The Summer Nanny

by Holly Chamberlin

  Chapter 24

  There was a refreshing breeze that evening. Amy was sitting in the narrow, high-backed rocking chair Mrs. Latimer had painted a peaceful blue, and Hayley was perched on the top step of the Latimers’ small front porch.

  “And there’s this amazing pool,” Amy was saying. “I’m hoping I’m allowed to use it. Cressida didn’t say anything about it, and I didn’t want to ask.”

  Amy had been going on about her first day working for the Priors for close to twenty minutes and yet there had been no mention of the children for whom she had been hired to care. Hayley found this odd.

  “So, you didn’t actually spend any time with Cressida’s children?” Hayley asked when Amy stopped for a breath.

  “Well, no,” Amy admitted. “But I did meet them at the end of the day. They seemed nice. Well, Rhiannon was kind of cold actually and Jordan seemed pretty shy, but that’s probably just because I’m new. I’m sure we’ll all get along just fine. Hey, how was your first day?”

  “Good,” Hayley told her. “Marisa was around for a while, and then it was just me and the girls. They’re very well behaved. Smart, too. Their language skills are pretty advanced. I’ve known some two-and-a-half-year-olds whose vocabulary was limited to two or three words.”

  “Guess what I bought with the money I’ve made so far?” Amy said suddenly.

  “You got paid already?” Hayley asked, wondering if Amy had heard one word she had said.

  “Well, no, but at the end of the week Cressida will give me cash for the hours I’ve worked.”

  “So you spent money you don’t actually have?” Hayley remembered her brief conversation with Mrs. Latimer at Amy’s graduation party. It seemed that her concerns were justified.

  Amy sighed. “I do have it. I mean, I’ll have it on Friday.”

  “All right, what did you buy?” Hayley asked.

  “A fur hat. I drove to this consignment shop in Biddeford that sells designer stuff donated by rich women. When I saw the hat I just fell in love and had to have it. It was ninety dollars, but like the saleswoman said, it is an investment.”

  “Smart saleswoman,” Hayley said dryly.

  “Actually, the hat isn’t meant to be worn for warmth even though it’s fur. It’s like one of those hats Kate Middleton wears, the ones tilted to the side of her head. It’s for fancy occasions. It comes with a pin to help keep it on.”

  Hayley was absolutely certain she had never seen anyone in the state of Maine sporting such a thing. “So, where do you plan on wearing this hat?” she asked.

  Amy shrugged. “It would be perfect for a winter wedding.” Then she frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that? All judgmental.”

  “I’m not judging,” Hayley lied. “How you spend your money is no business of mine.”

  Amy beamed. “Thanks, Hayley. It’s so chic and elegant. I just know you’ll love it.”

  “Yes,” Hayley said. “I’m sure I will.”

  Chapter 25

  The second day on the job is bound to be more about the children, Amy thought as she climbed the stairs to the front door. Before she could use the key Cressida had given her, the door opened. Amy wondered if Cressida had been watching for her. This morning she was wearing another thin silk blouse and slim tan pants. Diamond studs sparkled from her ears.

  Cressida smiled. “I admire punctuality in a person,” she said by way of greeting. Then she turned, and wordlessly Amy followed her upstairs to the room Cressida was using as her office.

  “You’re a very nice-looking girl, Amy,” Cressida said as they went along, “so I know you won’t take offense if I suggest that you would look even better if you lost five or ten pounds.”

  Amy was not offended. “You’re right,” she said. “I probably would.”

  “And the silhouette of that dress makes you look a bit too chubby. You should avoid a full skirt, at least until you drop some weight.”

  Amy glanced down at her 1950s-inspired sundress. Her mother had made it to Amy’s specifications. “Yes,” she said. “I see what you mean.”

