“I know,” he replied in that sexy Irish lilt of his.
“You know? Damn it, Devlin, you can be so annoying sometimes.”
“You’re not a housewife, Em,” he continued in that same calm tone. “You’re a successful working writer. If you want to retire, I’m behind you, but if you want to keep working, yes, we need a nanny. There’s a small nanny school near Dublin. I’d like to look there first.”
“We can’t go to Ireland,” Emily said.
“Ever hear of teleconferencing, my love?” He ducked the blow she aimed at him.
“I’ve got a month before I have to go back to work,” Emily said. “Let’s do it!”
“I’ll set it up,” he promised her.
Two days later Michael Devlin and his wife spoke with the head of the Ballyglen Nanny College at six a.m., which was eleven a.m. in Ireland. Mick had spoken on the phone with Mrs. O’Hara the day before, stating their requirements and setting up this morning’s teleconference.
“I have two young women for you to interview, Mr. and Mrs. Devlin,” Mrs. O’Hara said. Then she peered at them. “Oh, is that one of your twins?”
Emily had been nursing. “Liam Joseph,” she told the woman with a smile.
“Ah, now isn’t that just a lovely”—it sounded like loovily—“name. And the other?”
“Dermid Aaron,” Emily replied.
“Mr. Devlin tells me they are the youngest. You have two toddlers.”
“Yes, Sean Michael and Emlyn Kathleen. Sean is four, in nursery school, and Emlyn is just a year, but walking,” Emily said.
“And there’ll be more, of course,” Mrs. O’Hara said without waiting for an answer. “Well, then, you’ll want to interview the girls. I’ll send them in one at a time.” She pressed a button on her desk, then got up and disappeared from their view. “Come in, Brigid. Sit down in my chair so Mr. and Mrs. Devlin can interview you.”
A tall, thin girl came into view. It was obvious she was very nervous. They asked their questions, then thanked her for her time. She gave them a faint smile and thanked them for the interview. It was obvious she wasn’t enthusiastic.
Their second prospect was a tall, healthy-looking girl with ruddy cheeks, bright green eyes, and a thick head of dark reddish brown hair. “My name is Maureen Flynn,” she said briskly. “I’m twenty-four years old and in good health.”
“Do you mind living in the States, Maureen?” Michael Devlin inquired.
“Mind? I’m excited about it. I hope you haven’t decided on Brigid. She doesn’t want to leave Ireland, but if you offer her the job, Mrs. O’Hara says she has to take it.”
Emily laughed. She already liked this girl. “Do you believe in discipline and structure, Maureen, and what kind of discipline?”
“I certainly do believe in it, Mrs. Devlin,” Maureen answered. “I prefer the time-out, no-dessert method for the wee ones, removal of privileges for the older ones. Children have to learn where their boundaries are if they’re going to be good adults.”
“We live in a small town, Maureen,” Michael Devlin said. “Will you mind that it’s not the exciting big city? You will have a day and a half off each week.”
“I can go into the city then if I want,” Maureen answered him.
“Have you ever looked after a child and lived in before?” Emily inquired.
“No, Mrs. Devlin, I haven’t. This will be my first real job.”
“There are four children, three still in diapers, or nappies, as you call them,” Emily said. “It’s a big job. Do you really think you’re up to it?”
“Sure, and I’m the eldest girl of thirteen, Mrs. Devlin. I’ve been changing nappies since I was two,” Maureen Flynn said pertly.
Her husband was grinning. “We’re going to put you on mute for a moment, Maureen,” he said and pressed the button. Then he turned to Emily. “I think she’s perfect. She’s a big girl with experience who can handle them all, and she’s got common sense. Emlyn will take to her, and so will Sean. Liam and Dermid will know her all their lives, Em. And she’s not too starchy. What do you think?”
“I like her,” Emily responded to her husband’s query. “God, changing diapers since she was two. Poor kid! That must have been some childhood. Living with us will be a vacation, I suspect.”
