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“She has to be mature,” Jason added the first requirement, “as in experienced and not fresh out of college.”
“Experience yes, age is irrelevant surely.” She raised her eyebrows.
Jason crossed his legs at the ankles and lounged in his armchair. “Age brings experience. Previous work experience, preferably with families use to protection issues, security, and privacy.”
Seated opposite on a sofa, she picked up her notepad and pen and jotted down:
Experienced, no spotty teenagers allowed.
“So you want a royal nanny then or the prime minister’s?”
“That’s the kind of calibre, yes. The best. Not me, Gemma, us.”
She added:
Security conscious. Ask PM or Queen for advice.
“How much do we tell her about us then? The lair, everything, or a watered-down version?” Gemma wanted this to be his decision not hers.
“Her? I suppose that nannies are generally hers. If she is open-minded, non-judgemental, and doesn’t bible bash, then there is no reason not to reveal all. Mrs Harris copes, as does the security team, I assume. They haven’t resigned.”
“Religion? You going to make religion a question?” Gemma sighed. The prospective interviews filled her with dread.
“You don’t find many devout Christians practising BDSM. At least I don’t know any.”
“Well, I have. Few, I admit, but I gather the Bible is very hot on discipline and chastisement. The Old Testament that is.”
She added:
No fundamentalists or extreme views on anything.
“Perhaps a Jewish nanny would be suitable. Can we move on to the next point? Preferably a nanny without her own children.”
Lowering her notepad, Gemma stared at Jason in disbelief. Now he didn’t want a nanny with kids of her own! “Surely it would mean they have relevant experience. I would like some realistic advice, not just words from some mums-and-baby magazine.”
“Do you want a nanny who has to choose between our son or running home to look after her sick children or picking them up from school?” he rebutted.
“I’d assume they wouldn’t do the work if they had their own childcare issues. We’re not after a childminder. I was thinking Mary Poppins. Including the magic bag.”
“Grown-up children are fine, those that have flown the nest.”
Another scribble on the notepad:
No family conflicts, preferably a nanny who ignores her own children’s cries for help and adores ours.
“You’re narrowing the search a great deal, Jason. I’ve a list of agencies a mile long, but they don’t check these criteria. Screening is going to be tricky.”
“We’ll create a short list, and Martinson can do background checks.”
“Vetting? They’ll have references, testimonials, criminal-record checks anyway.”
“More thorough than that. I’m not having a repeat of Angelica and her thieving brother.” Jason referred to the cleaner who had been sacked for stealing jewellery and, more critically for Jason, had enticed his wife into a moment of stupidity. Gemma had given the girl, an undeclared submissive, a spanking in their bedroom when Angelica had deliberately broken a precious ornament.
Angelic, not Angelica.
Gemma puffed out her lips. Her back ached, and she had the beginnings of a headache lurking behind her temples. Having help looking after your child
was a privilege, but she didn’t want a nanny to take over or become a substitute grandparent. She wanted a friend to keep her company while Jason worked or was abroad. Someone to talk to when she went out shopping for baby clothes or pushing a pram and not somebody in a matron’s uniform with a prim-and-proper attitude to discipline and behaviour.
