Nanny Piggins and the Daring Rescue 7 Read online

  About the Book

  When Mr Green rings from a tropical island, begging to be rescued, Nanny Piggins’ first instinct is to say no. However, a principle is at stake. No-one kidnaps her employer - at least not without written permission from her.

  So Nanny Piggins sets out to save the hapless tax lawyer, and to do so she must first dabble in a spot of bungy jumping, deceive immigration officials wearing a fake moustache and seduce the President with her most powerful weapon - the dance of the seven cakes.

  * * *

  Previously on Nanny Piggins . . .

  Congratulations on purchasing/borrowing/receiving the seventh instalment in Nanny Piggins’ adventures. This is an excellent book full of action, excitement and helpful pigisms (all-encompassing advice from a pig’s perspective) – so well done you!

  If you haven’t read the previous six books, or you have read them but have forgotten everything, don’t panic. Each book is a stand-alone story. In fact, each chapter is a stand-alone story, so if your dog eats the first chapter of this book you’ll still be able to follow what’s going on. (NB. Please don’t feed this book to your dog. I don’t want to get an angry letter from your vet.)

  But if you are still concerned, I shall now share a few handy pointers to get you started.

  In the beginning, Nanny Piggins (The World’s Greatest Flying Pig) came to live with the Green family after running away from the circus. Fortunately for the Green children – Derrick, Samantha and Michael – she was even better at nannying than she was at being blasted out of a cannon. Who could not love a nanny who believed fruit was an insult to cake?

  But their father, Mr Green, did not think so highly of Nanny Piggins because he was embarrassed that she was a pig (even worse, she was a startlingly attractive pig who terrified him). And their mother, Mrs Green, does not appear in any of the books at all, because she went missing during an unfortunate boat trip, which is how the children came to need a nanny in the first place.

  Then there’s Nanny Piggins’ brother, Boris (a ten-foot-tall ballet-dancing bear), who ran away from the circus and came to live in the garden shed. Mr Green still has not noticed Boris. He is not an observant man.

  There is also a lovely Police Sergeant, a tap-dancing lawyer, a hygiene-obsessed rival nanny, identical fourteenuplet sisters, Hans the baker, a retired army colonel, a wicked Ringmaster and a whole host of exotic circus friends.

  I know it sounds confusing but trust me, you’ll figure it out as you go along because I always explain who people are as they appear (my publisher forces me to). So just sit back, have a big bite of chocolate cake and start reading.

  Yours sincerely,

  R. A. Spratt, the author

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Previously on Nanny Piggins …

  Title Page

  Chapter 1 Nanny Piggins and the Dance Lesson

  Chapter 2 Nanny Piggins and the Hair Salon

  Chapter 3 Lord of the Piggins

  Chapter 4 Boris and the Grandmaster

  Chapter 5 Nanny Piggins and the Soap

  Chapter 6 Nanny Piggins and a Day at the Office

  Chapter 7 Nanny Piggins and the Eggs

  Chapter 8 Nanny Piggins and the Talking Parrot

  Chapter 9 Nanny Piggins and the Sudden Diversion

  Chapter 10 Nanny Piggins and the Daring Rescue

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Derrick, Samantha and Michael were sitting with their nanny in the holding cell of their local police station. But do not worry, things weren’t too serious. The door was ajar. The Police Sergeant found he saved a lot of money on having to get broken locks replaced if he left the door slightly open when Nanny Piggins was under arrest.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ asked Michael.

  ‘I was thinking that Galileo was a hack,’ declared Nanny Piggins, ‘and that the whole foundation of the study of physics could be based on data inaccurately recorded by a kooky Italian who had too much red wine at lunchtime.’

  ‘So you decided to redo his experiments yourself?’ said Samantha.

  ‘Really, if anyone is to blame, it’s Derrick,’ accused Nanny Piggins.

  ‘What?!’ protested Derrick.

