The Summer Nanny

by Holly Chamberlin

  Poor Hayley, Leda thought, as she walked across the freshly mown yard to say hello. It had to sting, not receiving a diploma of her own.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” Leda said when she had joined her.

  Hayley nodded. “This is a big day for Amy. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  “Amy tells me you got a good position working for a family called the Whitbys. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” Hayley said. “The girls are adorable. Mrs. Whitby seems very nice. I haven’t met Mr. Whitby yet, but he won’t be at the house a lot.”

  “Amy is over the moon about working for the illustrious Cressida Prior this summer,” Leda told her.

  Hayley looked to where Amy stood chatting with her future roommates. “I’m guessing Ms. Prior will be a formidable employer,” she said. “No one achieves that level of success without being an exacting boss. And no one pays that kind of salary without demanding a pound of flesh.”

  “I agree. I have to admit I’m a bit worried about how Amy will handle the job, and the money.” Leda shook her head and smiled. “But this is a party. We should be focused on the good things.”

  “Yes,” Hayley said with a bit of a smile. “We should be.”

  “Do you want to take a piece of cake home for your mom?” Leda asked. “I’m sorry she couldn’t join the celebration.”

  “Thanks,” Hayley said. “That would be nice.”

  “Not that the cake is anything like the cakes Nora Franklin used to make. I remember all those years she won first prize in the annual Yorktide bake-off.”

  “That was a very long time ago,” Hayley said, and then she moved off.

  Leda sighed. She regretted having called up the memory of Nora Franklin in earlier times, before the full awfulness of her life had descended on her.

  “Mom!” Amy was waving wildly from across the yard, a pink rose from one of the arrangements stuck behind her ear.

  Leda smiled and went to join her daughter.

  Chapter 21

  Hayley was nervous. Of course, all first days on a job were notoriously anxiety ridden, but there was an awful lot riding on this particular job. She tried to put all other thoughts from her mind as she drove to number 1 Overlook Road, but one refused to budge. The memory of Amy’s graduation party. Hayley hated herself for it, but she had felt a distinct note of resentment watching Amy and the girls who were going to be her roommates in Boston this autumn. They were getting out. They weren’t burdened with parents who could barely function on their own. It was wrong to resent another person’s happiness or success, but sometimes it was very difficult not to.

  Difficult, Hayley reminded herself, pulling into the drive before the big old house overlooking the ocean, but not impossible.

  Marisa let her in, wearing what might have been the same cargo pants and shirt she had been wearing the first time they had met.

  “I don’t think I told you why Jon and I chose Maine this summer,” Marisa said conversationally as they headed toward the kitchen. “We were watching an old black-and-white movie set on a wild and rocky coast somewhere and we thought, Why not Maine? And here we are.”

  Hayley smiled. “There are far worse places to be in summer.”

  “I agree! I think I told you that Jon won’t be here all that often.” Marisa smiled. “Some might say he’s a workaholic, but it’s not that. It’s more that he feels a personal duty to tend to the company he founded. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there.”

  Marisa went on to explain that Hayley would largely be left alone to manage the girls, and that arrangement suited Hayley just fine. Marisa then detailed the girls’ current meal and nap schedule, provided important contact information in case of emergency, indicated each child’s favorite toys, and gave Hayley permission to take the girls to the beach as long as they were slathered in sunblock and wore their sunhats. “Layla hates to wear a hat,” she warned Hayley. “It will be a struggle to keep it on her head.” Marisa smiled. “I know I said this before, but your references from the families for whom you’ve babysat were really glowing.”

  “Thanks,” Hayley said. “I like children.” But it was more than just liking children, Hayley thought. In truth, she had a fierce need to protect the young and vulnerable, a need that stemmed from having been a frightened and benignly neglected child.

  “I’d better get changed,” Marisa said suddenly. “I can’t show up at work wearing my knock-around clothes, though I wish I could.”

