Free The Persian Price by Evelyn Anthony Page A

children at any hour, and she really felt Mrs Field should have shown more consideration. She hadn’t been given the opportunity to say anything. She was given a month’s money and told very politely that Mrs Field was taking the child away and she could leave in the morning. She was thinking back on the scene, wishing she had come out of it better. The little girl sat mutely in the pram, waiting to be lifted out.
    â€˜What a beautiful child,’ a woman’s voice said.
    The nanny looked round, startled. She hadn’t even noticed that someone had sat down beside her. Normally she enjoyed talking to people and it pleased her when Lucy was admired. The woman was young and spoke with a foreign accent. She was well-dressed and she smiled at her.
    â€˜So pretty,’ she repeated. ‘Do you look after her?’
    â€˜Yes,’ the nanny said. Resentment was boiling up in her. To be turned out of the house … In twenty years no other mother had ever dared.
    â€˜She’s a credit to you. How old is she?’
    â€˜Three,’ she said. ‘I’ve been with her since she was born. Here, come to Nanny dear; you can have a little run but don’t go near the water.’ She lifted the child out and brushed her pink coat down. ‘Play just here, dear, where I can see you. Show Teddy to the lady.’
    Madeleine Labouchère held the toy for a moment. She smiled encouragingly at the little girl, who smiled back. She was rather a small child for her age, pale and slight by comparison with the fat, spoiled children of the Lebanese rich. She seemed to be subdued.
    â€˜She’s a dear little thing,’ the nanny said and her eyes pricked. She was going to miss Lucy. And the splendid house, the easy life with servants to wait on her. She was going to miss it all. She brought a handkerchief out and blew her nose.
    â€˜I don’t know how she’ll manage without me. I’ve been the only mother she’s ever known, poor little mite.’
    â€˜Oh dear,’ Madeleine said. ‘Are you leaving then?’
    â€˜Yes.’ The nanny sniffed and blew her nose again. She wanted sympathy. ‘I’ve been given notice. Just like that! The mother’s decided to look after her herself! Huh – I wonder how long that’ll last.’
    The hands clasped round Madeleine’s bag were gripping tight.
    â€˜How awful for you,’ she said. ‘When are you leaving?’
    â€˜Tomorrow,’ the nanny said. ‘I told her this morning, I’m not going to be treated like that after all I’ve done for that child. I’m going first thing tomorrow, I said. She didn’t like that, I can tell you!’ It was so easy to turn the truth around; she was almost convincing herself that this was how it had happened. ‘She wouldn’t have dared do it if Mr Field had been there! He trusted me completely.’
    For one panic-ridden moment Madeleine had thought that Logan had suddenly come back too. She opened her hands and there were wet sweat marks on the leather purse.
    â€˜I expect she’ll get another nanny,’ she said. ‘But it’s very hard on you.’
    â€˜Oh dear no.’ The sarcasm was heavy. ‘Says she’s taking Lucy to Ireland! That dreadful place, I ask you – going to look after her all by herself. I hate the Irish. We ought to let them get on and murder each other, that’s what I say. She ’s Irish. Now Lucy, don’t wipe your hands on your coat!’
    Madeleine got up. The little girl stared at her; she had large blue eyes, with a hesitant look. Ireland. Unconsciously she used Peters’s rare expletive. Jesus Christ on wheels. Ireland. The mother was in London, the nurse was leaving. The child was going to Ireland. The whole operation was falling apart.
    â€˜I must be going,’ she said. There was a gun in her handbag. It had come in Resnais’s brandy flask, wrapped in plastic. For