  ‘How many times have I told you not to leave your school textbooks lying around?’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You know if I read them they always make me angry. I was reading about how Galileo proved the constant power of gravity by dropping cannonballs off the leaning tower of Pisa and I just saw red.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘It seemed like such a terrible waste,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Cannonballs are for blasting, not something as mundane as dropping. Anything can be dropped.’

  ‘So you set out to disprove gravity?’ asked Samantha.

  ‘It sounds silly when you say it that way,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘but if you don’t check what these scientist fellows come up with, they could be getting away with anything.’

  ‘Galileo didn’t get away with it,’ said Derrick. ‘He was imprisoned.’

  ‘As am I,’ said Nanny Piggins, indicating the bars around her. ‘We great thinkers are so unappreciated.’

  ‘Yes, but the difference is that Galileo didn’t drop his cannonballs onto the roof of the mayor’s car,’ said Derrick.

  ‘I didn’t mean to do that,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I don’t know why the mayor had to yell and scream quite so much. Convertibles are very fashionable. I’m sure a mechanic would have charged a lot to cut a sunroof into the roof for him. Really, the mayor should be thanking me for doing it for free.’

  ‘It also tore a hole in the bottom of the car,’ said Samantha.

  ‘And the improved ventilation will save him from having to use the air conditioning,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘for which, again, he should be thanking me. I was just doing my bit to make his car more carbon neutral.’

  The Police Sergeant came over. ‘I’ve just got off the phone with the mayor.’

  ‘Hmmpf,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Did he call to apologise for using such ungentlemanly language in front of a lady?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said the Police Sergeant, ‘but he did agree to drop the charges.’

  ‘Why?’ exclaimed all three Green children (shock often caused them to talk in unison).

  ‘I pointed out to him that his car was, at the time, illegally parked in a disabled parking space,’ said the Police Sergeant.

  ‘Was it?’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘What a naughty man!’

  ‘The disabled parking space outside the sweet shop,’ added the Police Sergeant.

  ‘Ahh,’ said Nanny Piggins knowingly. ‘Then we mustn’t judge him too harshly. I myself have been extremely tempted to park there when I have been in urgent need of some lemon bonbons.’

  ‘I think the mayor’s main concern was his wife finding out,’ added the Police Sergeant, ‘since he is supposed to be on a low carbohydrate diet.’

  ‘He is?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘No wonder he has such a bad temper. I almost feel sorry for him. Samantha, make a note: I must bake a cake for the mayor. He can’t be allowed to make important civic decisions when his blood sugar is low.’

  ‘So you’re not in too much trouble today. There are just the charges of causing a public disturbance and, of course, resisting arrest,’ said the Police Sergeant.

  ‘Resisting arrest?!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘Surely you wouldn’t be so petty, Police Sergeant? If I didn’t resist arrest there would be nothing for you to do! I know for a fact the young police constable loves it. Do you think he would have scored 18 tries for the Dulsford Mules last season if he hadn’t had so much sprintin
g and dodging practice, thanks to me?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the Police Sergeant. ‘I’ll waive that one too, as long as you promise to never do it again, of course.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course. I promise to be very good from now on,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘For as long as I remember, anyway.’

  ‘So you just need to pay a one hundred dollar bond for the charge of causing a public disturbance,’ said the Police Sergeant.

  ‘But I don’t have a hundred dollars!’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m only paid eleven cents an hour.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the Police Sergeant. ‘I rang Mr Green. He’s on his way down.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘You’re doomed,’ said Samantha.

  ‘He wouldn’t pay ten cents to have you released,’ said Michael.

  ‘And definitely not a hundred dollars,’ agreed Derrick.

  ‘I don’t think he’s ever paid a hundred dollars for anything,’ added Samantha.

  ‘And if you’re locked up in jail, how are you going to be our nanny?’ asked Michael, a tear beginning to well in his eye.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Nanny Piggins, giving him a hug. ‘If it comes to that, I can always ask one of my more evil identical fourteenuplet sisters to pay me a visit in prison – then bop her on the head, swap clothes with her and escape.’

