“I think that was brave of you,” Ethan said earnestly. “School will always be there.”
Hayley turned away to toss the banana peels into the compost container. What am I becoming? she thought. In the space of less than ten minutes she had told no fewer than three lies, more than she had told in as many years. And though she had felt uncomfortable lying she had done it pretty spectacularly. What that said about her character was best left unexplored.
Ethan stood. “I’d better get going,” he said. “I promised Marisa I’d fix the door to one of the bathroom cabinets upstairs and I need to run to the hardware store first.” And then he laughed. “If you hear a crash you’ll know I messed up. Bye.”
When Ethan had left the kitchen, Hayley went to the window that looked out on the side drive. She watched as Ethan walked briskly to his car and slid into the driver’s seat. Only when the car was out of sight did she return to the snack she had been preparing. And as she poured apple juice into two sippy cups she saw her mother’s care-lined face as clearly as if she were standing right before her.
I’m doing this for her, she told herself. It’s the right thing to do.
Chapter 58
The sun was blazing into the office, causing Amy to wonder if she should retrieve her sunglasses from her car. But Cressida had been in her bedroom all morning, and Amy didn’t want to run the risk of her mentor emerging only to find her protégé missing, even if only for a few minutes. So she turned away from the window—not that it made much of a difference—and with a tissue pulled from the box on Cressida’s desk she dabbed at her sweaty forehead.
Suddenly, Amy’s phone alerted her to a text from Cressida. Meet me in the hall.
Amy got up from the desk, puzzled by the summons. In the past week or so Amy had noticed that Cressida’s moods could change so radically and so quickly. Maybe it was the same with all seriously successful people; they hadn’t gotten where they were by being bright and cheery all the time. They had to focus and make tough and often unpopular decisions, and all that pressure must make them prone to bad moods and quick tempers.
“I’m not to be disturbed,” Cressida said when she appeared at the door to the office. “You can wait for me in the kitchen.”
Amy nodded as Cressida closed the office door behind her. As she made her way to the kitchen it occurred to Amy that almost every day at some point Cressida retreated to her office with the instructions that she was not to be disturbed. Maybe she made a daily call to her office in Atlanta to get an update on important business matters. If so, it would be good if she shared what she was doing with Amy, who as Cressida’s protégé was supposed to be learning about . . . Amy suddenly wasn’t quite sure what it was she was supposed to be learning about. One thing was interesting, though. When Cressida emerged from her office she always seemed energized. Dealing with the company’s home office must really get Cressida’s adrenaline going.
Today was no exception. After about twenty minutes Cressida joined Amy in the kitchen with more than the usual spring in her step. Even her eyes looked bigger and brighter.
“I’ve had the most marvelous idea,” Cressida announced. “Why don’t you come live with me year-round at my home in Atlanta? You could be my right-hand woman. Isn’t that a fantastic idea? I don’t know why it took me so long to think of it.”
Amy was stunned. From protégé to right-hand woman in only a few weeks? “What exactly would be involved in being your right-hand woman?” she asked.
Cressida waved a hand in the air. “Oh, we’ll figure out the details as we go. The point is that you would have your own suite of rooms and a brand-new wardrobe. No offense, Aimee, but those outfits you wear will not work in the offices of Prior Ascendancy.”
Amy glanced down at her knee-length fitted skirt and white blouse, pieces she had thought looked professional enough. “I’d be going to your office?” she asked. She had a sudden vision of a massive steel structure with gleaming glass windows and shiny metal elevators and sleek men and women in designer suits hurrying through the white marble lobby, all like something from a movie.
“Of course,” Cressida said.
“What would I be doing there? I mean, would I have an official position?”
Cressida winked. “You just might.”
“It’s just that I—”
“Think of the bigger picture, Aimee!” Cressida cried.
Amy nodded. “Okay,” she said. “It’s a very interesting idea. I—”
“Good, that’s settled. I’m off to get a pedicure, though the salons around here are fairly horrid.”
