Mr. Smithfield - Page 5

I walked into the kitchen and instead of seeing smashed crockery and four-year-old bare feet, I found Autumn at the hob, with Bethany sitting on a bar stool.

“Good morning,” I said, scrubbing my hands through my hair and then kissing my daughter on the head. “Can we turn that music down?” What was it with Autumn and musicals?

“We’re making pancakes,” Bethany announced as she continued to stir the mixture in the mixing bowl in front of her. “And singing.”

God help us all. Autumn sang like she was drowning in a pit of cats and Bethany was four, so naturally sounded like one of the said cats. The two of them together might be handy as a form of defense if we were fighting off the Taliban, but my eardrums wouldn’t survive another chorus of Let it Go.

I glanced at Autumn, wondering if she’d heard my request to turn down the music, and she beamed at me. I’d never known a person so happy all the time. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to impress me or if she was genuinely, thoroughly enjoying herself. Constantly.

“I picked up maple syrup and blueberries this week, so we’re giving it a try. Are you willing to be a guinea pig?” she asked. More smiles. It was seven thirty on a Sunday. What was there to be so happy about?

“Please, Daddy,” Bethany pleaded.

“Okay.” I had no defense against my daughter’s request. I picked up Autumn’s phone and silenced the incessant screeching, hoping to dissuade any amateur participation, and took a seat on the stool next to my daughter. I hoped Autumn’s cooking was a lot better than her vocal ability. “But I don’t expect you to have to cook Bethany breakfast. Or me for that matter. I know it’s a Sunday.”

“I was awake. And I’m cooking us all breakfast. I hope.” She winked. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had winked at me. It might have been the gardener we had when I was a child. These days, I was far too serious for anyone to wink at me.

Except Autumn, apparently.

“Here we go. Are you up for first taste, Bethany?” Autumn slid the first pancake onto a wooden plate. “Not too much syrup and lots of blueberries, please.”

“Hot!” Bethany said, staring at the piece of pancake on her fork and giving it an ineffective blow.

Before Bethany had given her verdict, Autumn slid three pancakes onto my plate and handed me a knife and fork.

“Yummy!” Bethany declared. “Daddy, you eat.” She jabbed her finger at my plate.

“I’m out of objections,” I replied and took a mouthful.

“How are they?” Autumn asked.

I nodded, trying to match her enthusiasm. She’d accused me of being rude last night, and I didn’t have time to look for a new nanny if Autumn decided to throw in the towel. I’d been accused by more than one nanny of being hostile and unappreciative.

“Secret family recipe,” Autumn said as if she’d just served up a Michelin-starred dish.

“Daddy, bear soldiers today, ’member?” Bethany said.

“She’s been talking about soldiers non-stop,” Autumn said. “I’m a little concerned you’re signing her up to some kind of teddy bear army.”

“I’ve promised I’ll take her to the changing of the guard. She thinks the busbies they wear make them look like bears.”

Autumn swallowed a mouthful of pancake. “Changing of the guard? Like Christopher Robin and Alice?” Her face was plastered in sheer delight, like someone had just given her the moon. “Does that actually happen?”

“Of course it does,” I replied. Why would she think it wasn’t real?

“Can I come?” she asked, pouring more pancake batter into the frying pan. “That poem—” She shook her head as if it didn’t matter. “I heard it a lot growing up. I’d love to actually see how it all works. Does the Queen come out?”

I hadn’t expected company today. Weekends were for me and Bethany. I didn’t see my daughter much in the week, so I tried to make weekends count.

“Yes, Autumn, come! Please, Daddy!”

My daughter had me wrapped around her finger. And it wouldn’t hurt to be nice to Autumn so she wouldn’t leave me high and dry and without a nanny. Again. Work was manic at the moment and it was going to get worse over the next couple of months. Autumn was due to stay until the end of July, when all my clients went on holiday and I’d have time to find a new nanny. “Of course, Autumn is welcome, darling. But she might not want to come because we won’t see Her Majesty. Just a lot of busbies and tourists.”

Autumn shrugged, her eyes sparkling like sunshine hitting water. “I can’t wait. What time do we need to leave?”

Instead of disappearing until it was time to go, Autumn pulled out Bethany’s rucksack and started to pack.

“Here,” she said, pulling out a laminated sheet. “I prepared a list of everything we need when we’re going out for the day.”

Tags: Louise Bay Romance
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