What the Nanny Saw (22 page)

“You’re talking about my sister,” said Bryony without conviction. It was unclear to Ali whether she agreed with Nick or was trying to avoid further argument.

“Be careful that Hester doesn’t exploit you,” said Bryony, turning to Ali. “I’ll lay the ground rules, but she’ll probably try and redefine them.” Ali nodded, unsure what to say.

Nick chipped in. “Hester likes to go off on her high horse about people who take their nannies on holiday and then offloads her children all the time. She seems to develop a headache at exactly the same time every day.”

It was widely acknowledged among members of the family that Hester was “difficult” and Rick was known as “the drudge.” At first Ali thought this meant he was boring, but over the past twelve months she had realized that a drudge was someone who simply espoused ideals that didn’t fit with the rest of the family. Although Rick was defined by what he didn’t believe in (private schools, four-by-fours, having dogs in London, skiing, designer clothes, cleaners, Tesco, and salmon farms) rather than what he believed in.

“Why did she marry him?” Bryony had once asked Nick.

“To take revenge on your family,” Nick had joked.

Bryony continued with arrangements. Jake had already arrived with his girlfriend, Lucy. She paused for a moment, as if considering how this newcomer might fit into the family map. Lucy’s status was undergoing some kind of transition since Jake’s request to bring her on holiday.

“What’s she like?” Nick asked Ali. “You’ve seen more of her than we have.”

“Who?”

“What is Jake’s girlfriend like?” repeated Nick.

A year ago Ali’s description of Lucy might have included an account of her blue eyes, waist-length blond hair, and impeccable manners, and she might have hinted at the slightly strange flirtatious manner she adopted with Foy. She now understood that a brief précis of her social background was the required response.

“She seems very nice,” said Ali. “Her father is a doctor, I think he might be a neurologist, and her mother has an interior design company.”

If Nick was in a better mood she might have added that Lucy was the sort of girl who saw university primarily as a hunting ground to find a rich husband and that it might be sensible to warn Jake of her intentions.

“She’s the perfect starter girlfriend,” said Bryony approvingly, “although I could do without the public displays of affection. I hope they’ve managed to restrain themselves in front of Mum and Dad.”

“Can Thomas and Leo come and stay with us in Corfu one day?” asked Alfie.

“Only if they come with their nanny, not their parents,” Bryony joked. “You know their nanny quite well, don’t you, Ali?”

“Yes,” said Ali cautiously, knowing that as much as Bryony enjoyed hearing gossip about other families, she didn’t like to be reminded how this information was obtained. She searched for a suitably neutral comment.

“Katya has been very helpful,” she said.

“She’s been with Sophia for years,” said Bryony, as if Ali might not know this already.

“She’s gorgeous-looking,” Nick chipped in. “I’m not sure Foy’s heart would hold up with her lounging around the pool in a bikini.”

“She is very beautiful,” agreed Bryony.

“When God created woman, he had Katya in mind,” said Nick.

“Hmmm,” said Bryony vaguely.

“She’s also a great cook,” Nick added.

“How do you know all this?” asked Bryony.

“Ned told me,” said Nick.

“When do you see him?” Bryony asked.

“I bump into him sometimes. In the street,” said Nick.

“She’s very good with the children, isn’t she?” asked Bryony, turning to Ali.

“Yes,” said Ali, although she loves Thomas more than Leo, she thought to herself.

“Who is Thomas’s real mummy, Sophia or Katya?” asked Hector thoughtfully.

“Sophia,” said Bryony and Ali simultaneously.

“Why?” said Alfie.

“Because she is the person who grew him in her tummy,” explained Bryony carefully. “She is the person who loves and cherishes him most and makes sure that he has enough clothes and eats well.”

“Katya feeds Thomas and gets him dressed and takes him to school,” said Alfie. “And when Sophia’s not there he sleeps in her bed.”

“And she gives him milk,” said Hector.

“Yes, but Sophia buys the food,” said Bryony impatiently.

“Katya does the milk,” argued Hector, as though milk was the sacrament through which motherhood was channeled.

“Sophia is the mummy,” said Bryony firmly. She circled her tongue around her cheek a couple of times, a gesture Ali had come to recognize as a sign that Bryony was either nervous or losing patience.

