by Jaye Peaches
“How is your atelier coming on?”
“Really well. The builders have gone and the electrician is close to finishing off. I’m impressed with how it has turned out.”
The architect had suggested removing the floor on the upper storey in order to create one tall room. As well as the glass wall, skylights had been installed in the roof to let in the sun during the winter months. For warmth, under-heated flooring and spot-lights, which varied in their intensity according to the natural ambient light. A long workbench would be constructed down one wall for storage and preparations, plus a sink and drying room. She’d already picked the flooring, wall paints, and the smaller fittings.
“We’ve created a play area at one end for my little one. A safe area to roll about in while I paint.”
They arrived outside the grand hotel. A doorman shot out to help Gemma out of the car.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Lucas. A pleasure to see you here again.” He tipped his hat.
“I tip well,” she whispered to Maggie.
The concierge took them to their seats in the Promenade, offering Gemma the afternoon tea menu and assisting her into a chair.
“I will have mint tea, salmon sandwiches, and scones please. I’m a bit hungry.”
Maggie chose Earl Grey and a selection of pastries. “I should be watching my weight.”
“I don’t appear to have put on much, considering how much he’s growing inside me. I think that’s due to my healthy diet. Jason’s requirement,” she said after the waiter moved on.
“Diet?”
“Yes. No tea or coffee, unhealthy snacks, cakes, chocolate, ice cream. Quite a list in the end.” A stunned facial expression from Maggie greeted Gemma.
Maggie pointed at the plate in front of Gemma. “You’re eating scones today”
“I have permission. I texted him earlier and he said I could eat what I liked.” Gemma laid a napkin on her lap, slipping it under her belly. The lad had been kicking away all afternoon. She was convinced he had started to swing a golf club in her womb. The gender had been confirmed during the latest 3-D scan.
“He decides what you eat? Why?” Maggie stared at her, mouth poised about a cinnamon swirl.
“I struggled at first. All those leaflets telling me what I should or should not do. So Jason suggested I hand over certain aspects of my pregnancy to him. For him to control and tell me what to do. Dominant, remember?”
“I thought you meant in bed? You know sex,” whispered Maggie.
Gemma grinned, unperturbed by the topic. Background music and a general low-level hubbub of noise masked their conversation.
“That’s the major part of what we do as Dom and sub. But I’ve given control to him for other aspects of my life, too. It’s been very helpful, having a few rules to guide me, and he has the chance to be involved with my pregnancy.”
Maggie examined her own food. “What you eat?”
Gemma nodded. “Exercise, what I wear, generally that is, not individual outfits. He sends me to bed if he thinks I’m tired. He doesn’t have control over the medical aspects of my pregnancy. He checks with me every day to make sure I’m not anxious or worried about anything. I panicked a bit at first. I’m very content now.” The baby kicked, and she stroked her belly. “Somersaults, today. Jason likes swimming. I think this one does, too.”
“He’ll run out of space soon, don’t worry.” The conversation drifted into general aspects of their life, until Maggie glanced at her watch. “I should get back to work. Tidy up a few loose ends before going home. Thank you for the tea.”
Gemma waved at a waiter to arrange for the bill. “It was lovely to have your company. Perhaps we could meet again. I would like to meet your husband—he has been very helpful to me. I’m hoping by next academic year to have grants available for five fellowships.”
“I’m sure Hugh would like to meet you, too.”
Gemma dropped her doctor back at the clinic then went home. Her aching body called out for feet-up time and a good book. Tomorrow she would be interviewing for a potential nanny: a very open-minded nanny. She wasn’t convinced she would find a decent candidate. The strict criteria put together with Jason a couple of weeks earlier had been somewhat narrow and unyielding.
~
They’d retired to the sitting room at Blythewood one evening, trying to decide what qualities they sought in a nanny. A live-in was unnecessary and undesirable. They both sought privacy. The stipulation meant someone who could work Mondays to Fridays, available to babysit when she and Jason had social functions to attend or wanted a night out together.