  ‘Here he comes!’ called Derrick, having spotted his grim-looking father being buzzed in through the front door.

  ‘Just remember, Nanny Piggins, you’re asking him for a favour,’ said Samantha, ‘so no biting.’

  ‘I’ll try to resist the urge,’ promised Nanny Piggins, ‘but sometimes he really does ask for it. I know, I’ll mentally recite my favourite cake recipe while he yells at me. If I’m not listening to him, I’m less likely to be incensed by what he’s saying.’

  ‘She’s over here,’ said the Police Sergeant, leading Mr Green to the holding cell.

  ‘Eight ounces of butter,’ muttered Nanny Piggins, ‘eight ounces of sugar . . .’

  Mr Green stood in the doorway. He looked dour at the best of times because he always wore a grey three-piece suit and never smiled. (It would be unprofessional. Who would hire a smiling tax lawyer?) But on this occasion he looked extra specially grim as he pressed his lips together and glowered at his nanny.

  ‘I can explain it all,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Really, when you understand the scientific principles at stake and the mayor’s immoral parking habits, you’ll see there is no way I could have done anything other than rip a hole straight through his car with a cannonball.’

  Mr Green did not speak. He just grumbled. It was as if there was something he’d like to say and something he had to say and it was a struggle to decide which was going to come out of his mouth.

  ‘Piggins . . .’ he began.

  Nanny Piggins and the children winced. When he dropped her job title that was usually a very bad sign.

  ‘. . . Sarah,’ he continued.

  This made Nanny Piggins and the children flinch. They did not realise that Mr Green even knew her first name.

  ‘I’ve paid your little bond,’ said Mr Green, brushing the thought aside as if it were nothing. ‘It was my pleasure to be of assistance.’

  ‘I think Father’s had a stroke,’ Derrick whispered to Samantha. ‘Should we call an ambulance?’

  ‘We’re friends after all, aren’t we?’ said Mr Green, before twisting his face awkwardly, first on one side and then the other. It took a moment before the children realised what he was doing. He was smiling.

  Nanny Piggins and the children lurched away from him. If there had not been a brick wall behind them and iron bars on the other three sides, they would have made a run for it, so unnatural was the sight of Mr Green trying to be pleasant.

  Nanny Piggins promptly broke her vow. She leapt forward and stamped hard on Mr Green’s foot. ‘Who are you and what have you done with the real Mr Green?’ she demanded.

  ‘Ow!’ wailed Mr Green. ‘I am the real Mr Green, you ridiculous pig!’

  ‘That certainly sounded more like him,’ agreed Nanny Piggins.

  ‘I was just trying to be nice because I want a favour,’ said Mr Green, rubbing his possibly broken toes.

  ‘Aha!’ cried Nanny Piggins. ‘Now we’re getting to the nub of it!’

  ‘I want you to teach me to tap dance,’ said Mr Green.

  And so the children had to call an ambulance after all – but not for their father, for Nanny Piggins, because when she fainted from the shock of such an unexpected request, she hit her head on the toilet bowl (which is why it really is very unsafe for jail cells to have toilet facilities right there in the room).

  A short time later, Nanny Piggins was lying in her hospital bed, having a rather nasty bruise tended to by an intern while Mr Green explained himself.

  ‘You see, there is a new job opening at work,’ began Mr Green.

  ‘But you’ve already got a job, Father,’ said Samantha, ‘and you love it.’

  ‘Yes, I’m a tax lawyer,’ agreed Mr Green, ‘but this new job is for a senior tax lawyer. So it would be a promotion.’

  ‘Would there be more money?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘Or at least more cake?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Mr Green. ‘All I know is that it would be one in the eye for Thorp if I got it. And Peterson in criminal law would be green with envy.’

  ‘I thought he was being worshipped as a god by a tribe in Papua New Guinea?’ said Derrick.

  ‘The natives sent him home when his derivatives tips went south,’ explained Mr Green.

  ‘But what’s all this got to do with tap dancing?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘Even without a concussion, it doesn’t make any sense to me.’

