The Summer Nanny

by Holly Chamberlin

  Leda sighed. “Are you sure you won’t just consider asking Vera for a job at Over Easy?”

  “Totally sure,” Amy said firmly. “I’d much rather spend my days watching over a child in someone’s fancy house than waiting tables. You’re on your feet for hours at a time and you have to deal with some really fussy customers, people who send their pancakes back because they don’t look like the pancakes their mother made.”

  “Caring for someone else’s children is also hard work,” Leda pointed out. “And you might get saddled with really fussy parents who make doing your job nigh impossible.”

  Amy shrugged. “I’ll deal with all that. You know I’m pretty easygoing.”

  “It can be a difficult thing,” Leda said carefully, “being thrust into a family with its own dynamic so different from your own.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not applying to be a live-in nanny. I’ll be home every night.” Amy reached across the table and squeezed Leda’s hand. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll still have my own life.”

  “Be as careful choosing the family as they’ll be choosing you. It needs to be a good fit for both parties.”

  “I know, I know. I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t say that you were,” Leda protested. “What’s the name of this family with whom you’re interviewing?”

  “Cressida Prior is the mother. I don’t know yet if there’s a father around.”

  “Something about that name sounds familiar,” Leda noted.

  “I know,” Amy said. “I thought so, too.”

  “I wonder why she’s asked to interview you at a restaurant? Why not interview you at her hotel?”

  “Mom! What does it matter where we meet?”

  Leda smiled. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter.” What mattered, she thought, was that her daughter was hired by decent, respectable people. And for that she could only pray.

  Chapter 13

  Hayley reached into the top drawer for a can opener. Her mother loved baked beans, so once a week she made a meal around them. Tonight she would serve the beans with a salad and a pan of corn bread she had made from a convenient mix. And even though Hayley didn’t care whether her father ate dinner or not, she always made sure to prepare enough for three. It was for her mother’s sake that she did this. Her mother cared whether Eddie Franklin had a hearty meal at the end of the day.

  As she prepared the meal, Hayley considered her experience earlier at the Whitby home. She had approached the interview with an uneasy mix of hope and resentment, ready to find Marisa Whitby a smug, self-satisfied woman who would view Hayley through the lens of privilege and find her sadly lacking. All through the time they had spent together, both alone and with the children, Hayley had been waiting for the revelation of high-handed snobbery, but it had never come.

  Hayley remembered getting out of her car—she had worn the taupe dress she had bought at Goodwill—and looking up in awe at the house the Whitby family was renting. It was very large. Its shingles were mellowed with age to a soft, silvery gray. There was an old-fashioned wraparound porch on which were grouped white wicker chairs and wooden rocking chairs. Four large pots of flowers were placed at intervals along the portion of the porch facing the road. Hayley counted three chimneys.

  She had lifted the brass knocker in the shape of an anchor and knocked twice. Marisa Whitby had opened the door a moment later, wearing a pair of cargo pants rolled at the ankle and a loose button-down shirt. In one hand she held a dishtowel, and in the other a spatula. “Come in,” she said with a smile. “I had a hankering for pancakes,” she explained as she ushered Hayley into the house. “Would you like some?”

  Hayley had declined the offer but had accepted a cup of coffee. The interview had been held at the kitchen table, where Marisa had scarfed down four pancakes in an impressive few minutes. Hayley had appreciated her straightforward way of asking questions and her attentive way of listening to the answers. Marisa had explained that she had agreed to teach a course that summer at Yorktide Community College, which was the reason she needed to hire a nanny. “It’s a favor,” she explained. “The director of the Romance Languages Department and I went to graduate school together and we’ve stayed friends. Her husband is going through chemotherapy, and being Tom’s caretaker is a full-time job right now. When the guy Deb had lined up to teach the course bailed at the last minute, she turned to me.”