“Ali,” said Hector, “which animal do you think has the worst life?”

“An animal that is used to having freedom and then loses it,” Ali suggested.

“Like a young student who comes to London to work as a nanny to a demanding professional family with four children,” joked Nick.

“I was thinking more of a lion that is captured to live with a circus, perhaps,” said Ali cheerfully. Actually, she felt freer living with the Skinners than she had ever done before, mostly because she no longer had to answer to the demands of her own parents whenever there was an emergency with her sister.

“A Greek cat,” proffered Nick.

“A South Korean dog,” suggested Bryony.

“You’re all wrong,” said Alfie triumphantly.

“A tapeworm,” the twins said simultaneously, “because it lives in your poo and can only escape through your bottom.” They giggled wildly.

“I don’t think a tapeworm qualifies as an animal, does it, Ali?” said Nick.

“It’s an arthropod, which means it has its skeleton on the outside,” Ali explained to the twins. “But it’s still part of the animal kingdom.”

“If I had a tapeworm, could I keep it as a pet?” asked Hector.

The Land Rover slowly meandered around another corner. This one was so sharp that the driver was forced to make a three-point turn. Leicester woke up and jumped on Bryony’s lap, took one look out of the window and turned round to Bryony as if to ask what she was doing bringing him here. He started to shake.

“Can you turn down the air-conditioning for Leicester?” Bryony asked. “I think he’s cold.”

Ali put her hand out to stroke him, but he emitted a low throaty growl of grumpy disapproval.

“God, couldn’t we have sent him to the Philippines with Malea?” asked Nick.

“Too humid,” said Bryony, as if it had been a possibility. “So how is your week looking?”

She put away her BlackBerry and tickled Leicester behind his ears. This was the signal for Ali to slip into the background. The first six months she had fluffed these cues, but now her entrances and exits were as well stage-managed as those of a spear carrier who has done a couple of seasons with the Royal Shakespeare Company. She used to feel put down when Nick and Bryony started talking as though she wasn’t there. Now she saw it as a sign of confidence: their trust in her discretion.

“Not good,” said Nick, craning his neck to turn to face Bryony in the seat directly behind him, “although some of my colleagues might be pleased to see the back of me.”

“Why?” she asked.

“They think I’m losing my nerve,” said Nick with a smile that quickly faded. “Where I see impending meltdown, they see opportunity.”

“People don’t want to listen to bad news, they just want to keep going with what they know,” Bryony reassured him. “It’s human nature.”

“Every five years something bad happens,” said Nick. “I reminded them that I was around for the Japanese property bubble, the collapse of the peso, the devaluation of the ruble, the dot-com bubble. Do you know what one of the traders said?”

Bryony shook her head. “Tell me,” she said.

“He said I was so old I could probably remember the Dutch tulip crisis,” said Nick. “That was in the seventeenth century.”

“That’s quite funny,” said Bryony.

“He was implying that I’ve lost it,” said Nick. “I’m telling them to slow down the CDO machine or at least insure against losses on every deal, and they want to crank it up. Fucking lunatics. Goldman sold all their mortgage positions at the end of last year and are betting on a crash. Hedge funds are shorting investment banks that are overexposed. They’re betting their share price will go down.”

“You said Lehman’s second-quarter profits were up twenty-seven percent,” Bryony countered.

“It was all M-and-A,” said Nick. “Fixed income was down fourteen percent.”

“Hank Paulson said yesterday that volatile markets are a fact of life and the credit crunch will work its way through the system,” said Bryony. “If the U.S. Treasury secretary is saying that, surely it’s going to be fine. Then you’ll be the clever guys who called it right. Maybe the market has overreacted?”

“Look at the facts, Bryony,” said Nick. “Accredited Home Lenders is going bust. New Century has filed for bankruptcy. Bear Stearns has bailed out two of its hedge funds. Moody’s and S-and-P are cutting credit ratings on bonds backed by subprime mortgages. The only surprise is they didn’t do it earlier, because the U.S. housing market is in the middle of the fastest default rate in history. If the price of bonds and loans is dropping you have to ask if there’s a change in the weather, right?”

“But not right now,” said Bryony, gently stroking on his cheek. “As long as everyone holds their nerve it will be fine. M-and-A was losing steam, and now there’s a couple of deals coming my way.”

