by Ninfa Hayes
It continued with the address details and a mention of “excellent wages and Sundays off.”
Elizabeth was thrilled. A two hundred year old company was certainly good enough for her!
She prepared carefully that morning, still giggling at the Mary Poppins reference.
She wore her favourite long, pleated, navy skirt, with a crisp white shirt and short jacket, and a navy woollen coat on top, with matching gloves that had tiny embroidered purple flowers on the hem of the funnel neck.
She pulled her glossy brown hair back, plaiting it and then twisting it in a bun at the nape of her neck, and then added the faintest touch of gloss on her full lips. She decided against wearing her contact lenses, opting for her purple rimmed glasses, as she thought they made her look smarter and somehow friendlier, with just a hint of severity which was sometimes crucial when dealing with overexcited kids.
She looked in the full length mirror that decorated one of her wardrobe doors and smiled, looking into her own chocolate-coloured eyes. “Well, I guess I'm ready!” she announced, winking at her own reflection.
She stepped out of her apartment building in Copenhagen Street, London, and walked to the main road to hail a taxi.
She looked at her watch and nodded. It was only 8:45 a.m. and the Open Day didn't start until 11:00, but she wasn't familiar with the London address given in the newspaper and when she had tried to Google it, the results had come out blank.
Better to be incredibly early than to be late, she repeated to herself. Plus, taxis in London were unpredictable at this time of the morning with the last rush to the offices, especially on a Monday.
Miraculously though, before she’d even stuck her arm out, a taxi stopped right in front of her.
“Need a taxi, love?” the driver asked in a strong Northern accent.
“As a matter of fact, I do, thank you,” she said, taking a seat in the back of the black cab and giving the address details to the driver.
“You know where to go?” she asked, a bit anxious.
“Aye, be there in no time,” he answered, pulling away from the pavement.
She relaxed in the back seat, going over possible interview questions, hoping to find a nearby coffee shop where she could spend a couple of hours revising her résumé.
The car seat was extremely comfortable, and as they drove she looked outside the window, relaxing, enjoying the rush of unknown streets and unknown faces blurring behind the glass, one face melting into another, one street merging with the next … on and on and on…
Before she realised it, the driver was shaking her awake. “We're here, love. You all right? You must've been real tired!”
She looked around her, puzzled. “Gosh, I'm awfully sorry. Have I been asleep for long? How much do I owe you?”
“Nah. Couple of minutes, that's all. Strong coffee'll fix that. That'll be fifteen pounds, love.”
She gave him a £20 note and asked him to keep the change.
She was so embarrassed, she didn't even look around her properly until the cab had driven away. The funny thing was, she could not picture the driver's face no matter how hard she tried, and it annoyed her for she prided herself in having a photographic memory.
How strange, she thought, but shrugged it off and looked around for the Nannies, Inc. building.
She took the newspaper clipping with the advertisement on it out of her handbag, and checked the details. Sure enough, the road was called Begonia Lane, just as the address detailed, and it seemed to be a cul-de-sac.
Among the houses, she spotted one massive door with a painted number that had faded, but the sign on it clearly read, Nannies, Inc. est. 1839.
The door was solid oak with pretty brass doorknobs in the shape of stylised flowers; no intercom.
Elizabeth looked at her watch and sighed. It was only 9 a.m, but apart from the door in front of her, there were no visible shops or houses around; just a gorgeous winter garden stretching as far as she could see, all around the building.
“How peculiar,” she whispered. “It surely doesn't seem like the London I know; at least not the modern London… What a lovely area though,” she added, admiring the rows of evergreen trees that dotted the winter garden.
Undecided on what to do, she put away the clipping and opted for knocking on the door, hoping they had a waiting room where she could perhaps relax and prepare for her interview.
She had barely touched the doorknob when the door swung open, revealing a large, marbled entrance with a huge staircase. The walls were bare, expect for two, big, still life tapestries on each side of the hall, representing ripe fruits and flowers in bloom. The colours were somewhat subdued, hinting at the tapestries’ old age, but they were embroidered with golden threads that sparkled, giving them a sense of movement, as if the design was constantly changing in front of your eyes.