And with that Cressida left the kitchen with her usual rapid stride. Amy took a seat at the island. While she hadn’t actually promised Cressida she would accept the job, she had been about to promise that she would consider the offer. Sure, she already had a job lined up for fall, and yes, she had promised her friends she would take the fourth bedroom in the apartment Stella’s father had earmarked for them in one of the buildings he owned. But this might be one of those opportunities a person would be crazy to turn down. A real job at Prior Ascendancy might be her ticket to a successful life. It might . . .
Suddenly Amy remembered the harsh comments Cressida had made about Jordan and Rhiannon and Noah the other day and felt a sense of queasiness settle over her. She remembered how Cressida had declared that all old people were self-centered. She thought of those former employees of Prior Ascendancy, the ones who had claimed age discrimination. Suddenly Amy wanted to hear her mother’s voice. She took her phone from her pocket, went to her contact list, and put the phone back in her pocket. She was fine.
* * *
After dinner Amy sat at her desk and opened her laptop. The momentary queasiness she had felt that afternoon had passed, leaving only a sense of excitement in its place. Atlanta.
She would definitely not tell her mother about the offer yet, as she strongly suspected Leda Latimer would be 100 percent against it. Amy didn’t understand why her mother was so anti-Cressida, unless it was that she was intimidated by her success. If that was the case, then Amy thought she might have a legitimate reason to feel disappointed in her mother. What was a hooked rug compared to a corporate takeover? Well, assuming Cressida had ever been involved in a corporate takeover. What was a tapestry compared to a technological innovation? Not that Prior Ascendancy was a tech company, but still.
Anyway, it might be fun to live somewhere new. Amy logged on to the Atlanta Chamber of Commerce website. It didn’t take long to see that there was way more to do in Atlanta than there was in sleepy little Yorktide. There was the Atlanta Botanical Garden and the Georgia Aquarium. There was the High Museum of Art, too, with jazz in the evenings. Not that Amy was a big fan of jazz, but it might be a fun way to spend a few hours, sipping a cocktail and people watching. And her new black sequined purse would be perfect for such an evening!
There had to be fantastic shopping in a big city like Atlanta, too, and as an employee of Prior Ascendancy Amy would be earning a good salary. But there again was that niggling question. A right-hand woman was an employee, wasn’t she? Cressida hadn’t mentioned specifics like a salary, but she had said they would work out the details as they went along. It was like the figurative handshake deal they had about Amy’s being the family’s nanny. Nothing to worry about.
After a quick search, Amy found information about a place called Phipps Plaza where there was an Armani, and a Fendi, and a Dior shop. And at Lenox Square, another mall, there was a Bulgari and a Cartier store. Amy remembered Cressida showing her that Bulgari gemstone ring and the gold Cartier bracelet and thought that if things turned out well working for Prior Ascendency, then one day maybe she, too, would be able to buy a piece of important jewelry from one of those high-end jewelers. If things worked out well, she . . .
Amy frowned, assailed by the memory of Cressida’s asking her to make the call to her great-aunt’s nursing home, of Cressida’s intention of having Amy witness the firing of an employee, of Cressida
’s unpleasant comments about her husband. How would she handle being subjected to Cressida’s tough and erratic behavior if she had nowhere to which she could retreat, like her own apartment?
But Amy quickly dismissed the worry. Everyone had days when they were snappy or anxious or overly critical of the people around them. Besides, Amy had always believed in forgiving and forgetting. It was what a good person did. It was what her mother and her grandparents had taught her.
Grandma. Amy thought of her favorite photo of her grandmother as a young woman. In the photo, Anne Gleeson was wearing a fringed shawl around her shoulders. Amy had always thought the shawl made her grandmother look glamorous and mysterious. It almost didn’t matter what else you were wearing when you topped it off with a gorgeous fringed shawl.
Amy looked back to her laptop. She needed a shawl. And she knew just where to get one.
