The Summer Nanny

by Holly Chamberlin

  “I don’t think so,” Amy admitted.

  “Cressida was a young Trojan woman in love with Troilus, a young Trojan man,” Hayley explained. “They were pledged to marry, but when Cressida’s father defected to their enemy, the Greeks, Cressida left Troilus and switched allegiance with her father. Then she fell in love with a Greek soldier named Diomedes. Of course, Troilus was devastated by her faithlessness and got himself killed in battle pretty soon after that.”

  “What’s your point?” Amy asked with a frown.

  “Just that the character of Cressida has come to stand for faithlessness and double-dealing.”

  “You’re one to point the finger!” Amy cried. “Double-dealing is the least of what you’re doing with Ethan!”

  Hayley cringed. “All right,” she said. “Point taken.”

  “Well, I’m sure Cressida’s parents didn’t know that story when they named her. They probably just liked the way the name sounded.”

  Hayley grinned. “It’s like a parent naming her daughter Jezebel or her son Attila and not expecting all sorts of preconceived notions to be associated with her kids. And don’t forget the teasing by kids with more mainstream names like, well, like Amy and Noah.”

  “Noah is in the Bible.”

  “Yeah, but his character isn’t associated with anything bad,” Hayley pointed out. “By the way, have you seen Noah lately?”

  Amy suddenly found the bottle of nail polish very interesting. “I’ve seen him.”

  “And?” Hayley asked.

  “And nothing. And I still think Cressida is a pretty name.”

  “Watercress. It makes me think of watercress.” And then Hayley laughed. “Come on, Amy, I’m just teasing you.”

  “I know that,” Amy said hotly. “By the way, do you know if Noah is seeing anyone? Because I saw him with someone in town. They looked pretty . . .” Amy shrugged. “Close.”

  Hayley restrained a smile. So, Amy was finally coming around. “Not that I know of,” she said. “I could find out if you want.”

  “No!” Amy cried. “I mean, don’t bother. I don’t really care. I was just wondering. You know.”

  “Yes,” Hayley said, smiling at her friend. “I know.”

  Chapter 61

  “I think this is the new main entrance. Yes, right through here.”

  Amy followed her mother into the long, low wooden building that housed the studios of a group of artists and craftspeople collectively known as the Blue Heron Circle. Amy had accompanied her mother a few times before and had always found the excursions enjoyable. But this morning the building looked shabby to her, and the odors coming from various chemicals used by the artists made her feel slightly sick to her stomach. She would have preferred to be at Cressida’s house, but Cressida had told Amy not to come in to work until noon, as she had booked a private masseur for a three-hour session. And as Will and the children would be spending the day at the Farnsworth Museum in Rockland, there was no need for Amy’s presence. For about a second Amy had felt disappointed that she hadn’t been asked to accompany Will, Jordan, and Rhiannon. Then again, why would Will have required her help? Her position in the Prior household was not really that of nanny, was it?

  “Missy’s studio is at the end of this hall,” her mother said, leading them down a long concrete corridor off which were ten or more rooms, all messy and chock-full of print-making and painting and metal-working equipment.

  Amy lamely returned her mother’s smile. And then she felt bad. She had agreed to come along. The least she could do was to pretend interest. At the very end of the hall they found Missy Greene, potter. She greeted Amy and Leda enthusiastically and ushered them into her studio.

  “I’m so glad you came this morning,” she said, linking her arm through Leda’s. “I’m dying to show you my new work.”

  Missy wore her long gray hair in a massive plait down her back. Her eyeglasses were the largest Amy had ever seen, huge plastic circles in the same shade of bright red as her lipstick, some of which had wound up on her teeth. As for her clothes, well, Amy wasn’t quite sure how to describe what Missy was wearing; it was something like a cross between a colorful caftan and a tent, the kind you slept in when you went camping.

  No doubt Cressida would be horrified by Missy’s appearance. Cressida’s friends were probably all successful businesspeople like she was, people who didn’t have the time to grow their own organic vegetables and make their own clothing. Then again, Cressida had never mentioned any friends, but of course she had them. Everyone did. Amy had no doubt they were all probably as thin and expensively dressed as Cressida. And neat. With no lipstick on their teeth.