Elizabeth smiled and gathered her skirts, starting the climb up the impressive staircase and counting the steps – a habit she had never lost since infancy.
Half way up, and 163 steps closer to the top, she decided that holding on to the polished wooden banister would be a good idea. She was fairly fit, being a regular visitor to her local gym, but these stairs seemed to be taking a bit of a toll on her legs.
“Oh, well, I suppose a morning work out is just the thing before an important meeting. Mens sana in corpore sano!” she recited – a healthy mind in a healthy body – her favourite Latin quote from her classical days at university.
When she finally reached the top, she found herself on a small landing with two doors, one at each end on the left and right. On the right, a small door tag read, 'Reception Room'. The second door had a similar sign, but it read, 'Tea Room', instead.
Satisfied, she knocked on the reception room door.
“Cooome iiin!” a chirpy voice chimed from inside the room.
Elizabeth breathed in deeply, then opened the door and stepped inside.
The reception room was nothing like she had expected. There were two burgundy, plush sofas, with little mahogany coffee tables on the side of each; a small mahogany desk with what looked like a sign-in book and a fountain pen on top; and four glass display cases, one at each corner of the square room, which contained an array of silver items, from tea pots to what looked like silver baby rattles.
The walls were decorated with an old-fashioned Victorian wallpaper, also burgundy, with swirly leaf and flower motifs, and there were several paintings of landscapes from different parts of the world, mounted on heavy wooden frames. She recognised Venice and Paris, but also the Taj Mahal and some sort of traditional Japanese or Chinese temple. They were very simple, yet beautifully drawn, and the mounts seemed extremely elaborate and expensive. Corporate babysitting was obviously a more lucrative business then she had anticipated.
Although there were no computers, or seemingly any other technological device, the room had a certain air of efficiency about it, and she found herself approving of the luxurious, yet simple, surroundings.
She hadn't even noticed the little old lady watering the green plant in the left far end of the room, until she moved and her enormous skirt swished, alerting Elizabeth to her presence.
She was tiny, and looked to be in her sixties. She had a little round face framed by gold-rimmed glasses, and laughter wrinkles around her thin-lipped mouth and at the corner of her blue eyes. Her hair was pale yellow and white in patches – as if she'd stained it with tea bags and the result had not been uniform – but it was pulled back in a tight, neat bun. She was dressed in an old-fashioned, brown dress with a skirt so long, it trailed after her and made her look even shorter. She looked like a miniature of Queen Victoria: plump, but somewhat regal in her countenance.
“Hello” said Elizabeth, clearing her voice.
“Why, hellooo, dear!” answered the little old lady, in the same sing-song voice she had used to invite her in.
“My name is Elizabeth Watson. I'm here for the Open D— ”
“Of course, of course, dear. Come c
loser; let me take a look at you.” The little old lady scuttled all around her as quickly as a bouncing squirrel. “Yes, yes … you are so very pretty, dear; the children must really adore you … and what a pretty smile … so different,” she added, nodding to herself.
“Thank you, you're very kind,” said Elizabeth, a little embarrassed by the inspection. “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?” she then asked, tentatively.
“I'm Mrs Redwood, dear. I am in charge of the reception room.” She giggled in a very girly way. “Now, you must be dying to meet our other ladies, so why don't you go to the tea room and help yourself to a nice cup of tea. There should be a few of our girls there so you can start acquainting yourself with your colleagues.” She nodded to herself, as if pleased by her own wonderful idea.
Elizabeth was confused. “I'm sorry, I know I'm awfully early, so you must have mistaken me for someone else – I'm here to apply for a job, not to start one.”
Mrs Redwood looked at her, puzzled. “But if you are applying for a job, then you must want a job, dear, so you'd be wanting to start one too, aren't you?”