  After Marisa had gone off to the college for a day of meetings before classes began the following week, Hayley found herself feeling a bit stunned. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine that she was the owner of the lovely old house. Haley wasn’t prone to fantasizing; she thought it was time that would be better spent doing something productive. But every once in a rare while she allowed herself to indulge in imaginary scenarios in which life was far less difficult than it really was. Returning from those scenarios to the actuality of her life was always accompanied by a severe deflation of spirits, a very good reason to keep imagination in check.

  Sweet childhood chatter burst from the kitchen’s baby monitor, alerting Hayley to the twins’ waking. She hurried to their bedroom on the second floor, ashamed that she had allowed herself the indulgence of fantasy. Not again, she warned herself. Never again.

  Chapter 22

  Amy got out of her car after checking for the millionth time that she had the right address: 10 Hilltop Close. She was nervous. She had dressed with care, following as best she could the suggestions Cressida had made regarding her working wardrobe. She wasn’t sure how active the children would be—in fact, she had absolutely no information about the children whatsoever aside from their names and ages—so she had brought along a change of clothes in case she would be playing tag in the backyard or tossing a Frisbee at the beach. She would leave the bag in the car for now.

  The house that stood at the top of the rise before her looked to be made of concrete and was painted a gleaming white. There were lots of windows. The roof was flat, and only three long, low steps lead to the front door. The front lawn was perfectly mowed; there were no flower beds, shrubs, or trees. A wide path of white gravel led from the edge of the lawn around the side of the house.

  Cressida answered the door before Amy could ring the bell. “You’re right on time,” she noted, looking at her watch. It was a Rolex. She was wearing a thin silk blouse, unbuttoned far enough for Amy to see the bones of her chest, and a pair of slim-fitting black slacks.

  “Thanks,” Amy said.

  Cressida nodded. “Let me show you around the house.”

  Cressida led Amy from the kitchen with gleaming stainless-steel appliances and white stone countertops to the smallest of three bedrooms on the second floor, a room painted white from floor to ceiling. It didn’t take Amy long to realize that the house was entirely bare of carpets, rugs, wall hangings, even curtains. Everything seemed spare and hard-edged; even the window shades were made of what appeared to be an inflexible material, maybe some sort of plastic.

  “What do you think?” Cressida asked when they had completed the tour.

  Amy wasn’t quite sure how to reply. In truth, she didn’t much like what she had seen—the house was too stark for her tastes—though she did like the fact that there was a huge swimming pool in the middle of the patio and that the view of the ocean was amazing. “It’s very modern,” she said finally.

  “It’s very clean is what it is,” Cressida said. “I can’t tolerate dirt or mess. You’ll need to keep that in mind.”

  “Yes,” Amy said. “I will.” It was in the booklet Cressida had given her after the interview.

  “This house is absolutely a dream,” Cressida said when they were once again in the living room. “Still, before I agreed to rent I stipulated that all unnecessary fabrics and knickknacks be removed before I would take up residence.”

  Amy smiled. “My mother loves being surrounded by knickknacks. She’s a prof
essional fiber artist. She makes rugs and tapestries and pillows and things like that. Sometimes she’ll make a quilt for a birthday or wedding anniversary.”

  Cressida looked off into the middle distance before turning again to Amy. “How nice for her,” she said, “but I’m sorry to say that all such things are unhygienic, collectors of dirt and bugs and dead skin cells. I require that sheets and towels be changed and washed daily. Will takes care of that. And the children are not allowed plush toys that aren’t machine washable, and of course I won’t tolerate pets.”

  Amy decided this would not be the time to mention Harry and Winston. Surreptitiously she glanced down at her navy skirt, wondering if it was decorated with a stray cat hair or two. She would have to be extra careful to remove all traces of the boys before leaving for the Priors’ each morning.

  “Some people might think I’m being finicky,” Cressida was saying, “but in fact I’m just a highly discriminating person, and often people like me are misunderstood.”

