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“Who is going to have the final say on this? Because I just want to find someone I like and feel comfortable around. I’d rather manage on my own than have a Mrs Squeers or that scary nanny in The Omen.”
She massaged her forehead, willing away the throbbing sensation. She wished the whole nanny thing away.
“Are all your opinions of people based on fictional characters?” Jason rolled his eyes to the plasterwork in the ceiling. Refocusing them on Gemma, he added, “This is a joint decision. We have to both agree. I’m not going to force someone on you that you don’t like.”
Nothing fictional. A real person.
Her list reflected her deflating mood. Jason stared at her, his intense blue-eyed gaze forming the epicentre of his face. It meant he was assessing her. Gripping the pen, she added another line to the bottom of the list. Standing up, he came and stood over her.
“I’m taking you to bed. I expect you think you’re looking very unappealing to me, but that’s not the case. You’re my lovely pregnant wife who needs a good fuck. Come.”
It was one of those not-to-be-ignored requests, and she held out her hand to be helped up.
“Bend your bloody knees. You’ve still got a couple of months to go; you’re not that incapable,” he chided her.
Gemma didn’t think his plans in bed were going to be about solely pleasing him. She perked up and heaved herself out of the chair. “Be nice to me, Sir,” she bleated.
“Oh, I will be nice to you. Don’t worry. You know there are lots of ways I can be nice to you.” The heat rose from her chest into her cheeks.
As she headed towards the door, he picked up her notepad. She knew he couldn’t resist checking what she had written.
“Gemma. I don’t think you’re taking this nanny business very seriously, are you?” He waved the notepad in the air.
“They’re my notes, not yours. I don’t think I’m going to forget this conversation if I look at what I’ve written,” she explained. In amongst the baby’s kicks, she sensed the flutter of butterflies waiting to be released the moment he laid a finger on her.
His face broke out with a white-toothed smile. “Nor am I, babe. Especially if you write comments like that.”
He dropped the notepad on the coffee table, her scrawled last line visible across the bottom of the page:
I am your MILF
Chapter 9. Nannies
The first interview Gemma conducted for the post of nanny resulted in a resounding negative outcome. The young woman epitomised everything that didn’t fit Gemma’s odd list of requirements, and it was clear the applicant was too young and inexperienced. The prospective nanny couldn’t stop gaping at the house and decor, so much so Gemma had to repeat each question at least twice to get her attention. When asked about her experience of families with security issues, the inattentive nanny replied her last family had stair gates on all their doors.
Gemma went back to the agencies and told them to pull their fingers out. Deciding the best nannies might already be in employment she asked around, hoping to rely on word of mouth. Starting with her friend, Judith, who gave her other names and so on until she’d compiled a new list.
The chain of contacts led to Clara Davies. A divorcee with two sons, one on a gap year and the other at university. Forty-five years old, she lived about halfway between their two houses on an underground line. Most importantly for Gemma, she had experience with high-profile families, including a celebrity of notoriety. Clara Davies on paper ticked all the boxes and Jason’s head of security, Martinson, had failed to find any criminal or other unsavoury anomalies, therefore Gemma suggested Jason ought to meet her, too.
A Friday morning interview was arranged at half past nine, allowing Jason the chance to meet the candidate before going to work. The nanny arrived promptly and negotiated the security protocols without becoming flummoxed, unlike her predecessor, who’d been unable to work the intercom system.
Opening the door, Gemma greeted a rather plain woman with short, curly dyed-brown hair. A flushed face with the appearance of middle-aged wrinkles. She wore a long skirt and knitted top with scarf and hat; it gave her a homely demeanour. A bracing wind accompanied her arrival.
“Mrs Davies. Please come in out of the cold.”
She peered over Gemma’s shoulder, examining the hallway. “Clara, please.”
“Would you like tea or coffee?” Nothing so far set off alarm bells—an ordinary-looking woman.
“Tea, please. Milk, no sugar.” A voice deeper than Gemma expected. She left Clara waiting while she went to the kitchen to arrange tea with Brooks.
When they entered the drawing room, Jason rose, tossed aside whatever he had been reading on to the sofa. Thankfully for Gemma, he’d seemed to be in a good frame of mind, chatting over breakfast and admiring her bump. She’d made sure of his mood by being attentive to him in the way that worked best; she’d had sex with him. They had the time since he wasn’t rushing off to work.
He shook the nanny’s hand and offered her a seat. Clara laced her fingers together on her lap. Gemma sat next to Jason on the sofa, picked up her notepad, and flicked through until she found her page of questions.
She exchanged pleasantries with Clara about her journey, and the nanny asked about Gemma’s pregnancy. When Brooks arrived with a tray, Clara accepted the tea without comment. Another good sign in Gemma’s books. The presence of domestic staff didn’t overawe her.
Gemma and Clara batted back and forth questions and answers, while Jason remained mute. Yes, nodded Clara, divorced, her husband remarried and living in the north. She could babysit in the evenings, given notice. Weekends, she could help, too, if needed, her life more flexible now that her youngest son had gone. Gemma formed the impression the older woman was lonely, happy to be out and about and not at home.