“She has to be mature,” Jason added the first requirement, “as in experienced and not fresh out of college.”
“Experience yes, age is irrelevant surely.” She raised her eyebrows.
Jason crossed his legs at the ankles and lounged in his armchair. “Age brings experience. Previous work experience, preferably with families use to protection issues, security, and privacy.”
Seated opposite on a sofa, she picked up her notepad and pen and jotted down:
Experienced, no spotty teenagers allowed.
“So you want a royal nanny then or the prime minister’s?”
“That’s the kind of calibre, yes. The best. Not me, Gemma, us.”
She added:
Security conscious. Ask PM or Queen for advice.
“How much do we tell her about us then? The lair, everything, or a watered-down version?” Gemma wanted this to be his decision not hers.
“Her? I suppose that nannies are generally hers. If she is open-minded, non-judgemental, and doesn’t bible bash, then there is no reason not to reveal all. Mrs Harris copes, as does the security team, I assume. They haven’t resigned.”
“Religion? You going to make religion a question?” Gemma sighed. The prospective interviews filled her with dread.
“You don’t find many devout Christians practising BDSM. At least I don’t know any.”
“Well, I have. Few, I admit, but I gather the Bible is very hot on discipline and chastisement. The Old Testament that is.”
She added:
No fundamentalists or extreme views on anything.
“Perhaps a Jewish nanny would be suitable. Can we move on to the next point? Preferably a nanny without her own children.”
Lowering her notepad, Gemma stared at Jason in disbelief. Now he didn’t want a nanny with kids of her own! “Surely it would mean they have relevant experience. I would like some realistic advice, not just words from some mums-and-baby magazine.”
“Do you want a nanny who has to choose between our son or running home to look after her sick children or picking them up from school?” he rebutted.
“I’d assume they wouldn’t do the work if they had their own childcare issues. We’re not after a childminder. I was thinking Mary Poppins. Including the magic bag.”
“Grown-up children are fine, those that have flown the nest.”
Another scribble on the notepad:
No family conflicts, preferably a nanny who ignores her own children’s cries for help and adores ours.
“You’re narrowing the search a great deal, Jason. I’ve a list of agencies a mile long, but they don’t check these criteria. Screening is going to be tricky.”
“We’ll create a short list, and Martinson can do background checks.”
“Vetting? They’ll have references, testimonials, criminal-record checks anyway.”
“More thorough than that. I’m not having a repeat of Angelica and her thieving brother.” Jason referred to the cleaner who had been sacked for stealing jewellery and, more critically for Jason, had enticed his wife into a moment of stupidity. Gemma had given the girl, an undeclared submissive, a spanking in their bedroom when Angelica had deliberately broken a precious ornament.
Angelic, not Angelica.
Gemma puffed out her lips. Her back ached, and she had the beginnings of a headache lurking behind her temples. Having help looking after your child
was a privilege, but she didn’t want a nanny to take over or become a substitute grandparent. She wanted a friend to keep her company while Jason worked or was abroad. Someone to talk to when she went out shopping for baby clothes or pushing a pram and not somebody in a matron’s uniform with a prim-and-proper attitude to discipline and behaviour.
“Who is going to have the final say on this? Because I just want to find someone I like and feel comfortable around. I’d rather manage on my own than have a Mrs Squeers or that scary nanny in The Omen.”
She massaged her forehead, willing away the throbbing sensation. She wished the whole nanny thing away.
“Are all your opinions of people based on fictional characters?” Jason rolled his eyes to the plasterwork in the ceiling. Refocusing them on Gemma, he added, “This is a joint decision. We have to both agree. I’m not going to force someone on you that you don’t like.”
Nothing fictional. A real person.
Her list reflected her deflating mood. Jason stared at her, his intense blue-eyed gaze forming the epicentre of his face. It meant he was assessing her. Gripping the pen, she added another line to the bottom of the list. Standing up, he came and stood over her.
