The Nanny (30 page)

‘You’re not going to win,’ Marc snarls. ‘I’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of lying, conniving, psychotic mother you are.’

How could I have lived with this man, slept with him, had children with him, and never realized what kind of selfish, cruel person he was?

‘If you do that,’ I say, ‘they’ll have to know exactly what kind of father you are too. No court is ever going to—’

‘Who said anything about going to court?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Have you checked the children lately?’

‘Marc, what do you mean?’ I demand urgently. ‘Where are you?’

‘Don’t they have Baby Swim every Monday, Clare? At the Hurlingham?’

The blood starts pumping in my veins again. He’s at the Hurlingham Club, in Fulham. Which means he isn’t here, at the house, where the twins are, because they were both feverish this
morning and I had to keep them home.

Thank God.
Thank God thank God thank God.

I run up the front steps and unlock the door. ‘I’m calling my lawyer,’ I tell Marc. ‘I’m letting him know you threatened to take the children. You’ll be lucky
to get supervised visits after this.’

I snap my phone shut. In the kitchen, I hear the twins’ happy babble, and Jenna’s voice as she chatters to them.

I sag against the wall. I don’t know if Marc really would have tried to snatch the children, or if he was just taunting me. What would he have done with them, where would he have gone?
With no money and nowhere to stay, he’d have run out of options very quickly. But Marc doesn’t always think things through. He might have been tempted to do something stupid. It
wouldn’t be the first time. Thank God he didn’t get the chance.

Straightening up, I go into the kitchen, where Poppy is happily splattering puréed parsnips over the table. I give her a deep hug, not caring that my suit will need to be dry-cleaned.

‘Everything OK?’ Jenna enquires.

‘It is now.’ I release Poppy, and brush crumbs from my jacket. ‘Where’s Rowan? Down for a nap?’

‘Actually, after you left, he seemed much better. I don’t think he had a temperature at all; it was normal when I took it, anyway.’ She lifts Poppy out of her seat. ‘I
didn’t want him to miss out, so I took him to Baby Swim after all.’

‘What are you doing here?’ I demand.

‘Stalking you.’

‘Seriously, Xan.’

‘Seriously, Jenna.’

‘Don’t mess about. If Clare sees us, she’ll go nuts.’

Xan snorts. ‘If she sees us doing
what
? Chatting in broad daylight outside Marks and Sparks?’

He has a point.

‘However,’ he says, pulling me into his arms and giving me a knicker-wetting snog I can feel in my toes, ‘if she saw us doing
this
, I could understand the
problem.’

When I finally come up for air, I’m slightly surprised to see the twins gurgling happily in their double buggy beside me. It takes me a moment to realize I’m standing in the middle
of Kensington High Street, not smouldering between the sheets at Xan’s
pied-à-terre
.

He releases me, and pats down his pockets for a packet of cigarettes. ‘Jenna, we need to talk.’

Four words you never want to hear: from your lover or your boss.

Shit. I knew it wasn’t going to last, but I’d hoped it was going to last a bit
longer
.

‘I can’t talk now,’ I say, as Rowan wails loudly. ‘The twins need lunch.’

‘Come over tonight. I’m . . . going out of town tomorrow. I won’t be back for a while.’

Clare’s not going to like it, especially at such short notice. Marc’s working late again, and she hates staying in on her own. Well, tough. I may work for her, but she’s not
the boss of me. I
am
entitled to go out in the evening if I want to. Even if it is just to get dumped.

‘I’ll see you at eight,’ I tell Xan.

‘Fine. Look, Jenna—’

I wait.

He shrugs negligently. ‘Forget it.’

I turn the push-chair around and start to head back home, wondering if Xan really
did
follow me, or if meeting him was just coincidence. I wouldn’t put anything past him.

Maybe he’s decided to tell Clare about us
, I think hopefully. We get on really well most of the time, though he can be a bit moody. He’ll be laughing and joking around, and
then suddenly he goes all weird and quiet, like his dog’s just died. Five minutes later he’s fine again. It’s kind of hot, never knowing where you are with him, but it’s
exhausting, too. There are times you just want to have dinner and a movie and keep the drama on the screen.

I glance at the sky. It’s overcast, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain. I think we’ve got time to nip into Kensington Gardens to feed the ducks.

I park the push-chair by the Round Pond and dig around in the basket beneath for the Ziploc bag of stale bread I brought with us. A bit further along, a couple are sitting on a park bench, deep
in conversation. She drops her head, as if to hide tears, and as I watch he lifts her chin with his finger. He talks to her, straightening her collar as if she’s a child, and the unexpected
tenderness of the gesture takes my breath away. It takes me a full minute to register that the woman is Clare, and another few seconds to place the man as Cooper Garrett.

I fling the bread bag back in the buggy and quickly release the brake. I feel clumsy and embarrassed, as if I’ve walked in on her naked.

I can’t believe it.
Clare
, of all people. Not that I blame her; Marc’s a total wanker. But she’s always been so serious and sensible and so . . . so
Julie
Andrews
.

Flowers. Secret assignations in the park. Oh, Mrs Elias, what
are
you up to?

I smile to myself, startling a couple of old dears walking their dogs.
You go, girl
. I can kind of see why Clare might fancy Cooper: even though he’s pretty old, he’s still
got this really cool, all-action-hero thing going on. It’s quite sexy, in a way. You can imagine him in
The Poseidon Adventure
, leading everyone out of the ship. Marc’s more
like the rich loser on
The Titanic
, bribing the steward to let him escape with the women.

