Chapter 35
Leda had begun her informal background check of Margot Lakes. Just that morning she had run into Clare Thomas in the grocery store. Clare, a former neighbor on Hawthorne Lane, worked in downtown Portsmouth. It was a small city, and there was every chance that Clare might have met Margot in passing. “It’s funny you should ask,” Clare had said. “We got to chatting last week at my nail salon. She seems really nice. We exchanged cards and said we’ll have lunch some time.”
While Clare’s estimation of Margot wasn’t proof positive of Margot’s sterling character, it did go some way in affirming Leda’s own assessment of her as a worthy potential romantic partner for Vera.
But Vera’s romantic life would have to take a backseat at the moment. Ever since Phil had suggested that Leda enter the competition held by the Fiber Arts Fellowship, or the FAF as it was commonly known, she had been agonizing about what to do. Part of the problem with simply saying yes, I’ll enter my work, was that she felt no real separation between herself and her creations. Phil was always trying to help her adopt a healthy distance from her work, at least as far as other people’s judgment of it, and no doubt he was right. If a customer didn’t like the wares on display in his store and said so, Phil didn’t take the opinion of one person as criticism of himself or of his artistry in creating a beautiful shopping environment. That was professionalism, and professionalism was something Leda had failed thus far to attain. Maybe it was too late for her to become a true professional, though if she voiced that concern Phil and Vera would forcefully remind her that it was never too late to change.
Leda frowned. Even her daughter seemed interested in making a change, even if the change wasn’t her own idea. Amy was a keen reader of fiction; as far as Leda knew she had never read one bit of nonfiction outside of what was assigned in school. But the day before Leda had come upon her reading The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. “Cressida said it’s an essential if I’m going to succeed in life,” Amy had told her mother. “And I want to succeed.”
Amy’s comment—even if it had been put in her head by her employer—had prompted Leda to ponder the notion of success. She had never accepted the common and overly simplified definition of success as the earning of vast sums of money. So then, what did success really mean? Success could imply failure; one person’s win was another person’s loss. Success could imply mastery of a subject or even mastery over a person. In the sense that Leda had achieved mastery over certain aspects of her art, she supposed she could be considered a success, at least by fellow artists.
It seemed to Leda that the only intelligent way to define success was according to your own desires. The challenge was to identify those desires and then to pursue them. But Leda had never been what people termed a go-getter.
Not, she thought, like Cressida Prior.
Chapter 36
Hayley let herself into the house with the key Marisa had given her on her first day. Marisa had somewhat embarrassedly told Hayley that they often neglected to lock the door, even at night. “It’s so peaceful and idyllic here,” she had said. “There’s just no crime in this part of the world.”
Well, Hayley thought as she walked through to the kitchen, that might be true of this neighborhood, with its large houses, well-kept lawns, and gorgeously planned gardens, but it certainly wasn’t true of the neighborhood in which the Franklins currently made their home. If you lived on Rockford Way you would be seriously foolish to leave your doors unlocked at any time of the day or night.
Marisa was seated at the counter with a cup of coffee when Hayley came into the kitchen. “Good morning,” she said brightly.
“Good morning. Did Mr. Whitby get in all right last night?”
“Yes,” Marisa told Hayley. “But not until almost eleven. Some issue at the office. Anyway, he should be down soon. We thought we’d have breakfast at Over Easy and then check out a movie. It’s been ages since we’ve been to a movie theatre. Most times we just stay home and watch something on Netflix or Acorn.”
Hayley removed the cotton sweater she had worn against the morning chill and slipped a long apron over her head. “What are you going to see?” she asked as she set about preparing the girls’ daily snacks.
Marisa laughed. “I almost don’t care what we see. I’m just craving popcorn with bad-for-you butter flavoring.”
Hayley heard footsteps on the stairs and someone whistling loudly and off-tune. She didn’t know what exactly to expect from a man who owned a thriving investment firm. In any case, as she had been with Marisa, she was prepared not to like Mr. Whitby all that much. A moment later he strode into the room.
“Hello!” he said, coming toward Hayley with a hand extended. “You must be Hayley. Very nice to meet you.”
Hayley, expecting a brutally firm businessman handshake, was pleasantly surprised that her hand was released intact. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Whitby,” she said. She saw the resemblance between father and son right away; both men shared a strong aquiline nose and piercing blue eyes. While Ethan’s hair was deep auburn, his father’s hair was steely gray, and he still had an awful lot of it. There were deep lines at the corners of Jon Whitby’s eyes. Either he never wore sunglasses, Hayley thought, or he was in the habit of smiling a lot. Did seriously successful wealthy men smile about things that had nothing to do with one-upping other successful wealthy men?
“Jon, please,” he corrected. Then he went to his wife and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m in the doghouse,” he told Hayley with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “I woke the twins when I came in last night.”
“He tripped over the umbrella stand in the front hall,” Marisa explained, looking up to her husband. “Luckily he wasn’t hurt.”