  “I’m sorry,” Amy said, not sure if that was the right thing to say.

  “I don’t mind. Having taste is worth being misunderstood.”

  “Um, where are the children?” Amy asked. She was eager to meet them, eager and more than a bit nervous. What if they didn’t like her? She really had very little experience with children, and she had a sneaking suspicion that some of them were probably smarter than she would ever be.

  “I believe my husband took them to the beach.” Cressida gestured over her shoulder. “There’s a hose on the patio he uses to wash them down before they track sand and who knows what else into the house.”

  “Are they particularly messy children?” Amy asked. “My mother says that I was always coming home with muddy shoes and grass-stained knees.”

  “Not in the least,” Cressida said sharply. “I’ve taught them to be extremely hygienic.” And then she rolled her eyes. “But their father can be a bad influence, which is why I demand he use the hose.”

  Cressida offered nothing more about the children and their habits. Most of Amy’s day was spent following Cressida from room to room and learning what changes she had required before agreeing to the rental. At one point, Cressida had gone into her office and locked the door behind her, leaving Amy to sit in one of the straight-backed chairs in the upstairs hall, figuratively twiddling her thumbs. Cressida had emerged from her office half an hour later looking much refreshed.

  Only at four o’clock did Will Prior return to the house with Jordan and Rhiannon. By this point, Amy had very little idea of what to expect from Cressida’s children. She half imagined they would be dressed in clothes from another century, Jordan in knee breeches and a stiff collar, Rhiannon in a starched white dress and highly polished Mary Janes.

  But the children who greeted her were very much residents of the twenty-first century. Jordan seemed a bit shy, if his biting his lip was any indication. His hair was a startling shade of yellow blond, and his eyes were pale brown. He was, Amy thought, a beautiful child. He was dressed in a T-shirt with an image of a cartoon character Amy didn’t recognize and a pair of cargo shorts. As for Rhiannon, she was her mother’s mini-me if you focused on her facial features and the way she stood with her back ramrod straight. She was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans; she definitely would stand out from the other children in town this summer. Her light brown hair was severely scraped back into a low ponytail. Overall she gave the impression of a joyless child, but Amy tried not to make a snap judgment. She was so often wrong when she did.

  “This will be your nanny for the summer,” Cressida announced. “Her name is Amy Latimer. Amy, this is Jordan and Rhiannon.”

  “Hi,” Amy said. “I’m Amy.”

  “I know,” Rhiannon said in a strangely flat voice. “My mother just told us your name.”

  Amy flushed. “Sorry. I mean, it’s nice to meet you both.”

  Jordan suddenly stuck out his hand as if an electric shock had reminded him that it was the polite thing to do. Amy took it and Jordan pumped once before releasing his grip. He did not meet her eye.

  Amy then turned to Rhiannon, expecting the girl to perform the ritual of greeting as well. But Rhiannon kept her arms at her side. “I don’t shake hands,” she said. “I don’t like germs.”

  “Oh,” Amy said. “Okay.” So Rhiannon was like her mother in more ways than appearance.

  Cressida suddenly sighed the sigh of a long-put-upon woman. “There you are,” she said to the man who had just joined them in the living room. “You’ve kept us waiting. Amy, this is my husband.”

  Amy was again surprised. She hadn’t really known what to expect Cressida’s husband to look like, but it wasn’t this youthful, good-looking man with a shock of hair the same color as that of his son’s. His eyes were pale brown as well. He was narrow hipped and wiry, like he probably spent a lot of time on a bicycle or hiking trails rather than in a business suit in some corporate office. Like his son, he wore cargo shorts and a T-shirt. He gave her his hand to shake and welcomed her warmly.

  No sooner had Will released Amy’s hand than Cressida spoke sharply. “Shouldn’t the children be getting to their homework?”

  “Right.” Will ushered his son and daughter from the room.