“It was an Irish Catholic childhood,” he said. “Then we’re agreed. We hire Nanny Maureen?” And when Emily nodded, he unmuted the speaker. “Maureen, we would like to offer you the job,” he told her. “Will you take it?”
“I’d like to go over all the particulars with Mrs. Devlin first, if you don’t mind, sir,” the young Irish woman said. “Just the two of us.”
He was intrigued, but he stood up. “Of course,” he replied. “I’ll look forward to meeting you in person, Maureen Flynn.” Then Mick Devlin left his wife to continue the conversation with the nanny.
“Your salary will be a thousand dollars a week to start, minus Social Security and your unemployment insurance,” Emily began. “You’ll have a health insurance policy, and I’ll expect a letter from your doctor in Ireland attesting to your good health. I’ll give Mrs. O’Hara my fax, phone, and cell phone numbers for you. You’ll want Sundays off, I’m sure, and you can have a half day too each week. It doesn’t have to be the same day each week if you don’t want it to be, but I don’t want to be notified at the last minute. You’ll have your own bedroom with a television, a large closet, and a full bathroom. You can wear your own clothing, but I do expect respectable attire. Any questions so far?”
“Would you be getting the Channel?” Maureen Flynn looked straight at Emily.
“They have it in Ireland?” Then Emily laughed. “Of course they do. But you can’t use it every night, Maureen.”
The girl nodded. “Just enough to keep me on the straight and narrow like a good Catholic lass looking for a good Catholic husband should be.”
“I understand,” Emily said. “When can you come?”
“I’d like two weeks to say good-bye to my family and friends, and to shop,” the girl said. “Oh, one other thing, Mrs. Devlin. Would you be including a signed copy of your book each year in my employment package? I’m a great fan, and especially since you started getting sexier. The Defiant Duchess was just wonderful, but I think I really liked The Wicked Earl’s Bride even better.”
Emily laughed. “I was going to ask if you knew what I did. Here in Egret Pointe everyone knows me and my family. You’ll get to know everyone quickly, but I do prefer my privacy from strangers, and you’ll have to keep people of that sort away from the kids, Maureen. I do work at home, so I’ll be there if you need me. And I have a housekeeper.”
“We take a course in protecting the children of celebrities,” Maureen responded.
“Good. Okay, then, you’re hired if we meet with your approval. Mrs. O’Hara will be sent your tickets. Oh, and we’re paying her fee. You won’t owe her anything.”
Maureen Flynn’s face registered surprise. “Oh, Mrs. Devlin, that is so good of you,” she said. “I certainly didn’t expect it.”
“I want you to be starting fresh, Maureen. New country. New job. New adventures,” Emily replied. “See you in two weeks, then!” She disconnected.
For a long moment Maureen sat in Mrs. O’Hara’s desk chair. Then the old harridan came back into her office.
“Well?” she said. “I know they were disappointed in Brigid, but did they hire you, Maureen Flynn?”
Maureen nodded wordlessly.
“You’re a lucky girl, then,” Mrs. O’Hara said. “When are you to go?”
“I have two weeks to say my good-byes and settle my affairs here in Ireland,” Maureen said. “I’ll go home, and then come back here. Mrs. Devlin says they’ll be sending my tickets to you. And they’re paying my fee to you! You’ll have it all in your pocket in one lump sum, and not be waiting for my money orders every month.”
“We’re both lucky, then,” Mrs. O’Hara said. “Oh, by the way, you’ve passed all your exams.
You and Brigid were at the top of your class, which is why I picked you both to interview. I could tell Brigid didn’t make a good impression. They spent little time with her. What’s the matter with the girl?”
“I don’t think she wants to leave Ireland,” Maureen said honestly. “You should ask her about it, Mrs. O’Hara.”
“More the fool,” the older woman replied. “Working for a bestselling American novelist is a plum assignment. What are the arrangements you made?”
“A thousand each week to begin,” Maureen said, and then went on to explain the terms of her employment. She did not mention the Channel.
Mrs. O’Hara nodded approvingly. “They’re generous,” she noted, “but then there are four children. But, Maureen, if you find you suit, you’ll have employment for the next several years, and in this economy, that’s nothing to sniff about.”