Elizabeth frowned. Was she here to start a job? Well, that bizarrely made sense since she wanted one … but what about the interview? Was this it? Had she passed some kind of selection she wasn't aware of?
“Well, as a matter of fact, I am” she ventured.
Mrs Redwood smiled broadly. “Well, of course you are! Now off you go. You wouldn't want to miss out on the crumpets – they are very popular and finish rather fast.” She kept nodding while she spoke. “Just sign the book and be away with yourself, dear.” Mrs Redwood pointed at the sign-in book Elizabeth had noticed upon entering.
Approaching the mahogany desk, Miss Elizabeth Watson took the fountain pen and signed her name and the date under the previous entry. Incredibly, it was from 1965 – someone called Susan Winterborough – almost forty-eight years ago.
So it's not signed daily. How peculiar, Elizabeth thought. “I shall hopefully be seeing you again, Mrs Redwood. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, dear,” Mrs Redwood replied without looking at her, engrossed in the dusting of one of the glass display cabinets.
Leaving the reception room behind, as well as the plump and colourful Mrs Redwood, Elizabeth made her way into the tea room.
Again, this wasn't the staff room she had expected, nor did it resemble any other workplace she had ever been in.
There were several round tables dotted around the spacious, yet cosy, room; all set up for four, with four elegant mahogany chairs around it. The tables were covered in white and crisp linen table cloths, with tiny embroidered yellow roses, and each table had a cake stand full of delicious looking pastries and what looked like vanilla and chocolate French fondants, tea and coffee china pots with little china milk jugs, and brown and white sugar cubes. On some tables she could see plates of crumpets and muffins that seemed freshly toasted, and tiny jam and butter pots.
Her mouth watered as she remembered the tiny portion of yoghurt and granola she had almost inhaled, before quickly brushing her teeth and leaving her flat.
She tried to find an empty table, but couldn't spot one.
This room was darker then the reception room, with heavy, brown velvet curtains preventing the sunlight from coming in through the four, huge windows on the right-hand side wall. Bizarrely, there were no electric lights here, only oil lamps hanging elegantly from the walls, and a few candles in golden candelabra, also mounted on the walls, so it was difficult to see exactly how big the place was and how many people were having a luxurious breakfast courtesy of Nannies, Inc.
Elizabeth sighed and made her way through the tables, hoping to find at least a free chair, and trying not to bump into any of the seated people.
Finally, she noticed a table with only three occupants and timidly made her way towards it.
The three ladies at the table were having a heated discussion, but stopped and waved her over as soon as they noticed her approaching.
“Come, come sit with us!” said one of the ladies in an overexcited tone, almost jumping up and down on her chair.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth answered with a polite smile, taking the free seat.
“You take milk and sugar, sweetheart?” a second lady asked.
“One sugar, no milk, please.”
The lady handed her a cup of hot, steaming tea and Elizabeth stirred it, enjoying the tinkling of the tiny silver spoon against the china. As she sipped the tea she took a better look at the ladies around the table.
The first thing she noticed was that they were all dressed the same way, though in different colours, and they all wore little flowery hats that looked, funnily enough, like the ones Mary Poppins wore in the famous movie.
The lady to her left, the one that had poured her tea, wore a navy blue suit that looked one size too small. The buttons on her white shirt stretched as if to pop at any moment. She was a very big lady, with short grey hair and blue eyes, and a big swine nose that made her look like an oversized pig. The fact that she was smothering butter on a piece of toasted crumpet as if it was the last bite of food she would ever have, didn't help Elizabeth shake the image.
She had, however, a wonderful voice, which sort of softened her appearance somehow. She was not attractive and clearly over fifty and in desperate need of a make-over, but Elizabeth could see how children would be captivated by this chubby matron.
Next to her was this wimp of a woman; possibly the smallest, skinniest old lady Elizabeth had ever encountered. She seemed to disappear in her chair, surrounded by a much too large brown skirt.