“I’m so lucky to be married to a woman who understands what I do,” mused Nick, turning toward Ali as if suddenly aware of her presence. “No one else does.” His right cheek was red from the heat of Bryony’s hand.

Ali was transfixed by this exchange. She rarely saw Bryony and Nick together. They were hardly ever at home at the same time, and when they were, they were either going out or having people over for dinner. Sometimes she wondered whether their relationship existed only in front of an audience.

In the time she had lived at Holland Park Crescent, she had rarely seen them sit down to eat alone together in the evening, although she sometimes came across Bryony eating with Jake and Izzy, especially since the worries about Izzy losing weight. True to her word, after the Christmas party Izzy had taken up dieting with the same zeal that she had once invested in binging, cutting out food groups until all that remained were steamed vegetables.

Ali’s own parents by contrast rarely socialized, and ate together at six o’clock every evening. What did they talk about? Ali tried to remember. Lots of discussion about diminishing crab stocks. The fishermen blamed overfishing, the experts blamed global warming, “because then no one needs to do anything about it,” her father would say bitterly. Whether it was a good thing the crab season had extended until December. They talked about money a lot. Sometimes her parents talked about Jo. A friend of her father’s had seen her in Norwich. She had called to say that she would visit and then never turned up. She was thinking about moving abroad for a while.

“The break will give you new perspective. You’ll come up with something. You always do. That’s why those headhunters are always knocking at your door. Nick Skinner is never far from the next big thing,” said Bryony.

“Maybe I should get out now?” said Nick in a jokey tone, but in a way that suggested this wasn’t the first time he had mooted such an idea.

“You’re too young to keep bees,” said Bryony abruptly. “Why don’t you take a look at these?” She pulled out estate agent’s details for a couple of houses in Oxfordshire, the county where Foy had grown up. “I love this one. Thornberry House. It needs a lot of work, but it’s got forty acres and a swimming pool. It will be a great place for you to relax at weekends.”

“Looks great,” said Nick, barely glancing at the enormous Jacobean house.

“You know, I really think Sophia should think about getting another nanny,” said Bryony. “It complicates family relationships if they stay more than four years.”

“Forget the country, I really think we should consider getting our own place out here,” said Nick, as the vehicle turned into the long driveway up toward the Villa Ichthys. “I’m not sure I can face a week with Foy at the Villa Fish.”

“One more good year and we’ll be able to do both,” said Bryony, ignoring the way he facetiously translated the name of her father’s house into English.

•   •   •

“Welcome to the Château Chesterton,”
said Foy exuberantly, as he urged them inside the house through an imposing eighteenth-century doorway that was the entrance to the original olive press. He closed the old oak door behind him, abruptly cutting off the shrill love songs of the male cicadas.

Tita stood in the hallway, pale and statuesque, one hand resting on a simple round wooden table. She put out her cheek to be kissed and allowed first Nick then Bryony to pay homage to its powdery surface. She didn’t bend down for the twins and instead let them kiss her hand, which they did with flourish, taken by the novelty of it all. She was wearing a pair of simple white trousers and a silk Liberty-print caftan that Bryony had given her for Christmas.

“Hello, Daddy,” said Bryony, hugging Foy. He was baked as hard and brown as the earth in the flower beds that flanked the road to the house.

“You look like a lizard,” cried Hector, rushing toward him.

“And you look like a stick insect, and lizards love eating stick insects,” said Foy, nuzzling Hector’s neck.

“You, on the other hand, look gorgeous,” he said, stepping back to admire his eldest daughter. Her phone rang. “Switch off that wretched thing. You’re on holiday.”

“I’m at the tail end of a huge deal,” said Bryony, glancing down at the number. “It’s only Felix. I can call him back.” Ali waited expectantly for Foy to question Bryony about the deal, to ask the name of her client, to discuss which newspaper had devoted the most coverage. “It’s the biggest takeover this year,” Bryony said hopefully. Foy didn’t take the bait.

“All well in the big smoke?” Foy turned to Nick. “Still shuffling all those bits of paper?”

Nick winced.

“What will you have to show for it all at the end?”

“I certainly won’t be able to claim that I introduced smoked salmon to the masses,” said Nick benevolently. “But I have in my own small way enabled millions of people to own their own homes.”