“I’m taking you to bed. I expect you think you’re looking very unappealing to me, but that’s not the case. You’re my lovely pregnant wife who needs a good fuck. Come.”
It was one of those not-to-be-ignored requests, and she held out her hand to be helped up.
“Bend your bloody knees. You’ve still got a couple of months to go; you’re not that incapable,” he chided her.
Gemma didn’t think his plans in bed were going to be about solely pleasing him. She perked up and heaved herself out of the chair. “Be nice to me, Sir,” she bleated.
“Oh, I will be nice to you. Don’t worry. You know there are lots of ways I can be nice to you.” The heat rose from her chest into her cheeks.
As she headed towards the door, he picked up her notepad. She knew he couldn’t resist checking what she had written.
“Gemma. I don’t think you’re taking this nanny business very seriously, are you?” He waved the notepad in the air.
“They’re my notes, not yours. I don’t think I’m going to forget this conversation if I look at what I’ve written,” she explained. In amongst the baby’s kicks, she sensed the flutter of butterflies waiting to be released the moment he laid a finger on her.
His face broke out with a white-toothed smile. “Nor am I, babe. Especially if you write comments like that.”
He dropped the notepad on the coffee table, her scrawled last line visible across the bottom of the page:
I am your MILF
Chapter 9. Nannies
The first interview Gemma conducted for the post of nanny resulted in a resounding negative outcome. The young woman epitomised everything that didn’t fit Gemma’s odd list of requirements, and it was clear the applicant was too young and inexperienced. The prospective nanny couldn’t stop gaping at the house and decor, so much so Gemma had to repeat each question at least twice to get her attention. When asked about her experience of families with security issues, the inattentive nanny replied her last family had stair gates on all their doors.
Gemma went back to the agencies and told them to pull their fingers out. Deciding the best nannies might already be in employment she asked around, hoping to rely on word of mouth. Starting with her friend, Judith, who gave her other names and so on until she’d compiled a new list.
The chain of contacts led to Clara Davies. A divorcee with two sons, one on a gap year and the other at university. Forty-five years old, she lived about halfway between their two houses on an underground line. Most importantly for Gemma, she had experience with high-profile families, including a celebrity of notoriety. Clara Davies on paper ticked all the boxes and Jason’s head of security, Martinson, had failed to find any criminal or other unsavoury anomalies, therefore Gemma suggested Jason ought to meet her, too.
A Friday morning interview was arranged at half past nine, allowing Jason the chance to meet the candidate before going to work. The nanny arrived promptly and negotiated the security protocols without becoming flummoxed, unlike her predecessor, who’d been unable to work the intercom system.
Opening the door, Gemma greeted a rather plain woman with short, curly dyed-brown hair. A flushed face with the appearance of middle-aged wrinkles. She wore a long skirt and knitted top with scarf and hat; it gave her a homely demeanour. A bracing wind accompanied her arrival.
“Mrs Davies. Please come in out of the cold.”
She peered over Gemma’s shoulder, examining the hallway. “Clara, please.”
“Would you like tea or coffee?” Nothing so far set off alarm bells—an ordinary-looking woman.
“Tea, please. Milk, no sugar.” A voice deeper than Gemma expected. She left Clara waiting while she went to the kitchen to arrange tea with Brooks.
When they entered the drawing room, Jason rose, tossed aside whatever he had been reading on to the sofa. Thankfully for Gemma, he’d seemed to be in a good frame of mind, chatting over breakfast and admiring her bump. She’d made sure of his mood by being attentive to him in the way that worked best; she’d had sex with him. They had the time since he wasn’t rushing off to work.
He shook the nanny’s hand and offered her a seat. Clara laced her fingers together on her lap. Gemma sat next to Jason on the sofa, picked up her notepad, and flicked through until she found her page of questions.
