Читать книгу A Nanny In The Family - Catherine Spencer - Страница 6
ОглавлениеCHAPTER ONE
IT SHOULD have been raining, with the drops falling from the trees softly, steadily, like the tears she’d shed all night long. The sky should have been draped in mourning gray and the ocean swathed in funereal mist. Instead, the day was indecently gorgeous, with the sun beating down and the gardens flaming with geraniums and early roses.
Even the house seemed to smile, with its mellow rosy pink walls and sparkling paned windows. Four elegant chimneys posed against the clear sky, the white painted woodwork gleamed, the brass door knocker shone brilliantly. Or was it the threat of yet more tears blinding her so thoroughly that she had to blink repeatedly before she dared step out of the car?
Suddenly, the front door swung open and a middle-aged woman appeared. She paused on the top step and spoke to someone standing out of sight within the house. Shook her head commiseratingly and reached one hand forward as though to pat the unseen person’s arm.
She looked, Nicole thought, exactly the way a nanny should look: pleasingly plump, competent and cheerful in her print dress and sensible white shoes. The last thing Tommy needed at this point in his life was a woman drearily mired in her own misery.
Blinking again, Nicole swung her gaze away and stared at a bed of deep blue hydrangeas flanked by spiny white Shasta daisies the size of baseballs. Be here at two, the voice on the phone had said, and it had been exactly five minutes to the hour when she’d turned off the quiet road and driven through the wrought iron gates described by the woman she’d met yesterday, at Arlene’s house. She had a minute, two at the most, in which to prepare herself for the most consummate performance of her life. Yet how did a person push aside a grief so new, even for a moment? Worse, how to keep it permanently in the background, hidden under a facade of serene capability?
The other applicant came down the steps, large white handbag slung over her sturdy wrist. She nodded pleasantly as she passed Nicole’s car and continued down the drive, planting one foot solidly in front of the other.
She would be kind and firm. Under her care, Tommy would learn to like green beans and spinach, and go to bed on time. When he cried for his mommy and daddy, he would be taken up on that ample lap and comforted. But it wouldn’t be enough. Only she, Nicole, could truly understand his loss, and only she could compensate for it.
The front door to the house stood open still and another woman, older and more slender than the first, beckoned to her from the top step. Nicole nodded and glanced quickly in her rearview mirror, thankful to see the eyedrops she’d used had reduced the redness brought on by a night of weeping. She could not afford to look distraught. She dare not break down.
“You must be the young lady who phoned just this morning. Miss Bennett, right?” The woman at the door spoke with a trace of a British accent and wore a starched white apron over her plain gray dress. “It’s good that you’re on time. The Commander expects punctuality.”
The Commander expects. The words filled Nicole with dread, evoking an image of aging but erect military bearing born of regimented discipline. And Tommy was only four. Oh, the poor baby!
“Have there been many other applicants for the job?” she asked, quickly before she burst into tears again.
“Only three, I’m afraid.” The woman shook her head. “You’re our last hope unless someone else turns up unexpectedly. Commander Warner’s at his wit’s end, what with losing his cousin so tragically and then, with poor Doctor Jim and his wife barely cold in their graves, finding himself standing in as Daddy for their boy.”
She pulled a tissue from her apron pocket and wiped at the tears filming her eyes.
Don’t cry, Nicole silently begged, or you’ll start me off again and I’m afraid I’ll never stop. “I take it,” she said, “that Commander Warner has no children of his own?”
“Gracious, no,” the woman exclaimed, recovering herself. “He’s not even married—though not from want of trying on some people’s part! The most he’s been used to is playing long-distance uncle to young Tommy. Not that he’s the boy’s uncle exactly—second cousin, more like—but what does it matter? The important thing is, they’ve got each other and thank God for it, or I don’t know how either of them would get through this dreadful time. Come along this way, dear. The Commander’s interviewing in the library.”
A long hall with a dark polished wood floor covered by a carpet runner stretched from the front door to the rear of the house. Following behind the woman, Nicole passed a wide archway leading into a formal living room flooded with sunlight.