  While Missy and her mother chatted, Amy wandered the studio. There was a potter’s wheel with a foot peddle and a stool attached to it. On shelves tacked to the wall there were bits and pieces of pottery; a small painting of a bowl of pears; and an old tin can stuffed with brushes, markers, and pens. And there were books, lots of oversized art books, piled precariously on the floor and worktables.

  Amy frowned. Her office at Prior Ascendancy in Atlanta—she would have an office, wouldn’t she?—would probably be the complete opposite of this space, decorated with contemporary furniture and abstract prints and beautifully tended potted plants. People in Yorktide who had thought Amy not very bright or ambitious would be so surprised if she went off to become someone important at Prior Ascendancy. The thought made her smile.

  Amy’s attention was caught by a woman passing by in the hall. Well, it wasn’t the woman who caught her attention as much as the massive muffin she was biting into. Amy frowned and remembered how Hayley had mocked Cressida’s eating programs. Hayley seemed dead set against Cressida and she hadn’t even met her, not that Amy wanted that to happen. An instinct told her that Cressida would take against Hayley as deeply as Hayley had taken against Cressida.

  Amy glanced across the studio at her mother, talking animatedly to Missy. Next to Hayley meeting Cressida, the last thing she wanted was for Cressida and Leda Latimer to meet. Luckily, her mother spent most days in her studio, and when she wasn’t there she was doing the grocery shopping or hanging out with Vera at Over Easy, and neither activity would likely bring her into contact with Cressida, who went into Ogunquit and Yorktide only for the spas and high-end shops.

  In fact, Amy wasn’t at all sure why Cressida had chosen southern Maine as the family’s holiday destination, as she didn’t seem in the least bit interested in any of the usual features that appealed to visitors—the famously rocky coastline; steamed lobsters available at every turn; blueberries baked into all sorts of yummy desserts; beautiful farmland; pristine beaches. And another thing was odd, Amy thought, continuing her listless wandering through Missy’s studio. The other day Cressida had told Amy that she didn’t hold with celebrating any of the big commercial holidays. “The whole thing is just so pedestrian and wasteful,” she had said dismissively. “Of course, we won’t be waving flags and eating apple pie on the Fourth of July,” she had added. “You’ll come in to work as if it were any other day.” Amy hadn’t really understood what Cressida had meant about holidays being pedestrian and wasteful, but of course she hadn’t asked for an explanation. True, she was disappointed to be missing the town’s Independence Day festivities, but that was all right. Parades, hot dogs, and brass bands really were overrated.

  Amy found herself in front of a cabinet in which several pairs of earrings were displayed. A small card announced that the earrings had been made by Missy’s sister Melly. One pair in particular caught Amy’s attention. They were constructed with a very pretty pink center stone surrounded by shimmery glass beads. Then Amy frowned. The earrings definitely couldn’t be called important jewelry.

  “Amy?”

  Amy turned abruptly from the cabinet. “Sorry,” she told her mother. “I was . . . I was looking at these earrings.”

  Her mother smiled. “Come here and take a look at these pots. They’re lovely, aren’t they? The glaze is a formula Miss
y developed.”

  “Wow,” Amy said, forcing a smile. She knew what Cressida Prior would say about the pots, and it was not that they were lovely.

  “Here,” Missy said. “I want you to have one. Pick the one you like the best.”

  “No, I couldn’t,” Amy said quickly.

  “I insist. Now, it’s your choice.”

  Amy cast her eye over the pots and suddenly saw that they were indeed lovely as her mother had said. The colors were so deep and intense. “I’ll take that one,” she said, indicating a small green pot with a tall neck. “If you’re sure.”

  With a smile, Missy wrapped the pot for Amy and then hugged both Amy and her mother. Amy followed her mother out of the studio, the pot held close to her chest. Missy might be a bit of an odd duck, but she was an awfully nice person. But Cressida probably wouldn’t see past Missy’s interesting exterior. Amy felt uncomfortable. She didn’t like to criticize Cressida but sometimes . . .