  After they had spoken for half an hour, Marisa led Hayley to the twins’ bedroom on the second floor. They had just woken from a nap and were sitting up in their cribs, quietly playing with plush toys. They were truly adorable little girls with their mother’s strawberry blond hair. They were not identical; one had blue eyes and the other’s eyes were distinctly green, and one was noticeably smaller than the other—Lily, Hayley was to learn. “It’s hard not to spoil your children,” Marisa had admitted in a whisper. “I want them to grow up to be women people like and respect, not women known for spoiled and selfish behavior. But sometimes I look at those chubby little cheeks and I almost can’t help but squeal.”

  Hayley had spent almost two hours with Marisa and the girls. After giving the girls a snack they had toured the house, passing through the first floor, on which there was a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a guest bedroom, then moving on to the second floor, which featured a very large master suite complete with a deck facing the ocean, two smaller but still substantial bedrooms, and another full bathroom. After that they visited the patio off the kitchen and the beautiful garden beyond it, filled with gorgeous plants and flowers, many of which Hayley couldn’t name.

  “I’m sorry there’s no pool,” Marisa had said at the end of the tour. “I did buy a small plastic wading pool for the girls to splash around in.” Hayley had assured her that was not a problem.

  Marisa had promised to let Hayley know her decision within twenty-four hours, for which consideration Hayley was grateful. If she didn’t get the position with the Whitby family, she would simply go ahead with the other two interviews she had lined up. It took more than one rejection to ruin Hayley Franklin’s motivation.

  The sudden sound of a key in the lock on the door to the apartment caused Hayley to flinch. A half a moment later she heard the door quietly opening and then closing. Hayley sighed in relief. It was her mother. It would be so nice to live without a knot in her stomach, without the constant anticipation of chaos. It would be so nice to be able to relax in her own home.

  “I’m in the kitchen, Mom,” Hayley called out. “Dinner is almost ready.”

  A moment later Nora Franklin was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Is that corn bread I smell?” she asked with a smile.

  Hayley returned the smile. “You bet,” she said.

  Chapter 14

  Amy arrived at The Atlantic at ten minutes after noon, five minutes before she was scheduled to meet Cressida Prior. She had no idea what the woman looked like; she had forgotten to Google her. Anyway, Amy figured she would be able to recognize her; it was preseason, and there were very few nonlocals in Yorktide at the moment. And if she had any difficulty identifying Ms. Prior she could always ask one of the restaurant’s staff to help her.

  Amy had decided to wear one of the narrow bodice, full-skirted sundresses she so loved. A headband helped control her wildly curly hair, which she had gotten trimmed for the occasion. Closed-toe espadrilles with a sensible one-and-a-half-inch wedge completed the look, which Amy hoped was both professional and approachable. No one wanted to hire a starched monster to care for her children. Right?

  When a scan of the restaurant’s imposing foyer revealed no one likely to be the woman she had come to meet, Amy approached a passing waiter, who pointed her to the bar area, where Amy found a very tall woman looking down at an iPhone in her hand. The woman was very thin, almost runway model thin. Her dark hair was cut super short; when Amy looked more closely, she saw that the hair was actually quite sparse. She was wearing a dress Amy was pretty sure she had recently seen in
Harper’s Bazaar, and she immediately recognized the woman’s bag as Chanel.

  Amy took a deep breath, walked purposefully toward the woman, and stuck out her hand. “Ms. Prior?” she said. “I’m Amy Latimer. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Cressida Prior’s lips slid into a momentary fine line of a smile. “I don’t care for shaking hands,” she said. “It’s a convenient way to spread germs.”

  Amy’s hand dropped to her side. She could feel her cheeks flame. Of course it was a dirty habit. Why hadn’t she ever thought of that before?

  “Come. I’ve reserved a table by the window.”

  Mutely Amy followed Ms. Prior’s rapid strides across the dining room. A waiter followed. After announcing they would each have a coffee, Cressida dismissed the waiter. Amy had thought they were meeting for lunch. It was almost twelve-thirty after all. But that was okay. She would have lunch when she got home.

