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Florence shook her head. “No sugar after lunch,” she said. “Fruit really is the healthier choice.”

Mrs. Mercier's face turned puce. “Now this is my kitchen and I won't have you coming in and making demands. It's cookies or you can cut up your own damn fruit.”

Florence took a slight step back. Honestly. In the hierarchy of the house she certainly came above a cook, particularly when it came to the nutrition of the children. However, and here her more logical side stepped in, she was depending on this woman not to pour arsenic into her meals.

“Of course,” she said politely. “Just one per child though, please.”

Mrs. Mercier grumbled under her breath and started clattering plates onto the counter. Florence turned to the large kitchen window.

The children were still running, down to the tree-line and back again by the looks of things. Hadley's blonde head was just visible at the trees.

This was all going distinctly not to plan.

The children needed discipline, the house needed order, and Hadley needed to go.

Florence knew she could handle the first two things on the list, but what about the third? How could she persuade Hadley to leave? Particularly when she apparently had the right to be here.

Could they work together?

For a second she saw the sun hitting blonde curls, saw Hadley's green eyes dancing with merriment, saw the tie-dyed shirt cut too low to conceal the line of her cleavage. And her stomach got that funny feeling again. She felt sweaty, like she could use a shower.

She tore her eyes away from the window and looked at the kitchen table instead. A blue folder sat in the middle of the table, just as she'd been told it would. Sitting down, she pulled it toward her and opened it.

A stack of cash sat there, along with a credit card and a list of emergency numbers. She pulled the phone number list out and got up to stick it to the fridge with magnets. In a worst case scenario, she wouldn't want to go looking for an important number.

She was about to withdraw the cash and card when the kitchen door slammed open and the twins came running breathlessly inside.

“Juice,” gasped Charlie.

“Juice, please,” Emily corrected him.

Florence smothered a smile. She was having an effect on them already. “Of course,” she said.

Henry and Hadley burst through the door and she quickly closed the folder, concealing what was inside and leaving it innocently in the middle of the table.

“Juice for you too, Henry?” she asked.

He grunted in reply as she went to the fridge.

Hadley came up beside her, picking up a jug of juice when Florence opened the refrigerator door.

“You and I need to talk,” said Florence, keeping her voice even. There was no point in antagonizing the woman.

“Mmm,” Hadley said, starting to open the juice.

She was close enough that Florence could smell the salty sweat on her skin. Close enough that she could smell fruity shampoo and coconut body cream and suddenly Florence's cheeks were flushing and she pulled away, closing the refrigerator door rather more loudly than she'd intended.

“Don't slam doors,” Emily said from the kitchen table.

Florence nodded at her, but said nothing, not trusting herself to speak until Hadley was on the other side of the kitchen pouring out glasses of fresh orange juice.

Chapter Eight

Hadley gritted her teeth as she saw three little red heads all bent over their books. Okay, so the kids were outside, but still, who the hell made kids read during vacation time?

Florence was sitting quietly on a chair beside them, legs crossed at the ankles, a paperback book in her hand.

Who was this woman? Hadley couldn't decide if there was some kind of time travel thing going on and Florence was secretly from the eighteen-hundreds, or if this was just a role she was playing.