  “They have summer homework assignments?” Amy asked. She wondered if she would be required to help them with math problems. The guidelines Cressida had given her didn’t mention anything about solving math problems.

  “I’ve set them a course of study. You can’t let your mind get flabby.” Cressida glanced at her Rolex. “Well, you can go home now. And Amy? You did a marvelous job today.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said. “You’re sure you don’t need me to help with dinner or . . .”

  “No. That’s Will’s job. And I should mention that there’s no need for you to be spending time with my husband. I’m your employer. If you need something or have any questions, you come to me. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Amy said. “It’s understood.”

  For a moment, Amy wondered if Cressida was worried that she would flirt with Mr. Prior, or maybe Cressida knew that her husband had a roving eye and she was giving Amy a veiled warning.

  But this was the Cressida Prior. What woman in her right mind would try to steal her husband? And what man married to Cressida Prior would be crazy enough to leave her for another woman?

  “I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” Cressida said, leading Amy to the door.

  Amy got into her car. It had been a strange day all around; she hadn’t really done anything and yet Cressida had praised her work. The meeting with the children had disconcerted her. Rhiannon seemed oddly self-possessed for her age, and Jordan was the kind of shy that could make other people uncomfortable. As for Will Prior, he seemed okay, though she was having trouble accepting Will and Cressida as a couple. True, she had only just met them, but they seemed so vastly different.

  With a shake of her head Amy decided right then and there that her first day had been a great success. As she drove back to Hawthorne Lane she found that she was very much looking forward to going back to 10 Hilltop Close the following day.

  Chapter 23

  Since morning Leda’s mood had been a bit off. Part of that she attributed to worry about Amy and her first day on the job. Another part she rather ashamedly contributed to long-held self-doubts having to do with her work as a craftswoman. The fact was that even after all these years of earning a living by her talents, Leda still had trouble thinking of herself as a professional.

  The event that had triggered this swelling of self-doubt was an article Leda had come across that morning in one of the many online magazines she read regularly. Andrea Black, all-around craftswoman, was featured in a five-page spotlight, complete with photos. Leda had always admired Andrea’s work, and yet as Leda read she had felt a twinge of envy. Leda knew it was both foolish and wrong to be envious of someone who had genuinely earned her recognition and reward. It had occurred to Leda
that maybe if she was more comfortable with her own decisions regarding her career she would be of a more generous spirit toward her fellow craftspeople. Phil was always urging her to spread her wings and explore her own definition of success, but change was difficult and sometimes it felt downright impossible.

  Now, almost five in the afternoon, Leda was again at her desk, checking e-mail and urging herself into a better frame of mind. Suddenly, an e-mail popped up from an old acquaintance. There was a friendly greeting, followed by information about an event the following weekend at the Cornhusk Theatre. Josiah Marks had pursued Leda romantically some years back, but when she had expressed no interest in return he had gracefully backed away. There had been other potential suitors over the years, but none had managed to capture Leda’s attention, despite that the majority had been the kind of man any intelligent and good-hearted woman might find acceptable.

  Andrea Black. Josiah Marks. Leda had often wondered if her fear of professional success as well as her reluctance to get romantically involved could both be traced back to what Lance Stirling had done to her that long-ago summer. The possibility was disconcerting.

  Firmly, Leda closed her laptop and headed for the kitchen. She was making one of Amy’s favorite meals for dinner, chicken pot pie with peas and carrots. It would be easier to buy a frozen pot pie from the grocery store, but Leda believed in celebrating important events like the first day of a job and the last day of school. Her own mother had felt the same. It was a family tradition Leda hoped Amy would keep when she was married with her own family one day.

  Leda sighed as she turned on the oven to heat. Noah Woolrich. The poor young man had been carrying a torch for so long, but there was a limit to even the deepest devotion. If Amy didn’t come around soon, she might find her suitor-in-the-wings had set his sights on another, more welcoming woman.