeah, you’d know about men,’ she retorted. ‘Of all the dumb blondes…’

‘Who’s a dumb blonde?’

She hadn’t heard him approach. He moved like a panther, she thought, startled. He was long and lithe and silent as the night. He leaned against her fence, and she had to hitch along a bit so he could climb up and sit beside her.

‘Dumb blonde?’ he said again.

‘Meet Millicent,’ she said. ‘Dumb adolescent blonde.’

‘That not a kind thing to say about an obviously sweet cow.’

‘She’s oversexed,’ Meg said darkly, struggling not to react to the way his body brushed against hers. There was plenty of room. Why did he need to sit so close?

‘Really?’ It was William’s turn to sound startled.

‘Really.’

‘So how do you tell if a cow is oversexed?’

‘She got out of her paddock,’ she explained. ‘Not only did she get out, she got in again. We finally found her in our next door neighbour’s bull paddock. Now she’s pregnant and she’s too young to have babies but that’s what she’s having, any day now. Letty’s worried sick.’

‘What’s to worry about?’

‘We don’t know which bull it was.’

‘You don’t know which bull…’

‘It could have been one of three.’

‘You’re telling me she’s…loose?’ he demanded, and she giggled and swayed on her perch and he put a hand out to steady her. He shifted closer and held on around the waist, making sure she was secure. She waited for him to let her go-but he didn’t.

‘So tell me all,’ he demanded, and she thought, do you know what the feel of your arm around my waist is doing to me? Obviously not or it’d be gone in a flash.

Maybe she should tell him.

Or not.

She had to do something. She was getting close to melting here. ‘I think you’d better let me go-Mr McMaster,’ she managed, and he did. He shifted away a little, without comment, as if it meant nothing. As if holding her hadn’t caused him any sort of reaction. Nothing like the sizzle that had just jolted through her.

‘So are we waiting for the baby to be born so we can take DNA samples and enforce a paternity suit?’ he asked, and they were talking about Millicent. Of course they were.

‘Maybe not.’ She was totally discombobulated. It wasn’t just the feel of his arm. It was so much more. ‘I… one of the bulls is a Murray Grey.’

‘That’s bad?’

‘If you’re a Friesian crossed with a Jersey, it’s very bad. Have you ever met a Murray Grey?’

‘I can’t say I have.’

‘They’re about half Millicent’s size again. She’s still underdeveloped. If we’d found her straight away we could have done something, but she got out and we lost her and didn’t find her for ages. What must have happened was that she got out onto the road, wandered along happily, we suspect, looking for bulls because she’s that sort of girl. Whoever found her must have shooed her through the nearest gate to get her off the road-which, of course, happened to be Rod Palmer’s bull paddock. There was plenty of feed in the paddock. It’s hilly and mostly out of sight of the road and Rod lets his bulls be until he needs them. So Millicent might have been enjoying herself for quite a while. She certainly seemed content when Rod finally found her and called us.’

‘Uh-oh,’ he said. ‘So now?’

‘So now she’s in the house paddock while we wait for the birth. Signs are any day now. I hope to heaven she doesn’t drop over Christmas because there’s no way we’ll get a vet.’ Then a thought occurred and she eyed him with hope. ‘As well as cars… You didn’t have a houseful of pets you practised on when you were a kid as well?’ she enquired. ‘Maybe a cow or two, and a resident vet?’

‘Nary a goldfish.’

‘Not even a dog?’ she demanded, startled.

‘My family don’t do pets.’

‘But you like them.’

‘Just because I patted Killer…’

‘No, but you do. When we’re out on site… Every time we meet a dog you talk to it. You should have one.’

‘And leave him in my Manhattan apartment alone, for months at a time?’

‘You have staff. Is Mr Himmel still around?’

‘Long gone.’ That was said bleakly and she thought-don’t go there. She was pushing past anywhere that was her business. Move on.

But move on where? Move onto where she wanted to go?

Why not?

‘So…so do you need to go over to Jenny’s again later?’ she managed.

‘Jenny’s?’

‘Mickey’s. To make more phone calls.’

‘I rang Elinor while I was in Curalo.’

Elinor. First name. The word hung between them, loaded with unknowns.

Leave it, she thought, but then she thought if she was Letty she’d ask. She swung her legs against the fence rails and tried to look nonchalant. As if this was a lightweight question.

‘So the gossip rags haven’t caught up with Elinor?’

‘I hope they never do.’ It was said with such vehemence that she blinked.

‘Um…it’s serious then?’

He seemed disconcerted but then he shrugged. ‘You could say that.’

‘I’m sorry you’ll miss Christmas with her, then.’

‘I’m sorry, too.’ He swung himself down from the fence and she knew the question had messed with whatever calm he’d been feeling. ‘I believe I need to get that carburettor back in. Without it, we’re dependent on the tractor as emergency transport so I’m not going to bed before it’s in working order. It’s okay. Twenty minutes work, tops. I’m not being a martyr.’ He glanced down at his overalls and he smiled, with unmistakable all-boy satisfaction. ‘I haven’t looked this greasy since I was Scott’s age. It feels great.’

‘You are great,’ she said as he reached up and took her by the waist and lifted her down to join him. He should let her go. He didn’t.

‘So are you.’

Uh-oh.

Keep it light, she told herself. Keep it light. ‘If our office staff could see us now they’d have kittens,’ she managed.

‘Or a cameraman.’

The paparazzi. That was an appalling thought. She could see the headlines now: McMaster Trapped with Secretary in Rural Hideway… What would the unknown Elinor say if she saw such a headline?