Chapter 59
Vera was sitting on the love seat in Leda’s studio with Winston sprawled across her lap. “What are you feeding this thing?” she asked with a frown.
“If by ‘thing’ you mean Winston,” Leda said from her seat at her worktable, “he gets what he’s always gotten. Everything he wants. Within reason, of course.”
“Of course. Ow. He’s bruising my leg!”
“Vera, don’t be so dramatic and pay attention. Guess what I did this morning? I Googled the people for whom I was nanny the summer I was seventeen.”
Vera’s eyes widened. “You did?”
“I did, and it brought the Stirlings down to size. That’s their name, Stirling, Lance and Regan.”
“Wait a minute,” Vera said. “Lance Stirling? The painter? I’ve seen some of his work. It stinks. He can’t even draw.”
“I know. But when I was working for him I thought his work was some of the most beautiful I’d ever seen.” Leda shook her head. “The ignorance of youth.”
“So, what did you feel when you found the evil duo?” Vera asked.
“Absolutely nothing. It was amazing. It was like a dark cloud lifting. I can’t believe I didn’t hunt them down sooner.”
“You might not have been ready sooner,” Vera pointed out, while vainly trying to move Winston off her lap and onto the cushion next to her. “I bet something inside you told you that you were finally ready to let go.”
“An instinct,” Leda agreed, “and that reporter asking for an interview right after Phil’s urging me to submit a piece to the competition. Both seem to have given my self-esteem a boost.”
“So, maybe now you’ll be ready for romance?”
“No,” Leda said firmly. “Why should I be?”
Vera shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I saw Margot Lakes the other day in town. Did you know she volunteers at an animal shelter on Saturday mornings?”
“Nice try, Leda,” Vera said.
“Why is it okay for you to swear off romance but not for me?” Leda demanded.
“It just is, okay? So, tell me more about the Stirlings.”
“There’s not much more to tell. He hasn’t had a solo show in years, and there was no mention of Regan’s ever having earned the degree in Egyptian history she was pursuing that summer. Their daughter is doing well, though. She’s studying for a degree in environmental science.”
“Good for her. For God’s sake, Leda, get this monster off me.”
Leda laughed. “He’ll get off when he wants to get off. By the way, do you have any plans for the Fourth of July?”
“The restaurant will be open per usual,” Vera said. “And then I thought we’d go down to the beach to see the fireworks that evening.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Leda said. “Why don’t you come here for dinner first? I’ll do the classics, corn on the cob, hot dogs, strawberry shortcakes.”
Vera nodded. “It’s a deal. Now seriously. Can you get this monster off me?”
Chapter 60
Hayley slowed to a stop behind a row of cars on Forest Road. There was an accident up ahead; she could see several police cars with their blue lights flashing. Hayley said a quick prayer for the people involved. She didn’t really believe in God, but she couldn’t see how it hurt to ask some potentially greater power to protect a human being in danger.
A greater power who would certainly not approve of her lying in an attempt to ensnare an innocent person into a marriage. Hayley frowned and tapped her pointer finger on the steering wheel. Her conscience would not stop nagging at her, no matter how often she reminded herself that there was plenty of precedent for what she planned to do. Women had banked on their charms since the dawn of time. Famous courtesans and mistresses had achieved money and security and even respect via their looks.
There was the Marquise de Pompadour, a common-born woman who became the mistress and, more important in the end, a friend and advisor to King Louis XV of France. And there was Mrs. Alice Keppel. She was Edward VII’s favorite mistress and made quite a bundle from her association with the king.
Of course, Hayley thought, becoming the mistress of a married man was out of the question for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which was the fact that her mother would be devastated. Her father wouldn’t care, not as long as there was something in it for him. He probably wouldn’t care if she was brutally murdered by some rampaging serial killer as long as he could sell the story to a national rag and make a few thousand dollars out of it.