Her cream-coloured shirt was at least two sizes too big, and her jacket was draped at the back of her chair. She also wore a pretty amber broach on her shirt. Her eyes seemed half-closed and her lips non-existent, but as Elizabeth studied her discretely, she realised it was only the effect given by her wrinkles, making her face look like a dehydrated prune. In spite of all, the cunning intelligence that still sparkled in her ice-blue eyes, told Elizabeth this little old darling was not to be trifled with.
The last lady was the one that had excitedly waved her over to their table. Of the three, she seemed to be the friendliest. She was possibly in her late forties, with jet black hair and green eyes on a heart-shaped face. She was dressed in a dark green suit that brought out the colour of her eyes, and a charcoal grey shirt, and was currently nibbling at a vanilla French fondant.
“So glad you came to sit with us,” she said to Elizabeth, shifting on her chair. “Really didn't want that Susan woman sitting here, did we Ruth?”
Elizabeth followed her gaze and spotted a pretty blonde in her late twenties or early thirties, roaming the room in search of a seat, dressed in a pale pink suit and looking every bit the Stepford wife … Stepford Nanny in this case.
“Oooh!”
Elizabeth turned at the exclamation and looked at the big lady, Ruth.
“Insufferable bimbo! On her first day all she could say was, ‘Mary this, Mary that … I sooo want to be like Mary!’, as if she knew the littlest thing about our dear Miss Poppins! Isn't that true, Iris?”
Elizabeth stifled a giggle and barely managed to keep her face straight.
Iris, the little old lady, nodded solemnly. “Quite right you are, Ruthy dear. Mary Poppins, indeed!” she said, almost spitefully. “I was here when the whole Banks incident happened and let me tell you, something did not smell right there,” she tapped her nose deliberately. “Spoonful of sugar, indeed! Those poor kids. God knows what she put in their tea to make them hallucinate so. And the parents! Broken! Mr Banks was proscribed to a mental institution, you know?” she continued in a conspirational tone. “Thought he could fly. Fly I tell you! By laughing! Ridiculous, of course.” She shook her head sadly and compassionately.
Elizabeth was dumbfounded. Were they really having a conversation about … Mary Poppins?
Ruth nodded, approvingly. “Of course, once Hollywood came knocking, nobody asked questions any more.
You should have seen it, Emma – books first, then the movie, and now the musical. Outrageous! Gives us all a bad name, I tell you… What was your name, dear?” she asked Elizabeth directly, addressing her for the first time.
“Elizabeth. Elizabeth Watson”.
“Nice, sound name, dear,” said Iris. “This is Ruth Hodgins and Emma Lawrence, and I am Iris Bishop.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you,” said Elizabeth, acknowledging each of them with a smile and a head nod.
“Lovely to meet you, too. Is this your first day with us? You look a bit out of sorts, if I may say so,” giggled Emma.
“It is, actually. I’m here for the Open Day and hopefully a private interview”.
The three ladies looked at Elizabeth, confused. “Open Day, dear?” asked Iris.
“Yes, it was on yesterday's paper, you see.” Elizabeth took out the newspaper clip from her bag. “Here, I'll show you …” She stopped, puzzled.
Instead of the lovely Nannies, Inc. advert on the page, they were advertising that obnoxious insurance company with the fat opera singer that was everywhere on TV.
“This is most peculiar … it was right here, you see … right here!” Elizabeth pointed at the page.
The three older women looked at her, and then at each other, nodding knowingly.
“No matter, sweetheart,” said Ruth, patting her hand. “We all get here in our own way.” She offered her a cinnamon swirl, which also happened to be her favourite pastry. “Have a bite of this and you'll feel better right away, let me tell you. Nothing like some cake to set you back on track, I say!” she added, with a big smile.
“Thank you, you're very kind, but this is most bizarre. In fact, this whole day has turned out to be a bit of a puzzle— ”
“Miss Elizabeth Watson, I presume?” said a voice from behind her, stopping her mid-sentence. Elizabeth turned to face the woman who had spoken.