Maureen Flynn went home to her small village in County Monaghan, bringing her widowed mother a little cell phone. “I’ll be calling you every Sunday, Mum,” she promised. Her twelve siblings all gathered to see her off to America. She had four older brothers, five younger ones, and three younger sisters. Seamus, the oldest at thirty, was a priest. Her twenty-two-year-old sister, Mary, was in a local convent aspiring to be a nun. Twenty-year-old Bridget was married, with one child and another on the way. The remainder of her siblings—the youngest of whom was thirteen-year-old Rory—were still at home. The family farmed several acres, raising sheep and cattle, along with the grain needed to feed them. Her father had died just two years prior.
“This place has a church for you, I’m hoping,” Father Seamus said.
“St. Anne’s. Father Porter is the priest in charge. I Googled Egret Pointe.”
Her eldest brother nodded. “Good! Good!” he said.
“You’ll not forget the holy days,” her sister Mary said piously.
“I’ll get to church on Sundays,” Maureen replied, and her sister shook her head.
“These people you’re to work for,” her mother said. “They’re decent Catholics?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” Maureen responded. “Mr. Devlin is from Ireland, born and raised here by his grandmother. I Googled him too. He and his wife are most respectable, Mum. His wife works, which is why they need a nanny.”
“She’d do better to remain home and look after her children,” Mrs. Flynn noted.
“She works from home, Mum. She’s a writer. Writes novels,” Maureen said. “Her name is Emilie Shann.”
“Oh! My! God! Sorry, Mum,” sixteen-year-old Maeve exclaimed as her mother shot her a fierce look. “I just love her books. This is so exciting! You’re working for my favorite author, Mo! You have to write me all about her! Oh, I wish I had a cell phone!”
“Indeed, and who would be paying for such a frivolous thing, my girl?” her mother said sharply. “Where do you get books that aren’t schoolbooks to read?”
“From the library van, Mum. Bridget reads her too. Don’t you, Bridget?”
“It’s nice you have the time to read with your house, your husband, and your children to look after,” Mrs. Flynn said scathingly.
God, Maureen thought. Her mother was such a hard woman. “Give over, Mum.” She attempted to defuse the situation by teasing. “Bridget only has one and a half children right now, so of course she has time to read.”
Her brothers guffawed. Mary giggled. Bridget and Flora smiled.
“A big family is a blessing,” Mrs. Flynn said. “With your brothers here to manage the farm, and Maeve still in school, at least I’m not alone.”
“She thinks when I finish school I’m going to stay home and look after her,” Maeve told Maureen later, when they were alone. “But I’m not! I want to go to university and study to be a teacher. Let one of the boys marry and bring his wife into the house to care for her. I’m going to make something of myself like you, Mo.”
“I’ll help you,” Maureen promised her youngest sister.
She stayed a week with her family, and then went into Dublin to shop for a few bits of clothing to round out her small wardrobe. Back at Ballyglen Nanny College, Mrs. O’Hara had a large packet for her, but to give the woman credit, she hadn’t opened it. However, she insisted it be opened in her office. Maureen complied. Inside the FedEx envelope she found tickets on Aer Lingus, an envelope with five hundred American dollars in it, and a note from her employer saying that it was a signing bonus.
“Very, very generous,” Mrs. O’Hara murmured, impressed. “Let me see your tickets.” She took them, looked, and gasped. “Glory be to God, Maureen Flynn! These are first-class tickets! You’ll be traveling like some swell, and not a plain Irish nanny. I can only hope that you won’t get spoiled with all this fine treatment.”
“No, Mrs. O’Hara,” Maureen said dutifully. She had never flown, but her brother the priest had, and had complained of being packed in like a sardine. A first-class ticket was obviously not sardine class. Secretly she was thrilled. No one in all her life had ever spoiled Maureen Flynn.
The rest of the packet contained a working visa from the U.S. Immigration Service, and a note from Michael Devlin saying that he would pick Maureen up at the airport and drive her home to Egret Pointe. He would be just outside of Customs waiting for her when she came through. A photograph was enclosed with a Post-it note that read, “This is what Mrs. Devlin and I look like.”