Directly opposite, a similar archway showed a dining room with a Duncan Phyfe table and eight high-backed chairs set precisely in the middle of a pale Aubusson rug. Was that where Tommy took his meals now, and did the Commander realize that four-year-olds occasionally spilled food on the floor?
“Miss Bennett’s here, Commander.”
“Thank you, Janet. Show her in.” His voice was deep and smoothly rich, a crooner’s voice almost, ludicrously at odds with the authoritarian impression Nicole had built of him.
The woman smiled encouragingly at Nicole, then turned away down another, narrower hall that led under the curving staircase to what was probably the kitchen wing.
Don’t leave me, Nicole wanted to call after her. I can’t handle this alone!
“Are you there, Miss Bennett?” The voice from the library rang with an edge of impatience this time, suggesting there was steel under all that velvet.
“Yes,” she said, still from beyond the threshold of the room.
“Then be so good as to present yourself in the flesh.”
There was no mistaking the steel now. Any more shilly-shallying on her part and the interview would be concluded before it had begun. Bracing herself, she walked into the library with what she prayed would strike exactly the proper blend of ability and deference such an old curmudgeon would undoubtedly expect of an underling.
The man rising from behind a handsome Georgian desk to shake her hand, however, looked anything but the part she’d assigned to him. Mid-thirtyish, tall and broad-shouldered, with devastatingly blue eyes and a granite jaw, he epitomized vintage Hollywood at its most alluring.
At any other time, Nicole might have dwelled on the romantic potential of such a fine specimen. As things stood now, however, he was merely the means to an end and could have two heads, for all she cared.
“How do you do? I’m Pierce Warner.” His handclasp was brief and firm. “Please be seated, Miss Bennett.”
“Thank you,” she replied, appalled to hear her words hanging in the air, breathy as a teenager’s.
The last time she’d been this nervous was when she’d appeared for her final interview at The Clinic. The ink on her nursing degree had been barely dry at the time and if she’d been asked how many limbs the human body normally came equipped with, she’d probably have given the wrong answer. But that was six years ago and she’d have thought herself past the sort of uncertainty that gripped her now.
She’d nursed terminally ill children, she’d comforted bereaved parents, and even though she’d many times thought her own heart would break for them all, she’d somehow managed to control her emotions. So why was she falling apart now, at this most crucial time?
“Tell me about yourself, Miss Bennett,” the Commander commanded, fixing her in the sort of close scrutiny that missed nothing.
“Well,” she began, discreetly wiping damp palms on her skirt, “I’m new to the area.”
Dark eyebrows raised disparagingly, he said, “That strikes you as relevant, does it?”
“Yes—um, no!” She stopped and blew out a small breath. “What I mean is, I expect you’d like to speak to my previous employers, but I recently moved to the west coast, so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any local names. But I do have good references.”
She reached into the straw bag on her lap, withdrew the manila envelope containing her credentials, and offered it to him.
He set it aside and folded his hands on the desk. His fingernails, she noted, were short and scrupulously clean. “At this point,” he said, subjecting her to another all-encompassing stare, “I’m more interested in hearing why you think you’re the best person to fill the position of nanny to my ward.”
She expelled another long breath, hoping that the next time she opened her mouth, she’d make a better impression. Once again, though, she said exactly the wrong thing. “Well, I’d better explain right off that I’ve never been a nanny before.”
His gaze narrowed as if he’d just sighted an enemy vessel heaving over the horizon. “Now that strikes me as decidedly relevant. Would you care to explain why you’re bothering to waste both my time and yours?”
“Because,” she said, plunging in and praying she’d remember the lines she’d rehearsed all through last night, “I am very experienced in dealing with children, particularly those under stress. And I’m aware that your... ward—” The cold Victorian description stuck in her throat, nearly choking her. This was Tommy they were talking about. Her nephew. A warm, living child desperately in need of the love and comfort she was so willing to give to him.
“Go on, Miss Bennett.”
Could he see the way she was twisting her hands together in her lap? Did he guess that her skin was clammy with cold, even though the temperature outside hovered near eighty? “I’m aware,” she said, closing her mind to everything but the need to convince him that she was exactly the person he was looking for, “that your family has recently faced a terrible tragedy as a result of which your ward lost both his parents. Allow me to offer you my deepest sympathy.”
He inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgment, a cool, almost detached response, one might have thought, had not the sudden twitch of muscle in his jaw betrayed emotions being kept rigidly in check.
“I have taken an extended leave of absence from my previous job and come to Oregon to be near my relatives,” she went on, veering as close to the truth as she dared. “However, I do need to support myself, and I thought, when I heard you were looking for a full-time nanny, that it was a position I could very well fill.”
She leaned forward, her confidence spurred by the recitation of facts which were not cloaked in lies. “I’m a pediatric nurse, Commander Warner. For the past three years I’ve worked exclusively in the intensive care unit of my hospital. ICU nurses receive a great deal of exposure to death. They learn to deal with it compassionately. If they don’t, they don’t last long. I can help your ward through this difficult time and I’m available to start looking after him immediately.”
For the first time, the Commander looked marginally impressed. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-nine.”
He flexed his fingers and rapped a soft tattoo on the desk surface. “Tommy’s mother just turned twenty-eight,” he said, staring bleakly out of the window beside him.
I know, Nicole could have told him. She was eighteen months younger than I. Her birthday was in February. Instead, she said, “I think having him cared for by someone close to his mother’s age might help.”
“I agree.” He pulled the manila envelope closer and set it on the blotter in front of him. “You realize this is a live-in position? That you won’t have much spare time to spend with your relatives? I’d need you here at least five days a week.”
Relief almost made her careless. It was all she could do not to tell him that she’d prefer to work around the clock, seven days a week. “Of course.”
“Your sleep might be disturbed at times. Tom has cried every night for his mother.”
Oh, darling! she thought, her arms aching to hold the child almost as badly as her heart broke for him. She swallowed and said briskly, “I’m a nurse. Shift work is second nature to me.”
He whistled tunelessly under his breath a moment, then slewed another glance her way. “The response to my ad has been disappointing. The woman I saw this morning wasn’t much more than a child herself and totally unsuitable. The one who was here before you has spent the last eleven years with the same family and would have been ideal for the job, but she isn’t free to start working for me until the end of the month.”
Nicole held her breath, sensing victory within her grasp. As if to clinch the matter, from somewhere within the house a child’s cry broke the silence.
“I don’t think I can wait that long,” the Commander decided, and touched the tip of the envelope with his forefinger. “These references...I suppose I should read them. Or are they just the usual claptrap?”
“That’s something only you can decide.”
“Right.” He shrugged. “Would you like some coffee or a cold drink, Miss Bennett?”
“A glass of water would be nice.”
His slow smile creased his cheeks with unexpected dimples. “I think we can do better than that,” he said, indicating the open French doors on the other side of the room. “I’ll have Janet bring something to you on the patio.”
The view outside stole Nicole’s breath away. Perched on a bluff, the house flowed down to the beach in a series of terraces connected by brick-paved paths. A curved flight of steps similar to those at the front door gave way to a swimming pool set in a natural rock depression. To either side, flower beds edged an expanse of closely trimmed lawn. Below, the great spread of the ocean reflected the cloudless blue sky.
From a walkway covered by a vine-draped pergola, Janet appeared, a loaded tray in her hands. “Lovely sight, isn’t it?” she remarked, setting the tray on an umbrella-shaded table and coming to stand beside Nicole. “A body can just feel the peace soaking into her bones.”
Nicole couldn’t. Her entire body was suffused with pain. God might seem to be in His heaven but, appearances to the contrary, things were far from right in her world. The beauty and tranquillity were an affront.
Janet turned away to pour liquid from a frosty pitcher into a tall, stemmed glass. “How did the interview go?”
“I’m not sure. I hope I get the job.”
“Well, dear, I can tell you the Commander won’t bother keeping anyone around who doesn’t measure up. If he thought he was wasting his time with you, you’d be out the door by now. Try this lemonade. It’s the real thing, made from scratch.”
“Thank you.”
“And here’s a plate of biscuits—cookies, you call them—if you’d like something to eat while you wait.”