  Cressida’s office was painted an even brighter white than the other rooms in the house. At the moment the sun was shining in full force through the floor-to-ceiling windows that composed the room’s fourth wall, windows that offered a spectacular view of the ocean. There was only one desk, at which was placed an ergonomic swivel chair covered in clear plastic. Amy wondered where Will did his work, assuming he had any to do, like bills to be paid or even stuff to look up online. Maybe in the master bedroom. The master bedroom was off-limits to Amy.

  Suddenly Cressida pointed a perfectly manicured finger, interrupting Amy’s musings. “What is that you’re wearing around your wrist?” she asked.

  Amy couldn’t quite read Cressida’s tone. It sounded like a mix of curiosity and horror, but that was silly. “It’s a bracelet my mother made,” Amy told her. “She used a traditional Japanese technique called Kumihimo. I’m probably not pronouncing that right. It’s not easy to make something like this.”

  “I don’t care for what’s euphemistically called fashion jewelry,” Cressida said. “I wear jewelry made of only important materials. Here, let me show you a few pieces from my collection. Shut the door, will you?”

  Amy did as she was told. Cressida went to a narrow wooden chest about three feet high. “I bet you didn’t know that this is a safe,” Cressida said with a sly little smile. “It’s bolted to the floor, of course. I have one like it at home in Atlanta. You should know that I don’t show my pieces to just anyone.”

  “Oh,” Amy said. “Thank you.”

  With her back to Amy, Cressida opened a small door in the front of the safe and punched the security code into a little keypad. There was a loud click, and Cressida pulled open what was essentially the front panel of the chest. From the safe she removed a beautiful tan leather box. Cressida chose a key from the set she wore around her wrist and unlocked it.

  “When I travel I bring only a few essentials,” Cressida explained before she lifted the box’s lid. “My wedding rings, of course.” Cressida thrust her left hand close to Amy’s face.

  Amy had noted the diamond-encrusted band and the large cushion-cut solitaire that sat atop a second band the moment she had met Cressida. A person would have to be blind to have missed the rings. “They’re beautiful,” she said.

  “They are. I had them made to my exact specifications.” Cressida laughed. “The rings Will gave me years ago were just pathetic. I sold them for scrap.”

  Amy didn’t quite know what to say to that, so she held her tongue.

  “And I never travel with copies like so many people do,” Cressida said, opening the leather box. “This, for example, is a necklace from Tiffany’s T collection.”

  Amy’s eyes widened as she looked at the long gold chain draped across Cressida’s hands. “It’s so pretty,” she said.

  “I adore the collection. And this,” Cressida said, returning the necklace to the box and choosing another piece, “this is a bracelet from their Hardware collection. I’m not entirely in love with it, but it was only a few thousand dollars so no cause for regret.”

  Amy didn’t quite know what to say to that, either. Instead, she pointed to a gold bracelet settled against the cream-colored velvet that lined the box. “This is nice,” she said.

  Cressida laughed. “It’s more than just nice. It’s a Cartier Love bracelet. I have several. I stack bangles from Cartier with those from Hermès. And this,” she said, lifting a necklace with what looked to Amy like flowers set at intervals, “is from the Van Cleef and Arpels Vintage Alhambra collection. It was introduced in 1968, you know.”

  Amy nodded, though she did not know and had never heard that word before. All-hamber?

  “This, of course, is Bulgari,” Cressida went on, displaying a large gold ring set with various colored stones. “The style is unmistakable.”

  “Unmistakable,” Amy said.

  “The image you present to the world i
s paramount,” Cressida said, returning the ring to the box and folding her arms across her chest, her tone suddenly serious. “You have to decide what message you want to be sending to others. A person who chooses high quality over mere sentimentality is a person whom others can safely look up to and emulate. She is a person who announces to the world that she matters.”

  Amy felt slightly embarrassed; self-consciously she pulled the left sleeve of her blouse over her mother’s bracelet. More, she felt grateful to Cressida for having taken the time to clue her in on a matter as important as one’s public image. “I’d like to be that sort of person,” she said. “A person people want to emulate.”