One thing was for sure, she thought, inching forward as the car ahead of hers moved a few feet. As she had told Amy, she absolutely would not get pregnant. In this day and age very few men would feel the need to marry the mother of their child just to confer legitimacy. Besides, it would be cruel to bring a child into the world only for the benefits she might reap from his existence. And what if she and the child were left high and dry? It wasn’t as if Hayley had family who could lend a hand in raising her offspring. No, everything about the scenario seemed to her deeply wrong and undesirable.
And there was another scenario Hayley hadn’t fully considered. As Ethan’s wife, she would most likely be expected to have children with him. She had never really wanted children of her own, because she had only ever envisioned her life as a slightly better version of her mother’s. But in the security of a marriage to a man like Ethan Whitby, things would be different. She could raise children in a safe environment and provide them with not only the basics but also wonderful things like travel and exposure to the arts. But what if one day Ethan learned the truth about the woman he had married, that she had lied to him about her past? Would he sue for sole custody of her dearly loved children?
Hayley shook her head. What a mess she was creating! And who was she to classify herself with those famously successful women like Mrs. Keppel and the Marquise de Pompadour? As her father had told her time and again, she was a nobody.
No, Hayley told herself firmly. She was not a nobody, and what she was doing was thoroughly practical, and if that made her a coldhearted opportunist, so be it. There were worse things to be, like a wife beater and a drunk. Or, like her mother, a defeated woman, satisfied with an entirely unsatisfying life.
Finally, the road was opened for traffic and Hayley drove on. By the time she arrived at Amy’s house she was exhausted by the topic of scheming for a better life. She found Amy at the little round table in the backyard.
“I thought you’d be here earlier,” Amy said. There was a bottle of pale pink nail polish on the table, along with a few fashion magazines; a plastic bowl filled with chunks of watermelon, cantaloupe, and pineapple; and two plastic forks.
“Sorry,” Hayley said, dropping into a chair. “There was an accident on Forest Road and traffic was stopped for almost half an hour. There was no ambulance, so that’s a good sign.” Hayley speared a chunk of pineapple with one of the plastic forks and held it out to Amy. “Do you want some?” she asked.
Amy shook her head. “No thanks. I’ve never been fond of pineapple.”
“You’ve never been fond of pinea
pple?”
“That’s what I said.”
“It’s just that I’ve never heard you use that term before,” Hayley noted. “Usually you like or don’t like something.”
“What’s wrong with using the expression ‘fond of’?” Amy asked. “Cressida uses it all the time.”
“Ah, now I see! Who are you, anyway? It’s like you’re not Amy anymore but Cressida Prior’s mini-me. Wait, you’re not Amy! You’re Aimee!”
“Laugh if you must,” Amy said, “but I’m learning so much working for Cressida. It’s like, there are all these things about the world I didn’t know.”
Hayley raised an eyebrow. “You mean Cressida is teaching you things like science and history?”
“Well, no,” Amy admitted. “She’s teaching me practical stuff like how to win at office politics and the importance of the right clothes for the right occasion and what wines go with what sort of food. Did you know that some reds work really well with certain types of fish?”
“How does that information help Cressida?” Hayley asked. “Didn’t you tell me she doesn’t drink alcohol and eats only raw vegetables?”
“Not only raw vegetables,” Amy corrected. “Just mostly. But next week she’s starting a different eating program.”
Hayley rolled her eyes. “Look, as someone who’s had to go without decent food on more than one occasion I don’t have a whole lot of tolerance for people who spend thousands of dollars on the latest fad diet.”
“This new program isn’t a fad,” Amy argued. “There’s a book about it and everything.”
“Oh, well! That makes it totally legitimate! Look, are you sure Cressida isn’t anorexic?”
“Of course not,” Amy protested. “That’s a horrible thing to say!”
“It’s not an insult,” Hayley argued. “Anorexia is a disease. Her life could be in danger.”
“Well, she’s not sick.”
“Do you know about the character of Cressida in ancient Greek mythology?” Hayley asked.
The Summer Nanny Page 18