Breakfast was a distant memory and dinner last night nonexistent, but the thought of food nauseated Nicole. Still, out of politeness, she nibbled at one of the cookies and said, “What I’d really like is to meet the little boy. Could you bring him out to see me, do you think?”
She’d said the wrong thing again. Janet backed off as if she’d been indecently propositioned.
“Oh, it’s not up to me to allow that, dear!” she exclaimed, her accent broadened by shock. “That’s something for the Commander to allow if he decides you’re best for the job.”
But he’s my nephew and I need to see him, Nicole thought. I need to hold him, to smell the little boy scent of his hair, to kiss the soft sweet skin of his neck. I need to know that he doesn’t feel alone and abandoned.
Janet straightened the bib of her apron and sighed. “I just hope he makes up his mind quickly. I don’t mind telling you, I’ve got my hands full trying to run the house and keep tabs on Tommy at the same time. He’s a good little boy, but at that age, you know, a child is only ever still when he’s asleep.”
“Where is he now?”
“Taking a nap. He does that most afternoons for about half an hour.” Janet touched Nicole’s arm sympathetically. “I’m sure the Commander will bring him down and introduce you, if he likes what he’s being told about you.”
“Being told?”
Janet leaned forward confidingly. “He was on the phone long distance when I took in his lemonade, and I just happened to overhear your name being mentioned.”
Exhaustion and stress must be catching up with her, Nicole decided, stifling an untoward giggle at the thought of The Commander sipping lemonade. Wouldn’t a tot of rum be more his style? “Why do you call him the Commander?”
“That’s his rank. He’s a Navy man, didn’t you know? Works designing warships now, of course, on account of his bad back and all, but it was a dreadful disappointment to him that he couldn’t remain on active service. He knew he wanted to go to sea from the time he was Tommy’s age. Learned to sail a dinghy before he turned eight and spent every spare minute hanging around the yacht basin. Knew the name and make of every boat there, built models of most of them, too. Then, as soon as he was old enough, he was off to the Naval Academy and after that, it was glory all the way. Quite the local hero, you might say.”
She leaned close again, as though what she was about to impart was a well guarded secret revealed only to a chosen few. “You should see all his medals. He was in the Gulf War, you know—that’s when he was injured, rescuing one of his men in an explosion on the bridge—and decorated for bravery, or however they call it.”
“Why don’t you tell her my shoe size while you’re at it, Janet?” the object of all this admiration remarked, strolling out through the French doors and smiling at the housekeeper. His eyes, Nicole thought, were even bluer than the sky and his smile dazzling.
“Oh, Commander!” Janet exclaimed, blushing like a girl. “I didn’t hear you come out.”
“So I gather.” Sobering, he switched his gaze to Nicole. “Bring your lemonade inside and let’s talk some more, Miss Bennett.”
Did he ever say “please” or “thank you,” or was he so used to dishing out orders that it never occurred to him to remember his manners?
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d worked at The Mayo Clinic?” he began, as soon as they were seated across the desk from each other again.
She couldn’t help herself. The question was out before she could stop it. “That strikes you as relevant, does it?”
He didn’t exactly smile at her impudence, but his eyes glimmered with amusement. “If you were in the Navy, Miss Bennett, I’d reprimand you for rank insubordination. As it is, I have to wonder what it is about this job that appeals to you. You must know you’re seriously overqualified for the position I’m trying to fill.”
“On paper, perhaps,” she said, “but I need a change.”
“How so?”
Once again grief threatened to rise up and engulf her. To buy herself enough time to regain control, she paced to the French doors and stood with her back to him so that he couldn’t see the sudden shine of tears in her eyes. “Any nurse working in a critical care unit will tell you that professional burnout is common,” she said, fighting to subdue the quiver in her voice. “You might think we become inured to death, but we don’t. And when those touched by it are children, the stress factor is particularly severe.”
She paused, hating the fact that she was about to add another lie to those she’d already told him. Deceit did not come easily and she wished she dared tell him the whole truth. But it was too soon. The risks were too great. “I felt it was time for me to take a break.”
“I appreciate that, Miss Bennett, and I sympathize. But my first priority is my ward’s welfare and I wonder how ably you will meet his needs feeling as you do. He needs a great deal of emotional support right now. How well do you think you can supply that, considering your own admittedly fragile state?”