  Cressida bestowed on Amy a magnificent smile that put all of Amy’s doubts to rest. “Excellent,” she said. “Just what I’d hoped to hear.” Cressida returned the box to the safe.

  “Should I check on the children?” Amy asked. She hadn’t seen Jordan or Rhiannon, or Will for that matter, since she had arrived that morning.

  “Oh, they’re not here,” Cressida said with a wave of her hand. “I sent them all to some program at the historical society in Wells.”

  Amy was curious. She wondered why she hadn’t been asked to accompany Will and the children on their excursion. Before she could frame the question in a way that wouldn’t sound like a complaint, Cressida clapped her hands.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen and make kale shakes,” she said. “We’ll have so much fun!”

  “Sure,” Amy said, forcing a smile. Amy thought that kale was gross, but at least the shake would be slimming. With a hand on her rounded stomach, Amy followed Cressida from the room.

  Chapter 26

  Leda was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Amy, arms loaded with what looked like heaps of fabric, passing in the hall.

  “Amy?” she called.

  Amy came to a halt, and Leda saw now what she was carrying. “What are you doing with those sundresses?” she asked.

  “Bringing them to the thrift store,” Amy said.

  “Why? The yellow one is almost brand-new.”

  Amy sighed. “I’m tired of them. I don’t like the style.”

  “What do you mean?” Leda asked. “You’ve always loved sundresses. And you look so pretty in them.”

  “They make me look too curvy,” Amy said dismissively. “I want to look more streamlined. I want to be seen as someone with, I don’t know, more purpose.”

  Leda strongly suspected that Amy was parroting someone else’s opinions. Cressida Prior’s opinions? “What sort of purpose?” she asked.

  “Purpose in general,” Amy replied.

  “I see.” Leda took a deep breath. “Look, do me a favor and hang on to the dresses for a bit. You might change your mind.”

  “I doubt it.” Amy sighed. “And they’re taking up so much room in my closet. But okay, if you insist.”

  Leda watched as Amy turned around and headed for the stairs, dresses in tow. She felt a bit hurt. Had Amy forgotten that her mother had made two of those dresses and that she had altered a few of the others so that they fit perfectly? Who else but Cressida Prior could have been the one to put the ridiculous notion about looking too curvy in Amy’s head? She thought about the insanely large amount of money Cressida was paying Amy and hoped that Amy wouldn’t waste it on clothing to please her employer when there were so many essentials she needed to purchase for her move to Boston come September.

  Amy came into the kitchen, dresses gone, and began to roam, opening cupboards and staring at their contents, peeking into the breadbox, examining what was stored in the freezer.

  “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Leda said.

  Amy shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “What did you have for lunch?” Leda asked.

  “Cressida and I made kale shakes.”

  Leda, who was not constitutionally opposed to kale, nevertheless had some difficulty with the notion of drinking it rather than chewing it. “What else was in it besides kale?” she asked.

  “There was some chopped garlic. And Cressida put in some protein powder or something.”

  “How did it taste?” Leda asked.

  “Fine,” Amy said.

  Leda knew when her daughter was lying. “Still, you must be hungry if that’s all you had for lunch.”

  “It was very filling, actually. Cressida said that sometimes she has only a kale shake a day for weeks and never feels tired or hungry.”

  Leda frowned. “That doesn’t sound very healthy.”

  “Cressida says it is.”

  “And if Cressida said that the moon was made of green cheese, would you believe that, too?” Leda wanted to say this, but instead she brought the meal she had prepared to the table. “No kale was involved in the making of this dinner,” she said lightly. “Still, I think you’ll find it healthy.”

  “What’s on the asparagus?” Amy asked suspiciously. “That’s not butter, is it?”

  “No,” Leda lied. “Just lemon juice.”

  Amy took her usual seat at the table and with a gesture that appeared to Leda as almost surreptitious, she reached for a piece of bread, tore it in two, and stuffed one of the pieces into her mouth.