Jon looked at his watch, a modest round dial on a worn, brown leather band. “We’d better get a move on,” he said. “If we don’t linger over French toast we can catch an eleven o’clock showing of that new comedy with what’s his name, that comedian I like.”
Marisa laughed. “We have our cell phones should you need us,” she said, reaching for her bag on the counter.
“Enjoy the movie,” Hayley said as hand in hand the Whitbys hurried from the kitchen.
“Thanks!” Jon Whitby called.
When they had gone, Hayley continued to prepare the twins’ snacks and to plan their lunch. What she had just witnessed of the relationship between Jon and Marisa Whitby presented such an enormous contrast to the relationship between her parents. Eddie Franklin was no friend to Nora. Hayley doubted he cared much for his wife at all. And how could her mother possibly be a true friend to someone who treated her with such habitual disrespect?
Hayley went to the fridge for a bunch of green grapes. She simply couldn’t imagine Jon Whitby ever raising a hand against his wife. True, appearances were often deceiving, and abusers came in all shapes. Still, the image refused to form in her mind, though she could all too well visualize her father lifting a hand against her mother. All she needed to do was to call up a memory.
The fact that Nora Franklin had refused to press charges each time her husband had assaulted her haunted Hayley. She couldn’t help but wonder if her mother felt she deserved bad treatment. It was not a question Hayley could ask her. The answer might be too difficult to bear. More upsetting was the well-known fact that the habit of abuse tended to run in a family, whether because of learned behavior, psychological predilection, or a combination of both. Hayley saw how her brother’s conduct mimicked her father’s, and sometimes she worried that one day she might allow herself to be mistreated like her mother. Though Hayley knew she was strong—she had proved it time and again—a tiny part of her deep down inside worried that in a circumstance of extreme stress her strength wouldn’t hold. Hayley was smart enough to know there was no possibility of completely throwing off one’s past, but there had to be ways to move into the future relatively unencumbered by traumas experienced when one was young. There had to be.
A sudden sound from the baby
monitor on the counter alerted Hayley to the fact that the girls were waking from their morning naps. Hurriedly she headed for the stairs to the second floor. She was eager to see their little smiling faces. Children were such very precious gifts. They were to be cherished and protected. Both in spite of and because of her own haphazard upbringing, Hayley truly believed that.
Chapter 37
“Aimee, I need you to do me a big favor this morning.”
Amy, sitting across the desk from Cressida, smiled brightly. She loved being needed. Hayley had often called her a people pleaser, as if that were something to be ashamed of. “Sure,” she said.
Cressida handed her a slip of paper on which was written a phone number with an area code foreign to Amy. “This is the number of my great-aunt Emily’s nursing home. Call and let them know I won’t be at Emily’s ninety-fifth birthday celebration as promised.”
Pretty much the last thing Amy wanted to do was deliver a disappointing message to an elderly woman, but she realized she was sort of afraid to refuse. “Okay,” she said. “What should I say if they ask why?”
Cressida laughed incredulously. “They have no right to ask why, and if they do you can tell them it’s none of their damn business.”
Amy flinched. “Okay,” she said.
Cressida suddenly smiled. “You’re a lifesaver, Aimee. I hate how those people try to make you feel guilty for having your own priorities that don’t include them.”
“What people?” Amy asked. “Nursing home staff?”
“No, old people. They’re the most self-centered things you can imagine.” Cressida rose from her chair and announced that she was going out for a while.
Amy remained seated at the big desk in the bright office. She thought of her grandparents, who had been the most unselfish people she had ever known, next to her mother. She thought, too, of Mr. Sampson, an elderly neighbor who was always doing nice things for Amy and Leda, like giving them fresh catnip from his garden. Maybe some old people were self-centered but not the ones Amy knew. Cressida must have had a really bad experience with an older person; that’s why she considered them all self-centered. It wasn’t right to judge an entire group of people based on an experience with one member of that group but . . .
Amy got up and began to pace the length of the office. She hoped she could give the message to a member of the staff without having to speak to Cressida’s great-aunt personally. She hoped the woman wouldn’t be too disappointed when she learned that her great-niece wouldn’t be attending her party. But maybe Emily didn’t like her family. Maybe she wouldn’t care that Cressida was absent.
It was with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that Amy punched the number of the nursing home into the phone. As luck would have it a perky receptionist put her in touch with an aide rather than with Great-Aunt Emily directly. Amy stumblingly delivered her employer’s message, and though Cressida had not authorized her to apologize Amy did, several times. The aide didn’t seem surprised to learn about the cancellation and politely thanked Amy for calling.
That unpleasant chore accomplished, Amy busied herself with the trivial tasks she had been set until, almost an hour later, Cressida returned from wherever it was she had gone.
“Did you make the call?” she asked abruptly. Her eyes were bright, and there was a sheen of sweat on her face.
Amy told her that she had.
“Family can be such a huge liability,” Cressida stated, stalking over to the enormous window that looked out on the Atlantic.
“I only have my mother now,” Amy said. “My father and grandparents are gone.”
Cressida turned sharply. “You should feel grateful for the fact that it’s only the two of you. So much less grasping and whining to deal with. People are such a burden.”