She was tall and elegantly dressed in a black, long dress, with slightly puffed sleeves that looked a bit dated, but suited her slender figure perfectly. Her auburn hair was tied up in a neat bun on top of her head and she looked very much like a headmistress at a ladies finishing school. She was probably in her early fifties and had strangely deep, grey eyes, full of wisdom and kindness.
“I am Victoria Nobles and I run this facility. If you would like to follow me, we can have a chat about our services here at Nannies, Inc.,” she added, without waiting for Elizabeth's reply.
“Of course. Goodbye ladies, it was lovely to meet you,” Elizabeth said, getting up and gathering her things.
“We will see you on Sunday for tea, Elizabeth?” asked Emma, winking cheerily at her. “We shall save you a seat and some tuna sandwiches, too. They’re delicious.”
“Thank you, Emma, they are my favourites…” Again, Elizabeth thought, as if they know me already. Then she hurried after Miss Nobles towards the back end of the tea room, surprised that she hadn't noticed the big double door there.
They walked through it, into a corridor so large she couldn't see either end of it. All the doors were unmarked and looked exactly the same, but somehow each had a unique feel to it.
Finally, they arrived at a door with a tag that read, ‘Miss Nobles’, setting it apart from the others, and entered.
Miss Nobles' “office” was, again, a bit of a surprise, in that it really was an office with a state of the art Apple PC, several filing cabinets and a well supplied desk, with all the relevant stationery.
It was decorated in neutral creams and soft mocha colours, with touches of brown patterned furnishings, like the heavy embroidered curtains that, again, blocked the outside view from the windows. There was also a little kitchenette, with a microwave and a kettle, and a lounging area with a chocolate brown, three-seater sofa that looked incredibly comfortable, and an iPod player that was, at this moment in time, playing Coldplay's Viva la Vida.
On the wall, there were several exquisite paintings, mostly landscapes, but also portraits and a couple of abstracts that kept the cream / chocolate theme going.
They all looked valuable and of age, and Elizabeth seemed to spot a signature that looked very much like that of Picasso, and another one that resembled Van Gogh's.
They must be copies, she thought, or I have sorely misjudged the amount of money involved in this business.
Miss Nobles took a seat behind her desk, and pulled out of a drawer a purple glasses case. Opening it, she drew out a pair of black, square glasses and proceeded to adjust them on her nose. On the desk in front of her lay a file. She opened it.
“So,” she started, “first of all, let me welcome you to our 'agency'.” She used the term as if air-quoting it.
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth, taking a seat in one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. “Everyone has been very nice, I must say. Your ladies are, well, they make for a very interesting conversation,” she added, hoping she didn't sound as confused by this whole experience as she felt.
Miss Nobles laughed. “That, they do!” she nodded, as if to herself. “But let me tell you, each of them have a special gift with children, and all of them could tell you unbelievable stories.”
Elizabeth thought of the Mary Poppins conversation and smiled, faintly. “I think I know what you mean.”
“Do you?” Miss Nobles asked, fixing those stormy grey eyes on her. “Then, let me tell you something about our facilities.” She relaxed back on her chair and started stroking the edge of the desk, absent-mindedly. “Nannies, Inc. was established in 1839 by Mrs Begonia Lanford, who had been, in the past, a governess for an aristocratic family here in London. She loved children but could, unfortunately, not have any of her own due to a physical condition. She married Henry Lanford – a well known scientific researcher – in 1825, at the age of thirty-two. Being a curious and well-educated woman, she started helping him in his studies soon after their wedding ceremony, becoming indispensable in his work, as well as in his everyday life.”
“She sounds like she was an incredible woman,” Elizabeth admitted.
“That, she was. She was also incredibly passionate about children and believed firmly that with a good education, and the right encouragement and support, a well cared child in his early developmental years could be stirred to greatness, and fulfil his or her potential. Children are our future.”
She said that with such a firm belief, it filled Elizabeth with pride for even being considered for a job in this extraordinary and strangely mysterious agency.
