A Nanny In The Family. Catherine Spencer
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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