Amy had never considered people as a burden, let alone her family members. In fact, she had often wished that she had siblings or cousins, and she missed her grandparents if not the father she never really knew. But Cressida was her mentor and Amy was here to learn, so . . .
Suddenly, Cressida strode over to Amy. “You deserve a treat,” she said with a big smile. “Let’s browse the Tiffany website.”
Amy returned Cressida’s smile. “All right,” she said. “Sure.”
Chapter 38
Leda frowned at her laptop. She had spent the last twenty minutes scanning mentions of Cressida Prior and Prior Ascendancy, and so far she had come up with not one bit of damning information about either. What had she been hoping to find? That Cressida was living under an assumed name, in hiding from a syndicate of drug lords she had cheated out of millions of dollars? Something so outrageous that even her besotted daughter would take notice and quit Cressida Prior’s employment immediately?
But here was something potentially interesting. Leda clicked on the link that had appeared at the bottom of the screen and scanned the article, the gist of which was that three years earlier several employees at Prior Ascendancy had brought a lawsuit against Cressida Prior in which they claimed to be victims of age discrimination. In the end the case was settled out of court. The writer, while feigning impartiality, had not been able to refrain from suggesting that something about the whole affair seemed fishy. Had Cressida Prior paid off her accusers because they were in possession of documented evidence that could damage her? Or had she simply not wanted the bother and greater expense of a court case?
The back door opened and banged shut, and a moment later Vera appeared in the studio.
“You look grim,” she noted, leaning against Leda’s desk. “What’s up?”
Leda told her about what she had just read. “Do you think I should tell Amy?” she asked.
“No,” Vera said flatly. “She’ll believe the charges were made up and that Cressida was perfectly innocent. Which, for all we know, she was, as disappointing as that might be.”
“Still,” Leda said, “I might just mention it to her.”
Vera shrugged. “Go ahead. But it won’t get you anywhere. Just saying.”
“Why did you come by?” Leda asked. “Not that it isn’t nice to see you.”
Vera stood away from the desk. “Almost forgot. Can I borrow your stapler? Mine broke.”
“Sure.” Leda opened a drawer and handed her old metal stapler to Vera.
And then Vera was gone, letting the back door slam behind her.
* * *
All afternoon Leda had wrestled with the notion of telling Amy about the article she had come across earlier. Vera was right. There was probably no point in speaking, but in the end, Leda found that she simply couldn’t keep the information to herself.
“I read an article earlier that mentioned your employer,” Leda said, passing the salad to Amy that evening at dinner.
Amy smiled. “Did she win another award?”
“Not quite.” Leda told her daughter what she had learned, careful to keep her tone neutral. “I just thought you should know,” she finished.
Amy put down her fork. “I can’t believe you would take those malicious rumors seriously,” she said with a laugh.
“They were more than rumors,” Leda pointed out. “A lawsuit was filed.”
“So? That doesn’t mean anything. Those employees were probably just jealous of Cressida and wanted to punish her for being more successful than they could ever be.”
“I doubt that was the case,” Leda argued. “People don’t just sue other people for the fun of it. At least the majority of people don’t.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Look, I’ll ask Cressida what happened. I’ll prove to you there was no truth to the accusations.”
Leda restrained a sigh. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” she said. “If she tells you anything, it will only be a version of the truth her lawyers concocted for public consumption.”
“You’re so cynical!” Amy cried.
“I’m not cynical,” Leda protested. “I’m just—cautious.”
“Don’t you remember what Grandpa used to
say, that you shouldn’t believe everything you read?”
Leda sighed. “I remember.” Clearly, there was no point in arguing further. Leda went about eating the seafood casserole she had prepared, aware that Amy was picking at her own dinner, scraping the bread crumbs from the top, picking out the bits of cheese and dropping them onto her napkin. Leda had thought she might mention the FAF competition to Amy that evening but now thought better of it. She doubted that Amy would care. Until—if—she decided to enter, she would keep quiet about the competition. If she decided not to enter, she didn’t want Amy to be further disappointed in her mother’s lack of drive and ambition. Drive and ambition were traits Cressida Prior had in abundance. Amy had told her so.
“Don’t you like the casserole?” Leda asked, though she knew full well why Amy was picking apart her meal.
Amy sighed. “I wish you hadn’t put bread crumbs on top. I told you I’m cutting carbs.” Suddenly Amy threw down her napkin and got up from the table. “You know what the real problem is?” she said. “You’ve never believed in me. Cressida believes in me. She says I have potential.”
“That’s so not true,” Leda cried. “I’ve always believed in you!”
“Have you?”
And with that, Amy marched from the kitchen, leaving Leda alone at the table, stunned. Vera had been right, she thought. She should never have mentioned the lawsuit to her daughter.
Chapter 39
Hayley mumbled and pushed her cheek farther into the pillow. She was almost asleep but that distant noise, whatever it was.... She lifted her head and peered into the dark. The noise was becoming louder.
The Summer Nanny Page 11