  ‘All the candidates have similar experience and background to me. So there’s nothing to distinguish between us,’ explained Mr Green.

  ‘You mean they’re just as boring as you?’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Mr Green. ‘Normally there is no higher qualification for a tax lawyer than to be boring. It makes people feel comfortable with you. But in a job interview situation I need a subtle way to make it clear that I am better than everybody else. And as you know, our senior partner, Isabella Dunkhurst, is a great enthusiast of tap dancing.’ (Nanny Piggins had taught Ms Dunkhurst to tap dance shortly after arriving at the Green house – see The Adventures of Nanny Piggins, Chapter 5 for more details.)

  ‘Ah, I see,’ said Nanny Piggins, beginning to catch on in spite of her serious head injury. ‘You want to win Isabella over with her own great passion – the dance!’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Mr Green.

  ‘But to impress her you would have to be good, seriously good,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘I’ll practise hard, I promise,’ said Mr Green.

  ‘Oh, I know you’ll do that because I’ll make you,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘What I’m wondering is how I will ever find the energy to spend the hours and hours necessary to familiarise you with even the most basic rudimentals of the dance. It sounds exhausting. Very hungry work indeed.’ She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully at Mr Green.

  ‘What did she say?’ Mr Green asked his children. He always had a great deal of trouble following Nanny Piggins’ thought processes.

  ‘I think she wants you to buy her a cake,’ said Derrick.

  Nanny Piggins coughed.

  ‘More than one cake?’ Derrick asked.

  Nanny Piggins coughed fifteen times.

  ‘Fifteen cakes,’ deduced Derrick.

  Nanny Piggins let out a huge cough.

  ‘Fifteen extremely large cakes,’ concluded Derrick.

  ‘I’ll call the bakery right now,’ said Mr Green, delighted to finally have a deal.

  Nanny Piggins took the phone out of his hand. ‘I’ll put the order in,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Knowing you, you’ll forget to ask for extra chocolate in the chocolate icing.’

  And so that afternoon Nanny Piggins gave Mr Green hi
s first dance lesson. She always enjoyed teaching people to dance because it gave her an excuse to wear a leotard, tutu and leg warmers, as well as carrying a large stick (supposedly for beating out the time on the floor, but Nanny Piggins found it was also useful for poking Mr Green in the bottom when he did the wrong thing).

  Mr Green was a terrible student. He had no natural rhythm, athleticism or grace. He did not even know his left foot from his right foot without stopping to think about it. And there is absolutely no time to stop and think in dance, or some other dancer may very well dance all over you.

  At the end of their first six-hour lesson, Nanny Piggins was exhausted. She lay collapsed in a kitchen chair while the children scooped chocolate mud cake into her mouth to revive her.

  ‘I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew,’ said Nanny Piggins.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Michael. ‘I didn’t mean to put such a large piece of cake in your mouth.’

  ‘I’m not talking about cake,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You can never have too much cake in your mouth. I’m talking about teaching your father to dance. I am a brilliant natural dancer and an inspirational instructor. But teaching someone as clumsy as your father to tap may well be beyond me. He’s as obstinate as a mule, more so in fact. I once taught a mule to salsa and he picked it up much quicker than your father has.’

  ‘Maybe you need some help,’ suggested Michael.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Nanny Piggins. ‘What sort of help? Do you think I should get a bigger stick so I can poke him harder?’

  ‘Yes, that probably is a good idea,’ said Samantha, ‘but as well as that we thought you could get in some expert dancing help.’

  ‘But who?’ asked Nanny Piggins.

  ‘We do have the world’s greatest ballet dancing bear living in our garden shed,’ Derrick reminded her.

  ‘Of course, Boris!’ exclaimed Nanny Piggins. ‘But I couldn’t do it to him. Boris is a sensitive soul. It would make him weep to watch Mr Green butcher a routine.’

  ‘It would be worth a try,’ said Derrick. ‘You do want those chocolate cakes Father has promised you, don’t you?’