  “So how did it go with the children today?” Leda asked, taking her own seat.

  Amy swallowed before replying. “Actually,” she said, “they weren’t there. Will took them to a museum or something.”

  Leda placed a piece of cod onto her plate. “What did you do all day?” she asked carefully.

  “I helped Cressida.”

  “Helped her with what?”

  Amy poked a spear of asparagus with her fork and stuffed it into her mouth. “Things,” she muttered around her food.

  Leda took a bite of her cod. She didn’t know exactly what sort of situation her daughter had gotten herself into, but it didn’t seem—as her father used to say—on the up-and-up. Still, it was too soon to make any real judgment.

  “There’s apple pie for dessert,” Leda said. “Vera made it this morning.”

  Amy put her fork on her plate, next to the cod from which she had only taken a few bites. “No thanks,” she said. “I’m done.”

  Chapter 27

  Taking a cue from Marisa Whitby’s laid-back around-the-house style, Hayley was wearing an old pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and sneakers without laces. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, and her face was covered with a mud mask that had come in the mail the day before, a promotion for some new company or other. Hayley had decided to give it a try; you only had to leave it on for twenty minutes and you were guaranteed a glowing complexion. Not that Hayley believed a word of the hype, but it seemed silly to let the product go to waste, and as long as she was alone in the house doing nothing more exciting until the twins woke than tidying up the kitchen and unclogging the toilet in the powder room . . .

  Hayley eyed the plunger with disgust. It had seen its day. She would put it in the trash and mention to Marisa that it needed to be replaced. Holding the plunger as far away from her body as possible, Hayley came out of the powder room and made her way toward the kitchen, where the garbage bin was kept by the back door.

  No sooner had she passed through the open doorway than she came to a crashing halt. There was a man standing in the middle of the kitchen. He was tall and good looking. He was wearing cargo shorts and an untucked button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and there was a travel bag at his feet. He had very large, very blue eyes and wavy auburn hair. Most important, he was a total stranger.

  “Who the hell are you?” Hayley demanded, raising the plunger as if it were a weapon. “And what are you doing here?”

  The man grinned. “I’m guessing you’re the nanny,” he said. “Either that or a plumber who for some bizarre reason likes to give herself a facial while on the job.”

  Hayley frowned. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Right. I’m Ethan Whitby. Jon Whitby is my father. Didn�
��t anyone tell you I’d be visiting this weekend?”

  Hayley lowered the plunger and resisted the urge to touch her mud-packed cheek. “No,” she said. “I didn’t even know you existed.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry. How did you get in?”

  “I rang the doorbell but no one answered, so I tried the door. It was unlocked. So, you are the nanny?”

  “Yes. The girls are upstairs taking a nap. I should go check on them.” Hayley moved toward the doorway, careful not to turn her back on the stranger. She had only his word that he was indeed Jon Whitby’s son. For all she knew he could be a psychopath intent on murder and mayhem. Fine, then, he could kill her but he was not getting anywhere near the children.

  “Wait,” the man calling himself Ethan said. “You haven’t told me your name.”

  Hayley hesitated. She looked at him closely. His expression was open and candid, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “Hayley,” she said finally. “Hayley Franklin.”

  Ethan came forward and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Hayley Franklin. I’m sorry I startled you.”

  Hayley hesitated a moment before extending her own free hand. “It’s okay,” she said. “I really should get upstairs . . .”

  “And I should put my bag in the guest room. By the way, where is the guest room?”

  “There are two,” Hayley told him. “One down the hall there, and one on the second floor.”

  “I’ll take the one down here. Guess I’ll see you later.”

  Ethan Whitby picked up his bag and headed down the hall. Hayley headed for the twins’ bedroom on the second floor. She had had no idea that Mr. Whitby had an adult son. A very attractive adult son at that. And what a first impression she had made on him, with her face plastered in mud and a grimy old plunger in her hand. With a start, Hayley realized that she was still wielding said plunger and grimaced.