  And then the proverbial lightbulb went on in Amy’s head. “I thought I recognized your name!” she said excitedly. “Cressida Prior of Prior Ascendancy! We learned about you in a course I took two semesters ago. It was about how entrepreneurs use social media to help start and build their businesses.”

  Cressida smiled. “I’m glad to know colleges these days teach the important things, not only airy-fairy academic nonsense. Do you know that Prior Ascendancy is the ultimate in one-stop shopping for meeting and convention directors of a majority of the big medical associations in the country? Of course, we also have a long list of clients in the corporate sector.”

  In spite of Cressida’s statement, Amy still wasn’t entirely sure what it was that Prior Ascendancy did, but she was not about to admit that. “I know,” she said, though she hadn’t known. “It’s very impressive.”

  Cressida bestowed a more robust smile on Amy, and the interview flowed more easily from that point on. Cressida asked a few basic questions—how old was she; had she lived all of her life in Yorktide; what was her favorite television show—and encouraged Amy to talk about one of her favorite topics, fashion.

  “I have a good feeling about you,” Cressida announced after a mere fifteen minutes. “And I’m never wrong. You’ve got the job.”

  For a moment, Amy didn’t quite believe what she had heard. “I do?” she said. When Cressida nodded, Amy said, “Thank you! I mean . . . thank you!”

  “No need to thank me. I’m sure you’ll prove me right by being a great help to me.”

  Amy hesitated. She felt embarrassed to be asking, but... “The agency said there would be a contract for me to sign?”

  “I prefer to leave the agency out of this, as you might have gathered from my contacting you directly. Our agreement will be just between us, an arrangement that will save us both time and money. The agency people need never know that we met. And there’s no need for a contract. Any deal that can’t be closed with a handshake isn’t worth closing.” Cressida smiled. “A figurative handshake, of course. And you can call me Cressida.”

  Amy nodded. “Thank you,” she said again.

  “As for pay, I think you’ll find I can be generous, especially when there’s no middleman to pay.” Cressida took a small leather-bound notebook from her Chanel bag and with a beautiful pen, also pulled from her bag, she wrote something on a page. When she was done, she tore the page from the notebook and slid it across the table to Amy.

  Amy gasped. “Thank you!” she breathed. “Thank you so much.” She thought she might cry. She would be paid on an hourly basis and would receive her wages in cash at the end of each week. The sum was more than she had ever hoped to make, ever.

  Cressida paid the bill and then handed Amy a small printed booklet. “Read this carefully,” she said. “You’ll start the Monday of the second week of June. If you have any questions in the meantime, my contact information is on the back page, as are the names of the children and my husband. I’ll notify you when I’ve chosen a house so you’ll know where to show up. Let’s say eight a.m.”

  Amy began to extend her hand before remembering that Cressida didn’t care for handshakes. She followed Cressida out of the restaurant. With a brisk nod, Cressida walked off toward a bright red Tesla. Amy waited until she had pulled out of the lot before getting into her fifteen-year-old Honda Civic. She could barely contain her excitement. The Cressida Prior had chosen her to be nanny to her children, whatever their names were. Amy flipped to the last page of the booklet Cressida had given her. Jordan and Rhiannon.

  Amy started the car’s engine. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother the good news.

  Chapter 15

  Leda was in the kitchen making a cup of tea when she heard the front door open and shut. A moment later Amy burst into the room, cheeks flushed like a schoolgirl’s.

  “I got the job!” Amy cried. “Can you believe it?”

  Leda took the tea bag from her cup and dropped it into the garbage. “What do you mean?”

  “I went to the interview and Ms. Prior, I mean Cressida, offered me the job right then and there!”

  “She didn’t say she was going to check your references?” Leda asked with a frown.

  “Nope,” Amy said. “She said she had a good feeling about me.”

  “Doesn’t she have to go through the employment agency before making the offer official?”

  “She told me there’s no need for the agency,” Amy explained. “Didn’t I tell you she contacted me directly?”

