called car… garbohy…’
‘Carbohydrates,’ Bryce filled in, his expression neutral but his tone not quite managing the same. Meg detected a hint of derision she didn’t think Phillipa picked up on.
‘That’s right… carbo-hy-drates. She doesn’t like alcohol either, although she drinks champagne. Only when it’s French though. She says it’s not champagne if it’s not French.’
‘I see,’ Meg said dutifully, thinking Isabelle ex-Carlton sounded a little obsessed with calorie counting. Not to mention snobbish, what with the whole ‘French champagne only’ rule.
Nasty, nasty. You haven’t even met the woman. And technically, it’s not champagne unless it’s French.
‘When I go to Mummy’s, Paolo cooks us things in the steamer.’
‘Who’s Paolo?’ Meg asked
‘Mummy’s personal trainer. For sure Paolo would never let me have Fruit Rings for breakfast. But they won’t be back from the Caribbean for another week, at least. Will they Daddy?’
‘No, they won’t be.’
Meg fluttered a glance at Bryce but his attention was focussed on his cereal. It was obvious Paolo was more than an employee of Isabelle’s, although Phillipa thankfully didn’t seem to understand the implications of the two of them being together in the Caribbean. She didn’t envy Bryce having to explain that one to his eight-year-old daughter.
They finished their cereal in silence, save for the cartoon voices emanating from the television set. Phillipa’s attention returned to the cartoon, leaving Meg all too aware of how close she was to Bryce and the awkwardness that had settled between them since the subject of his ex-wife had come up.
In need of something to do, Meg stood and started collecting the bowls. ‘So what do you want to do today, Phillipa? Besides stuff yourself full of hot dogs and chocolate ice cream.’
The girl screwed up her face. ‘I have a violin lesson.’
Picking up on her obvious disinclination to partake in the activity, Bryce said, ‘I thought you wanted to learn the violin.’
‘I did, but…’ her voice trailed off and she lifted that apathetic shoulder Meg was so used to. ‘I’m not any good at it.’
‘You’ve only been playing a couple of months. You need to give it time.’
‘But it’s boring.’
‘Excuse me.’ Meg collected the bowls and transported them to the kitchen. She was unsure of the protocol when it came to disagreements between father and daughter, but she didn’t think Bryce would consider it a nanny’s place to intervene.
By the time she returned to the living room, Phillipa’s mood was fast approaching steamed. ‘But Daddy I don’t want to!’
‘I said you will continue with the lessons for now, and that’s final. You will honour your commitment to Mrs Henderson.’
With a high-pitched scream of frustration, Phillipa jumped up from where she had been seated on the floor and ran from the room, calling a parting shot up the stairs. ‘You’re so mean Daddy! I hate you!’
Bryce stood too, running a hand through his hair in an infuriated gesture. Meg hesitated a fraction before taking a step forward, almost crashing into him as he stalked from the room.
They stood facing each other, holding themselves very still as though a single movement from either of them might result in physical contact. Bryce was obviously wrestling with his temper and Meg said, hoping he might take comfort from the words, ‘She doesn’t, you know. Hate you, I mean. Kids just say that sort of thing.’
‘Do they?’ Bryce looked doubtful. ‘I don’t remember ever telling my parents I hated them. How about you?’
Meg had trouble recalling a time herself, but she knew she had thought it once or twice. ‘I was pretty mad when my dad told me I couldn’t have a new bike,’ she said with a small smile. ‘And Phillipa has had a lot to contend with the past few years.’
‘By that you mean my divorce, I suppose?’ There was something close to accusation lacing his
‘Carbohydrates,’ Bryce filled in, his expression neutral but his tone not quite managing the same. Meg detected a hint of derision she didn’t think Phillipa picked up on.
‘That’s right… carbo-hy-drates. She doesn’t like alcohol either, although she drinks champagne. Only when it’s French though. She says it’s not champagne if it’s not French.’
‘I see,’ Meg said dutifully, thinking Isabelle ex-Carlton sounded a little obsessed with calorie counting. Not to mention snobbish, what with the whole ‘French champagne only’ rule.
Nasty, nasty. You haven’t even met the woman. And technically, it’s not champagne unless it’s French.
‘When I go to Mummy’s, Paolo cooks us things in the steamer.’
‘Who’s Paolo?’ Meg asked
‘Mummy’s personal trainer. For sure Paolo would never let me have Fruit Rings for breakfast. But they won’t be back from the Caribbean for another week, at least. Will they Daddy?’
‘No, they won’t be.’
Meg fluttered a glance at Bryce but his attention was focussed on his cereal. It was obvious Paolo was more than an employee of Isabelle’s, although Phillipa thankfully didn’t seem to understand the implications of the two of them being together in the Caribbean. She didn’t envy Bryce having to explain that one to his eight-year-old daughter.
They finished their cereal in silence, save for the cartoon voices emanating from the television set. Phillipa’s attention returned to the cartoon, leaving Meg all too aware of how close she was to Bryce and the awkwardness that had settled between them since the subject of his ex-wife had come up.
In need of something to do, Meg stood and started collecting the bowls. ‘So what do you want to do today, Phillipa? Besides stuff yourself full of hot dogs and chocolate ice cream.’
The girl screwed up her face. ‘I have a violin lesson.’
Picking up on her obvious disinclination to partake in the activity, Bryce said, ‘I thought you wanted to learn the violin.’
‘I did, but…’ her voice trailed off and she lifted that apathetic shoulder Meg was so used to. ‘I’m not any good at it.’
‘You’ve only been playing a couple of months. You need to give it time.’
‘But it’s boring.’
‘Excuse me.’ Meg collected the bowls and transported them to the kitchen. She was unsure of the protocol when it came to disagreements between father and daughter, but she didn’t think Bryce would consider it a nanny’s place to intervene.
By the time she returned to the living room, Phillipa’s mood was fast approaching steamed. ‘But Daddy I don’t want to!’
‘I said you will continue with the lessons for now, and that’s final. You will honour your commitment to Mrs Henderson.’
With a high-pitched scream of frustration, Phillipa jumped up from where she had been seated on the floor and ran from the room, calling a parting shot up the stairs. ‘You’re so mean Daddy! I hate you!’
Bryce stood too, running a hand through his hair in an infuriated gesture. Meg hesitated a fraction before taking a step forward, almost crashing into him as he stalked from the room.
They stood facing each other, holding themselves very still as though a single movement from either of them might result in physical contact. Bryce was obviously wrestling with his temper and Meg said, hoping he might take comfort from the words, ‘She doesn’t, you know. Hate you, I mean. Kids just say that sort of thing.’
‘Do they?’ Bryce looked doubtful. ‘I don’t remember ever telling my parents I hated them. How about you?’
Meg had trouble recalling a time herself, but she knew she had thought it once or twice. ‘I was pretty mad when my dad told me I couldn’t have a new bike,’ she said with a small smile. ‘And Phillipa has had a lot to contend with the past few years.’
‘By that you mean my divorce, I suppose?’ There was something close to accusation lacing his
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