“Just because I feel the need for a change doesn’t alter the fact that I love children,” she said, thankful to be on completely honest ground again. “And you may depend on me always to put your ward’s interests ahead of my own.”
“I shall hold you to that.”
She dared to look at him again then, hope surging within her breast. “Are you telling me I have the job?”
“Not quite. Before we make that decision, I think you must meet Tom.”
Yes! “That would be sensible,” she said soberly. “No point in reaching any decisions until we see how we get along.”
As if there was any doubt that she wouldn’t adore him on sight!
“I’ll get him,” the Commander said, stuffing her résumé and references back into the envelope and handing it to her. “He might be a bit shy with you—he’s seen a lot of strangers in the last week and is obviously confused—but I’m sure you’ll allow for that.”
“Of course.”
He was gone for several minutes. Aware of the slender hold she had on her emotions, and knowing that the Commander would pick up on any false move, Nicole spent the interval schooling herself to composure. She had just this one last hurdle to clear. No matter what it cost her, she must present a calm and reassuring front if she wanted to convince him beyond any doubt that she was the best possible nanny for Tommy.
She thought she had succeeded. She thought that all the years of working in ICU would stand her in good stead. This, after all, was a healthy little child, not some poor, sickly soul with no future. But when the door opened and she saw the boy in the Commander’s arms, she forgot everything: her training, her rehearsing, her lies. Everything.
“This is Tom, Miss Bennett.”
Instead of saying something rational like, “Hello, Tommy, it’s nice to meet you,” Nicole pressed her fingers to her mouth to stop its trembling and whispered, “Oh! Oh, I knew he would be beautiful, but I had no idea he’d be so completely perfect!”
“Wait until he’s woken you up at five in the morning three days in a row, before you decide that,” the Commander said dryly, swinging Tommy to the floor.
The child staggered a little against his uncle’s knee and regarded Nicole from big solemn eyes. His face was flushed with sleep and his hair damp on one side from perspiration. A worn baby quilt trailed from one dimpled hand.
The need to hold him, to press his sweetly rounded little body close to her heart, left Nicole aching. But she dared not gratify that need; the tears simmered too close to the surface, threatening to gush forth and destroy the image she’d struggled so hard to present. Instead she turned aside, quickly, before the spasm contorting her features gave her away, rummaged blindly in her bag for a tissue, and dabbed at her nose.
“Forgive me,” she said, praying the Commander hadn’t noticed anything amiss. “I thought I felt a sneeze coming on but it changed its mind.”
“You have a cold, perhaps?”
“No,” she hastened to assure him. “I’m as healthy as the proverbial horse.” Then before she gave rise to any other suspicions, she squatted down and drummed up a smile for Tommy. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m Nicole.”
“Hi,” he said, and she thought that if angels spoke, they would sound just as he did.
“That’s a really nice quilt you’ve got. Do you take it to bed with you?”
“Yes,” he said, detaching himself from his uncle’s leg and advancing a step or two closer to her. “It’s my dee-dee.”
“It’s a blanket, Tom,” the Commander said, kindly enough. “Big boys don’t use baby talk. Let me see you shake hands with Miss Bennett.”
Heavenly days, the man had no more idea how to speak to a four-year-old than she had to an orangutan! “Why don’t you show me the garden, instead?” she said, sensing the child’s discomfort with the adult behavior expected of him. “If your uncle doesn’t mind...?”
Somewhat after the fact, she glanced at the Commander. “Not at all,” he said. “It will give you a chance to become better acquainted. Go ahead and show Miss Bennett the garden, Tom.”
“All right.” Tommy perked up. “But not the pool. I’m not allowed to go to the pool by myself. It’s against the rules.”
“Not the pool,” Nicole agreed. “I’d rather see the flowers, instead.”
He considered her for a moment, then came forward and took her hand. “I have a garden at home,” he told her chattily. “I planted seeds in it and watered them.”
“Did you?” she said, enchanted by him.
“Yes. And they grew as big as a tree.” He gestured grandly, his face alive with excitement.
“Now, Tom!” his “uncle” warned. “Remember we talked about exaggerating? Stick to the facts, please.”
