Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
She can’t still be in the loo. Covered in mud and suffering digestive distress? That’s a bridge too far. I head down the corridor and find the loo door closed. Bowel issues, of course. I roll my eyes. That’s it. There’s absolutely no point in even having a conversation with this woman.
A sweet singing voice trills down the corridor. I’ve never heard the temporary nanny sing, but I think I remember that music is supposed to be good for babies’ brain development. I follow the sound to Guinevere’s makeshift nursery, determined to ask whether it might be prudent to switch from a jaunty lullaby to Mozart, only to find a no-longer-mud-caked Ms. Cadogan holding Guinevere over her shoulder, singing to her.
She catches sight of me and her already wide smile deepens.
“You have the most beautiful daughter.” The mud has gone from her cheek and she’s taken off her coat. Her hair isn’t exactly tidy, but she’s less disheveled than she looked when she came to the door. “She’s just precious.” She lays Guinevere back in her cot, now fast asleep, the crying stopped.
The temporary nanny bustles back into the room. “Sorry, sir, just had to go to the toilet.” She peers at the baby. “She’s sleeping?”
Eira smiles. “Of course. That song will put any child to sleep.” She narrows her eyes, but they still…kinda…sparkle. “It’s my secret weapon.” She winks at me. “Shall we?”
For a split second I wonder what’s she’s talking about, and then I remember she’s here for an interview.
“I hope you don’t mind, but my brothers are going to join us. They have more experience with this kind of thing.”
“It’s not a problem,” she says, floating past me as if this is her house and she knows exactly where she’s going.
The four of us settle in the sitting room, Eira by the window on the Barcelona chair, while the three of us sit opposite her on the sofa. Eira is handling the questions well. She doesn’t seem intimidated by the three of us and volleys the answers to our questions back to us like she’s Markéta Vondroušová.
“Your background is very impressive,” Vincent says. “What’s been your favorite job?”
She smiles. “There hasn’t been a job I haven’t enjoyed, but I suppose I like the ones where I feel I’m helping the most. I’ve been in some positions where I’m one of four nannies working around the clock, seven days a week, and I never feel like I have the same impact as when I’m the only nanny.”
“Four nannies?” A slither of panic lodges itself in my chest. Should I have more than one nanny for Guinevere? A weekend nanny sounds like a good idea. I haven’t thought that far ahead.
Vincent reaches for his coffee and manages to send mine flying all over the coffee table.
“Shit,” he says, holding his hand under the table, waiting to catch any drips on the carpet.
I look around, trying to find a cloth or something. “I’ll get some kitchen roll.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eira stand, but I dash out of the room.
When I return with a roll of kitchen towel, Eira is on her hands and knees at the coffee table. “There now—crisis averted. That’s the best kind of crisis.” She laughs and stands. “Let me find a bin for these tissues.”
“I’ll take them,” I offer, but she brushes past me to the kitchen. “The bin is under the sink,” I call after her.
She returns to the living room, and I can detect the scent of my handwash. Maybe she’s not as messy as I first thought. “There.” She grins as she retakes her seat. Her cheeks are flushed as if she’s just come in from the cold and her eyes are full of mischief. “Nannies always have tissues in their handbags. Along with a thousand other things.”
“A regular Mary Poppins,” Jacob says, and finally the sense of familiarity clicks. The coat, the umbrella, the bag, the…eye sparkle.
“Our patron saint,” Eira says, not missing a beat.
Jacob is clearly delighted, evidenced by his next question. “When would you be able to start?”
I clear my throat, trying to wrestle back control of the interview. Despite what Jacob thinks, this isn’t his decision. “We’re obviously seeing other candidates.”
“I’m available immediately,” she responds. “When are you looking for someone to begin?”
“Is today too soon?” Vincent asks.
“Vincent!” I growl under my breath.
Eira laughs, but I don’t feel she’s laughing at me—more like she thinks we’re incorrigible. “Why don’t I leave you to have a chat amongst yourselves and you can call the agency. I’ll see myself out.”
Maybe it’s because she lives in other people’s houses, but she seems so comfortable. As if there’s nothing she could come across that would ruffle her feathers. She beams at the three of us as she stands, and I watch her, trying to figure her out.