Page 21 of The Christmas Nanny

We turned to the front entrance and stopped.

“Christine and Jacob?”

“Yes,” Jacob said. He held my hand, affection not lost on the man waiting for us. “He looks like a whole lot of fun,” Jacob whispered. “And you, by the way, look ravishing.”

Chest puffed out, chin tucked in, hands behind his back. The man waited impatiently for us to approach. We were a part of his day he would rather do without. “Please follow me inside to the foyer,” he said with a thick British accent. We followed, smiling, trying to hold back a laugh. He needed some air out of his stuffiness. I realized then that one of us would be working with him. That sounded like a barrel of fun.

Inside, he told us to have a seat. “Mr Quartermain is in a meeting,” he said to me. “He will be done shortly.” He glanced at his watch and turned to Jacob. “Mrs Quartermain will be right out. She’s just finishing her workout.”

We watched the man disappear down the hall, leaving us alone.

“I don’t get it?” I shifted uncomfortably. I hated surprises, and whatever the Quartermains were doing was a surprise. “They aren’t interviewing us together?”

Jacob shrugged. “I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Maybe they’re meeting with us individually and then making a decision.”

“I don’t like it,” I said. “Rich people play too many games.” I stood to leave. “I’ve been abused enough by their kind, and this was a stupid idea anyway.”

“You’re not leaving,” Jacob said. “Not after making me stay.” He held my hand again. “Let’s stay just for shits and giggles. Play their game, and then walk out the door together. The All-American boy and All-American girl.” He smiled, and his eyes shined. He was beginning to remind me of the Ken doll I had as a child. But an All-American boy doesn’t have a basement full of porn, sex toys, and sex furniture. “Okay,” I relented.

“What do you know about their kid or kids?” Jacob asked, and I shrugged.

“I assume they go to the Meckler Private School, where all the other rich kids go. Most rich kids make it into the news for bad behavior, but I’ve never seen anything on the Quartermain kid or kids.”

“So we don’t know how many or ages?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t even thought to look it up on the Internet. “The more I think about it, the more none of this makes sense. People like the Quartermains know other people who have used nanny services. Why not go in that direction? Why post an ad for a bunch of strangers to apply?”

“We gotta let this play out and see what happens.” He squeezed my hand. “Regardless, I’m still making you dinner tonight.”

My stomach rumbled, and I realized I’d forgotten to eat breakfast. At least I wouldn’t throw up if I got too nervous.

“Maybe I should have made you breakfast,” Jacob said. Hearing footsteps down the hall, Jacob released my hand. “I think it’s go time.”

“Christine Nightingale?” The man was immaculate and God-like. His suit was custom-fitted, and his tan stood out against the neck of his white shirt. He wore a Rolex and shiny shoes. He shook my hand, grip tight, hand warm. He had charm on top of charm. “Charles Quartermain.” Jacob cleared his throat, but Quartermain ignored him. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll get started.”

Jacob shook his head and whispered good luck. I felt terrible that Quartermain had not at least acknowledged him.

“Some nasty weather we had last night,” Quartermain said as he walked two steps before me. That’s what men in power did. It was their way of showing they owned you. I sped up and walked by his side. He chuckled and kept a brisk pace. “We’ll start in here,” he said, and we stopped. He opened the door and entered. I followed like a good plebe. “Have a seat in front of the desk, and we’ll get this started.”

I wanted to tell him how nice the office was but figured he already knew that. I gawked at the room but said nothing. The leather chair I sat in had a warmer in the seat and back. I thought I might never get up; it felt that good. Various statues sat around the room on the floor, shelves, and bookcases. The place reminded me of a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City when I was in high school. I guessed nothing Quartermain had in his office was a replica.

Quartermain sat at his desk and pulled a folder from a drawer. He slid the folder across the desk and leaned back, looking down his nose at me. “Have a look,” he said. “I like to do my homework.”

I opened the folder and found my picture paperclipped to a stack of papers. “Okay?”

“It’s a full background check on you. Everything.” He looked proud of himself, but I’d fully expected them to do a background check. “If you flip further back in the report, you’ll see a list of men you ‘worked for.’”

I moved the folder away. “How’d you find that information?” I stood to leave, totally taken aback by the information he had. It felt like I was being cornered.

“Sit down, Christine. We aren’t done with the interview.”

I did as told and immediately regretted giving him that power. I quit allowing men to treat me like that a long time ago. No, I didn’t. Jeremy treated me like that all the time.

Quartermain got up and walked around the room. “I need to know everything about every person that enters my home, especially those I entrust with my child. I need to know what's going on in between your ears. I need to know if a competitor has sent you to gather information. That file culminates everything I need to know about Christine Nightingale.”

So, the Quartermains only had one child. That was a relief. I thought for sure he’d want to know what was going on between my legs more than between my ears. Wasn’t that what the last part of the folder was about?

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