Truly, she would need to tape her mouth shut if this was the man’s idea of dealing with a child of four! Swallowing the objections fairly itching to make themselves heard, Nicole gave Tommy’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
It didn’t console him. “I’m just teasing,” he said, the animation in his face seeping away and his lip trembling ominously. “Mommy laughs when I tease her. I want to see my mommy. Can I go home now?”
“He keeps asking me that,” the Commander muttered, a flash of panic sparking in his blue eyes, “and I don’t know quite what to tell him.”
“Since you’re so anxious to stick to the facts, perhaps you should tell him the truth,” she said, then turned again to her nephew. “You’re living here now, darling, but we can go and see your house sometime, if you like.”
“Will Mommy be there?” he asked, the question enough to bring the lump back to Nicole’s throat, bigger than ever.
“No, Tommy. But perhaps we can find a picture of her.”
“Oh.” He fingered the quilt again. “And one of Daddy, as well, right?”
“Yes, darling.”
He tilted his head and smiled at her. “The flowers are red,” he said.
Grateful beyond words that he’d chosen to change the subject before she collapsed in yet another soggy heap of tears, Nicole said teasingly, “What, all of them?”
“And yellow and purple.” He tugged on her hand. “And pink and black and purple.”
“Black?” she echoed, allowing him to lead her out of the French doors and into the sunlight. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen black flowers before. Show them to me.”
“There are no black flowers, Tom,” the Commander chastised. “You mustn’t tell untruths.”
Oh, please! Nicole rolled her eyes and wondered if the man had any memory at all of being young and full of wonder at a world whose magic was limited only by the scope of imagination.
“Purple,” Tommy said obligingly. “Very purple. I prefer purple flowers.”
“You prefer?” Nicole laughed for what seemed the first time in years.
“He uses some very adult words at times,” the Commander said. “Then, for no reason, he suddenly reverts to baby talk which I must admit I find annoying.”
You would, she thought. You’d prefer him to take a giant leap from infancy to adulthood, with nothing in between to cushion the transition. “They all do, Commander, at this age. It’s not uncommon and he’ll stop a lot sooner if we don’t make a big deal about it.”
“You might be right, I suppose.”
“I am right,” she assured him. “Trust me, I’ve handled enough four-year-olds to know.”
He inclined his head in what she supposed was agreement and removed a key from a ring he withdrew from his pocket. “I’ll leave the two of you to become better acquainted. If you’d like to go down to the beach, there are steps at the end of the property but you’ll need this to get through the gate. Please be sure you lock it behind you when you come back. I don’t want the boy going down there unsupervised. The tides are treacherous.”
He stood on the patio and watched them a moment or two then turned back to the house at the sound of a woman’s voice, too silvery to be Janet’s, calling his name. Nicole heard the deep rumble of his response and a waterfall of feminine laughter drift out on the still air. Who was the visitor? she wondered. The woman in his life?
She hoped so. The more he was occupied with other affairs, the less time he would have to interfere in her relationship with Tommy.
She looked down at the child by her side and felt her heart swell with love. He was blond and blue-eyed, like his mother. His skin was soft and fine, his cheeks pink, his sturdy little legs slightly suntanned.
Nicole wanted to hug him fiercely to her, to kiss him and tell him that she loved him, but reminded herself that although she knew everything about him, he knew nothing of her. Such a display of affection would make him uneasy and the last thing she wanted was for the Commander to pick up on that and decide she wasn’t suited to the job, after all.
They came to the gate, set in a brick wall at the cliff’s edge. There were a hundred and eighty-eight steps leading down the other side, winding under trees bent by winter gales into weird and wonderful shapes, and protected on each side by a split cedar railing.
When they reached the bottom, Tommy tugged his hand free and raced away from her across the sand, sheer exuberance in every line of his perfect little body.
“I will take care of him, Arlene,” Nicole whispered, never taking her eyes off him. “You and I were robbed of twenty-five years of knowing we were sisters but I will make sure your son never forgets you. Your baby will be safe with me.”
It was the most sacred promise she’d ever made, one she’d hold to no matter what the cost.