“That's why she created this very special place. So that we can make sure children everywhere in the world receive that support and care, and become who they are destined to be; to make the world a better place.”
Elizabeth found herself nodding, as if hypnotised by the passion this woman obviously felt for her job. “I understand and agree completely with this, Miss Nobles. I have always felt that there was more I could do; that I could make a difference. I would love for you to give me that chance here,” she said with feeling.
Miss Victoria Nobles nodded in approval. “What you have to understand is that the service we provide here is, well, different from anything you have encountered before.” She looked, with seriousness, into Elizabeth's eyes, and at that moment she knew her life was about to change forever.
“We take care of very special children here – children that shape the future of us all – so we, in turn, need our ladies to have very specific skills and abilities.” She took a pause, shuffling through the file in front of her. “You speak Italian, don't you? You also have a passion for arts and science?”
Elizabeth was taken aback by Miss Nobles’ knowledge of her, since she hadn't even bothered asking for her résumé. “Yes, I do. My mother's mum was from Tuscany, but how do you know?”
Miss Nobles pushed her glasses up her nose and smiled. “We know what we need to know about our ladies, and by now you should have realised that your being here is no coincidence.”
Elizabeth thought about this who
le strange day: the taxi driver and her falling asleep, Mrs Redwood's assumption that she already had a job with them, the disappearing advert in the newspaper, the strange topics discussed with the three women in the tea room … and she realised this was bigger than a simple babysitting job; bigger than anything she had ever known in her little life.
“This is where your life changes, Elizabeth Watson. The question is, will you take this opportunity? We only offer once,” Miss Nobles said, in a solemn and definitive tone.
Elizabeth swallowed and then took a deep breath. “What would my wages be like?”
Miss Nobles laughed for the second time during their meeting, shaking her head. “Don't worry, dear. Let's just say you'll be well taken care of, and whenever you decide to retire, whether it's after one or one hundred assignments, you'll be able to settle anywhere you want.”
“Anywhere?” Elizabeth asked, thinking of sunny afternoons in an Italian garden.
“Anywhere, and any time. You'll be spoilt for choice, believe me.”
At that moment, someone knocked on the door.
“Yes, come in!” Miss Nobles said with a slightly annoyed tone at the intrusion.
The visitor came in, and Elizabeth recognised that Susan girl from the tea room.
“I'm sorry to disturb you, but I shall be leaving for my new assignment shortly and I was wondering if you had any last minute instructions?”
“Of course, Miss Winterborough. I will be right with you with the Newton file.”
Miss Susan Winterborough left the room without any further inquiries, leaving Elizabeth with the nagging feeling that she knew that name. Where had she heard it? Where … then it came to her!
Susan Winterborough, 1965. The signature before hers on Mrs Redwood's sign-in book!
But how could it be? That was almost fifty years ago and this girl couldn't be more than twenty-eight!
“Do you have any more questions, Miss Watson? I need to see Miss Winterborough and then we can talk about your first assignment if you wish?”
Elizabeth looked at Miss Nobles and nodded. “Just one more question. What exactly did Mr Lanford and his wife research?”
Miss Nobles smiled, and Elizabeth knew the answer before she even spoke.
Epilogue
Elizabeth stepped out of the Nannies, Inc. building without looking back, and found herself walking the streets of the sunny, little Italian village, purposely.
She remembered the instructions to get to Messer Piero's house easily, and was curious to meet the incredibly talented little boy she would be taking care of, at least for a while.
Tuscany was in bloom, spring blossoms and flowery trees dotted around the green and lush landscape promising a fruitful summer; the scent of honeysuckle, daisies and wild roses, permeating the air in the afternoon of the sleepy countryside.
She reached the door of the notary's house and knocked, then straightened up her brown, embroidered overdress and the veil she had draped over her hair, as per current ladies fashion, and wished she could take a quick look in a mirror to make sure she looked presentable. She particularly liked the large sleeves of her dress and almost wished the style would come back in use.