  This was strange and possibly worrisome news. “No,” Leda said. “You didn’t.”

  “Huh. I thought I did. Anyway, Cressida said an agreement between just the two of us would save us both time and money. Something about there being no middleman.”

  Leda managed a smile. “Well,” she said, “I suppose congratulations are in order. So, what’s she like? Did you meet Mr. Prior, if he exists? The children?”

  Amy sat at the table and reached for one of the apples piled in a ceramic bowl made by Leda’s friend Missy. “Nope. It was just Cressida at the restaurant. And Mom, she’s fantastic!”

  “In what way?” Leda asked, joining her daughter at the table.

  “Well, she’s super elegant and chic, for one. And remember how we thought her name sounded familiar? That’s because she’s the founder and president of Prior Ascendancy. Or maybe she’s the founder and CEO.” Amy shook her head. “Something like that. Isn’t that awesome? I can’t wait for you to meet her. I’m sure I’ll be able to introduce you guys at some point.”

  Leda wasn’t at all sure Cressida Prior would be eager to meet the mother of her summer nanny. She glanced down at her baggy linen trousers and wondered at what point her daughter had started finding CEOs awesome. “By the way,” she asked, “what sort of company is Prior Ascendancy? I’ve never really been clear on that.”

  Amy frowned in concentration. “She explained it to me. It’s sort of like one-stop shopping for people setting up conventions. I think. I can’t really describe it, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll never believe how much money she’s paying me. Go ahead, guess.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me,” Leda suggested.

  “Okay. Ready?” Amy named a sum that would have sent Leda reeling if she hadn’t already been seated.

  “That’s very generous,” she said. “Very generous. The job description must be very detailed.” Exhaustive even, Leda thought. “I could take a look at your contract if you’d like. Two heads are often better than one in these matters.”

  “There is no contract,” Amy told her. “Cressida said we didn’t need one. She said that if a handshake, a figurative one, isn’t enough to seal a deal, then the deal isn’t worth sealing. Or something like that. I forget exactly.”

  Leda frowned. If Ms. Prior had hired Amy through the employment agency there would be an official contract. A legal one. “But it’s usual for there to be an agreement in writing,” she pointed out. “A contract is for the protection of both parties, you know. It seems odd to me that a professional like Cressida Prior would dispe
nse with something so basic to doing business.”

  Amy laughed. “I’m not worried. Mom. This is Cressida Prior we’re talking about, the Cressida Prior! If she says we don’t need a contract, I believe her.”

  Though Leda wasn’t at all happy about Cressida Prior’s refusal to hire Amy through the employment agency, or to give Amy a written contract, or about the fact that Amy hadn’t been introduced to the children and the children to Amy, Leda decided to let the subject drop for the moment. But only for the moment. “Well,” she said, “congratulations again. I hope everything works out.”

  “Why wouldn’t it? Oh, Mom, I can’t believe my luck! Working for such an awesome, amazing person is like, I don’t know, a dream come true!”

  “It will be the children you’ll be spending your time with,” Leda pointed out. “Not their mother.”

  “I know, but still. Oh, I almost forgot! Cressida gave me this to read.” Amy pulled a small booklet from her bag and tossed it onto the table. “I’ll look at it later. I can’t wait for school to be out so I can start my new job!”

  “Don’t let visions of an idyllic summer get in the way of studying for final exams,” Leda warned.

  “Really, Mom?” Amy got up from the table and went to the fridge. “I’m going to get something to eat. An apple is so not enough for lunch.”

  “I thought Cressida was taking you to lunch,” Leda said.

  “I thought so, too,” Amy admitted, pulling a jar of peanut butter and one of jelly from the fridge, “but we only had coffee.”

  Leda watched as her daughter quickly and messily made a sandwich. The money Cressida Prior was offering would be a big temptation to anyone but especially to someone as financially clueless as Amy. She wished Amy would be earning a more reasonable amount of money so she wouldn’t be tempted to spend too much on unnecessary items when there were so many important things to be paid for.