  “How about we get some lunch?” her mother suggested when they had left the building.

  Amy managed a smile. “Sorry, Mom. I have to be at work in twenty minutes.”

  “Of course. How could I have forgotten?”

  “Thanks for asking me to come along this morning,” Amy said. “It was fun.” And really, it had been sort of fun, at least at the end.

  Her mother beamed. “My pleasure,” she said, unlocking the car.

  Chapter 62

  Leda was in her studio that afternoon finishing a dozen new coin purses for Wainscoting and Windowseats. The demand for accessories rose crazily in the summer, and it was at times like these that Leda wished she could afford to hire an assistant. Or, she thought with a grim smile, maybe she could be a mentor to a protégé. She was sure she would do a far better job at mentoring than Cressida Prior was doing with Amy.

  Earlier, Leda had told Missy about entering her work in the FAF’s annual competition and Missy had been thrilled. She had also suggested that Leda might want to participate in an open studio tour organized by the director of the gallery at Yorktide Community College, Harry Carlyle. Any artist in the area was welcome to participate. The entry fee was small, and the majority of the money raised through the visitors’ tickets would be donated to the art department of the local grammar school. The idea of anyone other than one or two visitors at a time in her studio made Leda a little nervous, but she had promised Missy she would consider the idea, and she would.

  Leda reached for a zipper and turned back to her sewing machine. Amy had seemed bored at Missy’s studio that morning. She hadn’t even wanted to buy a pair of the pretty beaded earrings made by Missy’s sister. And Leda had also noticed that lately Amy hadn’t been wearing any of the woven bracelets she had made for her. Cressida Prior’s influence once again?

  Before she could gloomily ponder that possibility, an e-mail from Margot popped up on her computer screen. Leda scooted over to her laptop—a wheeled chair was a must—and saw that Margot was forwarding information about a reading being given by one of her friends who was a poet. I thought that you and your friend Vera might enjoy Tricia’s work, she had written. Hope to see you there.

  Leda made note of the time, date, and location of the reading and forwarded the e-mail to Vera. Margot’s invitation was clearly a sign of her interest in Vera, no doubt about it. Leda had run into Felicia McCarthy, a woman from Margot’s church, quite by accident at the farmers’ market the day before and had ever so casually asked Felicia if she knew Margot. “Oh yes,” Felicia told her. “She’s a great asset to the choir as well as to our parish’s version of Meals on Wheels. We call it Soup and Smiles. We’re so glad she joined our church.” Leda wasn’t sure how she was going to use all of the positive information she had gathered, especially if Vera insisted on being adamantly against the possibility of romance, but she was committed to try.

  Before Leda could ponder this question further her cell phone alerted her to a call from Phil.

  “Any news from the FAF?” he asked.

  Leda groaned. “No, and it’s killing me! I’ve never been so impatient about anything in my life.”

  “I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off the waiting. A bottle of chilled Prosecco and homemade cheese straws.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Leda assured him. “And I’ll bring a dozen new coin purses while I’m at it.”

  Leda went back to her sewing machine to complete her work. She felt seriously lucky to have such good friendships with such an interesting variety of people. In that way, Leda felt sure she was far richer than Cressida Prior. Far richer and far more blessed.

  Chapter 63

  “So, what’s everybody doing for the Fourth?” Michelle asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “The usual. I’ll take the kids to see the parade in the morning, and then the bosses are hosting a bash at the house. What about you, Hayley?”

  “I’ve got the day off,” she told the other nannies. “The Whitbys are going to a friend’s house in Cape Elizabeth for a barbeque.”

  “Amy?” Cathi asked, with what Hayley thought was a sly smile. “What’s the almighty Cressida got planned?”

  Amy shrugged. “Nothing, actually. She doesn’t believe in celebrating the big holidays.”

  Hayley was the only one who didn’t laugh at this statement. She knew how much Amy loved all the pomp and circumstance of July Fourth.

  “So,” Elizabeth said, “you’ll have the day off, too?”

  “No,” Amy said, fiddling with the edge of her paper napkin. “I have to go in. It’ll be a day just like any other day.”