Clare’s late home from work: getting her brains shagged out, if she’s got any sense. Which she probably hasn’t. She’s just the type to fall madly in love, and then ruin
it all by developing a conscience.

I put the twins to bed, and race to get ready for Xan. On the off-chance he’s
not
going to dump me, I want to look sensational.

I’m struggling into a bone-crushing, corset-style top and figure-hugging jeans when I finally hear the sound of a key in the lock. It’s followed by a string of words I wouldn’t
want the twins to hear until they’re at least twenty-one.

I yank my zip up and run down to open the front door.

‘What the fuck is wrong with the lock?’ Marc yells.

‘It’s my fault,’ I pant. ‘I shut us out, and Clare had to get the locksmith round. You’ve got one of those mega-security locks so he couldn’t just cut new
keys, he had to drill out the whole—’

Marc pushes past me. ‘Whatever. Where is she?’

‘She’s not home yet.’ I glance nervously at the hall clock. ‘I’m supposed to be going out soon . . .’

‘Don’t worry. Go. I’ll be here.’ He smiles unpleasantly. ‘I need to talk to my wife.’

I don’t like the way he said that. I run upstairs, hoping he hasn’t caught her out. Aside from the fact that she deserves a bit of fun, if they split, I’m the one who’ll
probably end up out of a job. The first casualty of marital warfare is always the nanny. The husband is convinced you’re on the wife’s side (which you are, of course; unless
you’re shagging him. Men are so bloody lazy. Why look for totty elsewhere when it’s right there under your own roof?), and wives never believe you aren’t shagging the husband
(which you often are, of course. If he can afford to hire a nanny, he can afford serious jewellery). Either way, you’re fucked.

I yank open my wardrobe. Never mind Clare’s love life; right now I need to worry about mine. I’ll be claiming my pension by the time Xan can get these jeans off. I need something
more . . . accessible.

I finally settle on a short, sexy LBD, silver heels and no bra. Clare would say the outfit’s tarty. Clare has far too high an opinion of men’s taste, if you ask me.

‘You look bloody sensational,’ Xan says admiringly, when he answers his front door. ‘Can I actually see your nipples through that top?’

‘I put lipstick on them specially.’

‘Bloody hell. I can’t wait to get you into bed.’

I follow him into the lounge. He already has a bottle of champagne on ice; I can’t help but notice the way his hands shake as he opens it. My stomach plunges. Marc’s right. Xan must
have a real drink problem to have the DTs like that. It might be better if he does give me the elbow. I don’t want to break my heart trying to dry him out.

And he would. Break my heart, I mean.

He hands me a crystal flute. I stare at the tiny bubbles shooting skyward, the glass sweating in my hand. You don’t open a bottle of champagne without a good reason.

At least he’s got the guts to do it in person, rather than by answer-machine.

‘You’re dumping me, aren’t you?’ I say calmly.

Xan hesitates. ‘Yes,’ he says finally. ‘I would have put it differently, but—’

‘The result’s the same.’ I raise my glass. ‘Cheers. Look, Xan, it’s OK. I’m not going to make a scene.’

‘Jenna, this has nothing to do with you. At least . . . of course it’s to do with you, but not in the way you think.’ He sighs. ‘I don’t expect you to understand
now, but I’m doing this
for
you.’ He sits on the leather chesterfield, and pats the sofa next to him for me to join him. I put my glass down and he pulls me into the crook of
his shoulder, rubbing my back. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I really wish I didn’t have to do this. You know how much I like you, right?’

I shrug, ashamed to find tears clogging my throat.

‘Oh, sweetheart. This sucks, doesn’t it?’ He turns my head and tilts my face up, in a gesture strangely reminiscent of Cooper in the park. I blink furiously. ‘I’m
crazy about you, Jenna. If things weren’t such a bloody mess, I’d have probably ended up marrying you. If you’d have had me, of course.’

I summon a wan smile. ‘Big “if”.’

‘Good girl.’

‘Is this . . . is this because of Clare?’

‘Clare?’ He looks genuinely astonished. ‘You think I’d throw away the best thing that’s ever happened to me because my sister might get her knickers in a twist? I
couldn’t give a toss what anyone thinks, you should know that by now. She’d have come round, anyway. Clare’s got a good heart. She might have been a bit sniffy for a while, but
she’d have got over it.’

‘Xan, you’re not making any sense—’

‘I know. I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t fucking understand myself. Trust me, self-sacrifice is not in my nature.’ He picks up my glass and hands it back to me.
‘Come on, darling. Drink up.’

‘I realize this is a silly question,’ I say, ‘but I went to a lot of trouble to squeeze into this dress. I don’t suppose you’d like to help me out of it?’

Xan nearly chokes on his champagne.

‘Oh, come on.’ I reach for his belt buckle. ‘Didn’t you know the condemned woman is entitled to a last shag?’

‘You, my girl, are a total slut,’ he whispers, pulling down my dress and fastening his mouth on my nipple.

I free his cock. ‘Tart.’

‘Tease.’

‘Bastard.’

‘I love you,’ he sighs.

‘I love you too,’ I breathe.

I don’t know which of you is worse,’ Kirsty says. ‘Clare, for not throwing that tosser out months ago when she found out he’d nicked millions off her,
or you for letting her brother dump you and then shagging the arse off him anyway.’

‘At least I got an orgasm out of it,’ I say. ‘Three, actually.’

‘So, are you two back together?’

I prop myself up on my elbow and pick fretfully at her duvet cover. ‘Not really. Friends with benefits, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t get it. I know he likes me. He made this
big song and dance about not wanting to break up with me, but then he goes and does it anyway.’