“Now that was nice,” Mrs. O’Hara noted, “and quite practical. You’ll not be stolen away by some criminal element.” Then, opening her desk drawer, she pulled out a passport and handed it to Maureen. “This is yours. Remember, I had all the girls in your form get one when you first came to Ballyglen so you would be ready to go when you obtained a job offer.”
“I’m glad,” Maureen said.
A week later a livery car arrived at the nanny college to take Maureen down to Shannon Airport. She climbed into it and sat back, giving Mrs. O’Hara a farewell wave as the car pulled away.
At Shannon a representative from Aer Lingus came to escort Maureen on board her flight. Maureen pretended that this sort of thing happened all the time to her. When she was seated in her window seat, the stewardess informed her that the flight would take off right on time. “I’ve never flown before,” Maureen admitted to the pretty redhead.
The stewardess chuckled. “Well, first-class is certainly a good introduction for you,” she said. “What’s bringing you to the U.S. of A., Miss Flynn?”
“I’ve got a job,” Maureen said.
“Computer company?” The stewardess was curious. Usually it was the big important companies who flew new and valued employees in first-class.
“No,” Maureen said, and she was beginning to see the humor in her situation. “I’m a nanny. I’m going to be working for Emilie Shann, the novelist.”
“Wow! She’s giving you really special treatment. She and that hot husband of hers have flown with us a couple of times. They’re really nice. Well, good for you, Nanny Flynn,” the stewardess said and chuckled. Then she became all business. “Better get your safety belt fastened. We’re going to be taking off shortly, and so you don’t worry, the flight is expected to be smooth as silk the whole way.”
The stewardess didn’t lie. After a small whiskey, Maureen put her seat back and slept almost the entire way. A steward wakened her in time to have a bit of a snack, and she visited the lavatory for a quick wash and to brush and straighten her hair before they landed. As she exited the plane, the red-haired stewardess was waiting for her.
“Good luck!” she said with a smile and a friendly wave.
“Thanks,” Maureen said.
They checked her bags and her papers at Customs before finally waving her through. And there was Michael Devlin waiting for her, as he had promised.
“Welcome to the States, Maureen Flynn,” he greeted her.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied a bit shyly.
He put her baggage on a cart and led her through the terminal to the short-term parking lot, where he unlo
aded her possessions into a Chrysler Caravan. “I work in the city three days a week and telecommute from home the other two days,” he explained. He helped her into the car. “It’s about an hour-and-a-half to two-hour drive,” he said. “Take a look at the skyline as we skirt the city.” Then he got behind the wheel.
Maureen had never seen such big roads as the ones leading from the airport. The traffic was fast and furious. They traversed a large bridge and continued onto another large highway. Maureen couldn’t stop looking. The city looked magical with its tall towers. It almost sparkled on what was a beautiful late-spring day. And then suddenly the metropolis was gone, and the highway was edged in trees. Some of them were already flowering. Tall, symmetrical, fluffy white trees.
She couldn’t stop looking. It was so different from Ireland. It was as if she had been put down on another planet. Her employer spoke little, but she hadn’t expected a lot of conversation. He was an Irishman, and it had been her experience that men didn’t really do a lot of talking unless they had a strong opinion to express. The great highway became a smaller parkway. After a while Michael Devlin swung the car off it, and they traveled down a country road into a charming village.
“Welcome to Egret Pointe,” he said. “We’re almost home.”
“It’s lovely,” Maureen said. “Can I walk to the village with the children?”
“We live in the village,” he said, turning from Main Street onto Colonial Avenue, and then onto Founders Path. “It’s the house at the end,” Michael Devlin said. “The style is called American Empire.”
“It’s a big house, it is,” Maureen said. “I come from a farmhouse in Monaghan.”
He pulled into the driveway and gave one honk. “Ah,” he said, “here’s my missus and the two older ones.”
Guilty Pleasures Page 11