The door opened, and a girl of no more than fifteen stood at the entrance, dressed in what were obviously servant's clothes, appraising her.
“Si?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Buongiorno. Messer Piero, per favore? Sono attesa.”
The girl nodded, and opened the door fully, escorting her through a small hall and into a fairly elegant living room, and then pointed to one of the chairs.
Elizabeth took a seat and waited for the master of the house, hoping she was, indeed, expected.
After only a few moments, Messer Piero made his entrance, followed by a small boy of five. She knew this because today was his fifth birthday: 15th April, 1457.
She stood up and curtsied, making sure not to bow too low, since she was supposed to be from a good family.
“Buongiorno e benvenuta!” said Messer Piero. “Voi dovete essere la nuova badante per il mio bimbo.”
You must be the new nanny for my child, he had said, and was quite right, so she nodded “Si.”
“Bene, bene … e il vostro nome?”
“Elisabetta, Messere,” she answered, politely.
“Elisabetta, questo e' Leonardo.”
She met Leonardo's eyes for the first time. “Bentrovato, Leonardo,” she greeted him.
The boy looked at her seriously.
“Saluta Madonna Elisabetta, Leonardo,” his father encouraged him.
“Salve, M'onna 'Lis'betta,” he replied, uncertainly.
She smiled kindly. “Puoi chiamarmi Lisa, Leonardo”. You can call me Lisa. She told him.
He nodded, solemnly, as he slowly got a bit closer to her. “Che bel sorriso… ” What a beautiful smile, he murmured, absent-mindedly, reaching for her hand. “Mi racconti una storia?”
Elizabeth took his outstretched hand and smiled, encouragingly, to Messer Piero.
Of course I'll tell you a story, she said to the child. I'll tell you many stories if you wish, of a land where fantastic dreams come true, and ingenious men build a better future.
Together they left the house and went for a walk in the hills of Vinci, talking of wondrous things and enjoying the afternoon sun.
Elizabeth smiled all the time.
She was happy.
Her job made her happy.
Thank you for reading this eBook!
If you enjoyed it, please share the love and consider leaving a review somewhere, or telling everyone you know – word of mouth is the most valuable source of marketing an author could ask for.
~*~
About The Author
Ninfa lives in Manchester, UK, with husband Gareth, daughter Cassandra and two gorgeous kitties, Jemima and Shelley.
Originally from Italy, she's half Spanish, half Italian and British by choice and marriage.
She loves books and is a total bookaholic! Reading and writing have always been a big part of her life and for this she thanks both her parents for passing down the literary gene and the passion for a good story.
Ninfa is big on networking and co-runs an array of Facebook pages and blogs about books and all things supernatural. She also reviews books for Bookaholics Book Club on a regular basis.
In this spirit, she's also training her daughter in these dark arts and plans on making her a huge geek, whether she likes it or not!
If you'd like to find out more about Ninfa and her stories, you can follow her on her Facebook author page, Ninfa Hayes.
Also by Ninfa Hayes
BITES
Two short stories that will seduce you with romance, danger, sensuality … and Vampire bites.
Last of the Blood
When the sweet scent reaches me, I know I have found what I'm looking for.
My hands reach out in the darkness to the unaware girl.
She's warm and soft, and doesn't even get to scream before I'm drinking deeply from her, her struggles too feeble to bother me.
Only the blood counts.
I've never tasted anything like it. Gloriously sweet, thick and strong, and full of life.
I drink until the hunger subsides, until the body that I hold so close to me hangs lifelessly in my arms. Only then I see. Only then I recognise it, and the agony … oh, the agony is more than I can bear!
Demonica
Tonight is the Midwinter Solstice Ball, the most important night in the Daemonic Court's calendar.
This is the night when new disciples are chosen, when demons come out to play, and all bets are off.
As it happens, tonight is also the night I become Queen.
Irina is about to become Queen of the Daemonic Court and Damon is on the run from his own nature …where will their paths take them?
Available in eBook format, and in paperback.
ve.