  “You won’t be the only one having a lousy holiday,” Cathi said, leaning forward over the table. “I’ve got a bit of seriously juicy gossip. Mrs. White found Mr. White in bed with one of her friends.”

  There was a collective gasp of surprise and disbelief, followed by a few choice comments about Mr. White’s character.

  Cathi shook her head. “My mouth was on the floor when Mrs. White told me.”

  “I can’t believe she did tell you,” Michelle replied. “I mean, you’re her kids’ nanny, not her friend. But I guess she had to explain her husband’s absence somehow. She must be so embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed and furious,” Cathi went on. “She threw him out immediately and was on the phone to her lawyer about a minute later. And I always thought they were a good couple. It just goes to show.”

  Hayley only half listened to the ensuing conversation about what punishments should be inflicted upon Mr. White. Her thoughts had turned to Ethan. She hadn’t seen him since she had lied about Brandon and her living arrangements. And about why she had left college without a degree. She wondered when she would next have the opportunity to talk with him. She wondered what lies she would tell him then.

  “I just saw a photo of Anna Nicole Smith’s daughter online,” Sarah said. Hayley had no idea how the conversation had turned to celebrities. “She’s her mother’s mini-me.”

  “Anna Nicole really was very pretty,” Michelle said. “Not that it mattered in the end. What an ignominious death.”

  “Did she ever get the inheritance from that ancient husband?” Cathi wondered.

  Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m not sure, but her entire life was a pity, and her poor son overdosing as well. I hope her daughter is doing all right. What a legacy to leave for your child.”

  “I feel sorry for her,” Madeleine added. “If she had been a real schemer she might be alive and well now, married to another old geezer and draping herself in diamonds.”

  “Like Barbara Piasecka Johnson,” Sarah said.

  “Who’s that?” Amy asked. Hayley had noted that unlike the rest of the friends, who were drinking beer or wine, Amy was drinking water. And she hadn’t ordered any food. Evidence, no doubt, of Cressida Prior’s influence.

  “She married John Seward Johnson of the Johnson & Johnson fortune,” Sarah explained. “She came to the U.S. from Poland with one hundred dollars to her name and a maste
r’s degree in art. Johnson’s wife hired her as a cook, I think. Long story short, she impressed Mr. Johnson with her knowledge of art and eventually became his wife. There was over forty years’ difference in their age. When he died, his kids sued her for the money he’d left her, but for some reason they settled out of court. Barbara got the bulk of the money.”

  Hayley was aware that Amy was stealing glances at her, as if looking for signs of discomfort. The conversation was making her uncomfortable, but there was no way she was going to reveal that discomfort.

  “How do you know all that?” Cathi asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “I read it somewhere. She must have been one smart cookie, whether or not she set out to marry the old goat.”

  “Maybe she really did love him,” Hayley suggested, “if not in a romantic way. Maybe it was a marriage of companionship.”

  “Hayley is right.” Amy shot another glance at her friend. “She might have been a very nice woman with no ulterior motive.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “That’s beside the point. I think it’s ridiculous to be advocating marriage as a way to get ahead in the world in this day and age. It’s demeaning to both men and women.”

  “Who said I was advocating it?” Sarah argued.

  “I wouldn’t say it’s a wonderful idea, but I believe it’s as valid an option now as it ever was.” Madeleine shrugged. “Women should have the freedom to live their lives as they see fit.”

  Sarah leaned forward. “I was reading another article online and it really opened my eyes. The writer pointed out that women are most often better looking than men, right? And men usually make more money than women no matter how unfair that is. So, the chances of a good-looking woman marrying a man who makes more money than she does are pretty high. There’s really nothing unusual in that and certainly nothing inherently wrong.”

  “I still say the Cinderella story ruined the lives of generations of women,” Elizabeth said grimly.

  Michelle laughed. “Come on! It’s just a story. Besides, I think the real theme isn’t so much about marrying the prince as it is about the fact that Cinderella goes from a life of obscurity and abuse to a life of being in the spotlight with someone who respects her for her kindness and goodness.”