She exchanged pleasantries with Clara about her journey, and the nanny asked about Gemma’s pregnancy. When Brooks arrived with a tray, Clara accepted the tea without comment. Another good sign in Gemma’s books. The presence of domestic staff didn’t overawe her.
Gemma and Clara batted back and forth questions and answers, while Jason remained mute. Yes, nodded Clara, divorced, her husband remarried and living in the north. She could babysit in the evenings, given notice. Weekends, she could help, too, if needed, her life more flexible now that her youngest son had gone. Gemma formed the impression the older woman was lonely, happy to be out and about and not at home.
Having taken a back seat, Jason stirred and took on the mantle of inquisitor. He asked Clara about her previous employment, which included high-profile figures, ambassadors and government officials. Clara replied without revealing too much about her former employers. She had no issues with the security measures, chauffeurs, and protection officers being around the baby.
Relief flooded through Gemma as Clara continued to respond in the correct fashion. Jason remained in his preferred impassive mode, and she wondered for a moment if his expressionless face would unsettle the nanny.
Gemma chewed the end of her pen with nerves, not because she didn’t like Clara. Quite the opposite, she found Clara engaging and honest. However, she needed to gauge the woman’s opinions and views on their lifestyle. Gemma didn’t know how to broach the matter. Removing the pen from her mouth, she fingered her collar necklace, her symbol of submission, wondering what to say.
Jason tossed a large cushion onto the floor at his feet and gave Gemma the look, the piercing blue-eyed do-as-you’re-told gaze. She gaped, raising her eyebrows, as he pointed at the cushion. Contrary emotions emerged—it tickled her insides to see him being Dominant, but it also mortified her in the presence of another. Gemma moved. The rules remained in play; he expected obedience.
At that stage of the pregnancy, getting down on the floor didn’t trouble her; getting back up again posed a problem. She managed to lower her bottom onto the cushion and tuck her legs to one side. The baby felt like a cannon ball, an inflexible object in her belly.
Clara remained expressionless, rather like her unruffled husband, not a facial muscle twitched. A strange pause followed Gemma’s manoeuvring. A silence filled the room and Gemma could hear the cars going by the house outside and shouts from the building work at a neighbour’s house.
“Do you know what this means, Mrs Davies? My wife sitting
at my feet?” Jason pointed at Gemma.
The nanny’s fingers remained interlocked, displaying white knuckles. “Your wife is your submissive, I assume. I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but that is what you are showing me.” For a second, her hands trembled slightly.
Gemma’s pulse rate shot up. She wanted to turn round and face Jason, demand an explanation from him. He knew something about the nanny Gemma didn’t. Her lack of knowledge made her indignant. She pressed her lips tight together, trying to hide her annoyance and prevent an outburst. She clenched her hands into fists, but she remained silent.
“Yes,” said Jason. “Gemma and I live as Dominant and submissive. Her being here at my feet is a natural state of affairs. Neither would it be unusual if she addressed me deferentially. All you need to know is that our relationship is a private matter. We don’t expose ourselves publically or to our families or friends. The nature of your work, the fact you will be in our house when we are by ourselves, will expose you to the way we live. There must be no issues or doubts in your mind. Is this a problem?”
“I look a plain woman, Mr Lucas. Unexciting and drab perhaps, but I’ve seen much in my time, especially when I was a live-in nanny in my younger days. I can’t tell you, because I have confidentiality agreements I have to respect or similar contractual arrangements. People can live extraordinary lives inwardly and normal lives outwardly. I know this to be true. My services will always be focused on your child and assuring your wife is happy and content with motherhood. Your marriage is none of my business.”
Clara’s firm voice echoed about the room. If she had wanted to impress Gemma’s husband, Clara had hit the nail on the head good and proper.
“Thank you for your honesty, Mrs Davies,” said Jason. “If you do have any concerns, we would need to know of them sooner than later. Any strong views you should feel free to voice them. Is there anything you would like to ask before we go further?” Jason pinned the nanny down with his magnificent eyes. If she could deal with those, she was a winner.
