“My daughter is nanny for the Prior family,” she told Marisa when they were seated at the little table at which Leda entertained her clients, sipping tea and munching cookies.
Marisa’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I can’t say I have a very high opinion of Cressida Prior, not that I’ve met her more than once or twice, and that in a large social setting. Her husband is all right, at least compared to Cressida.”
“Amy says he’s a very hands-on parent. Do you know if he works?” Leda asked.
Marisa frowned. “I don’t think he does. I seem to remember hearing that before the kids were born he worked for Cressida’s company, Prior Ascendancy.”
“But Prior is his last name?”
“As far as I know. I can’t quite figure them out as a couple,” Marisa admitted, “and frankly I’m not sure I want to. I love those tassels you showed me,” Marisa said suddenly.
Leda laughed. “They’re great as long as you don’t have cats. I keep anything that dangles far away from Harry and Winston.”
“No cats. But when the girls are older I think Jon and I will get them a dog.”
After another twenty minutes Marisa took her leave. As Leda cleared the tea things she thought about what she had learned about the Priors. It wasn’t much, but she was interested to know that she wasn’t the only one who was puzzled by the couple. And she was very glad to discover that unlike Amy, Hayley was genuinely appreciated and valued by her employers.
Chapter 88
Nora Franklin was opening a cardboard box of frozen French fries when Hayley entered the kitchen. She had to hand it to her mother. No matter how small or battered the kitchen in which she found herself forced to work, she kept it clean and tidy.
“Your brother called earlier,” her mother announced.
That was news, Hayley thought. He hadn’t been heard from since that letter she had misdirected back in the spring.
And then she felt a jolt of panic. “He’s not coming home, is he?” she asked bluntly. Brandon showing up in Yorktide and wreaking his usual havoc could easily result in Ethan Whitby’s discovering the lies Hayley had told him. It could also result in her being fired. Hayley thought it a miracle that Eddie Franklin hadn’t already gotten her sacked by showing up at the Whitby’s house drunk and demanding money. Then again, he had probably forgotten where his daughter was working for the summer, assuming he had ever paid attention in the first place when his wife had let slip that Hayley was employed by a wealthy family.
“No,” her mother said. “At least he didn’t say anything about coming home. But he did say he sent me a letter a few months ago. I never saw it. Did you?”
Hayley shrugged. Her conscience was clear. “Nope,” she said.
Nora dumped the contents of the cardboard box onto a baking sheet. The clattering of the frozen French fries bothered Hayley. “Your brother says he needs money.”
“My brother needs a job,” Hayley spat. “Don’t send him money, Mom. We can’t afford it.”
“We must be able to send him something,” Nora pleaded. “He says he hasn’t had a decent meal in weeks. Maybe you could ask the Whitbys for an advance in your pay?”
Hayley felt as if her mother had slapped her across the face. It was an insult that Nora Franklin thought nothing of asking her hardworking daughter to sacrifice her pride for the sake of her bum of a brother.
“Absolutely not,” she said firmly.
“But why?” her mother asked, a look of sincere confusion on her face. “You said they’re decent people.”
“They are decent, which is why I’m not dragging them anywhere near our pathetic family problems. The subject is closed.”
Nora Franklin hung her head and turned toward the oven. She might have ceased pleading with her daughter, but Hayley knew it was likely her mother would send her next paycheck to her son. As if Hayley wouldn’t notice the absence when she reviewed the bank statement at the end of the month.
A feeling of anger tore through Hayley’s gut. Why, she wondered, did she even bother to make things right when almost every effort met with resistance or failure?
“I’m going out for a while,” she said. “I need some fresh air.”
Her mother turned around; her face was a mask of worry. “You won’t be gone long, will you?” she asked.
“No, Mom,” Hayley said with a sigh. “I won’t be gone long.”
Chapter 89
“So, what do you think of this dress?” Cressida asked. “It’s a Saint Laurent.”
Amy restrained a grimace. She didn’t like to lie, but there was no way she could tell Cressida the truth, which was that the dress looked awful on her. It wasn’t the fault of the dress. It was the fact that Cressida was way too thin.
“Well?” Cressida demanded.
“You look great,” Amy said brightly. “The dress looks awesome on you.”
Cressida turned again to the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the office door. “It does, doesn’t it?”
Amy watched Cressida turn from side to side and wondered what her employer saw when met with her reflection. She suddenly felt slightly sick watching Cressida preen and pose. She thought of that old story, “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” in which the emperor was so vain and self-deluded he believed he was dressed in the finest ensemble when in actuality he was naked, duped by a cunning tailor and a fawning court. I’m no better than those characters, Amy thought, lying right to Cressida’s face. But would telling the truth really help Cressida? Or was she so far out of touch with reality she was incapable of accepting the truth?
Suddenly, before Amy could attempt to puzzle out the answers to those thorny questions, Cressida was all business. She strode toward the hall and gestured for Amy to follow.
Will and the children were seated at the kitchen table. There was a sketchpad open before Rhiannon, along with a box of colored pencils. Jordan was eating a carton of yogurt.
Will looked up from the day’s edition of the local newspaper. “There’s fresh coffee,” he said.
Cressida poured herself a cup and took a sip. And then she made a face of disgust and threw the cup at the wall. It shattered spectacularly. “Your father can’t do anything right,” she snapped. “He can’t even manage a decent cup of coffee.”
Amy felt a sudden cold shock run through her. She knew there was nothing she could say. She wondered if she should clean up the shattered cup and the spilled coffee that was dribbling down the wall and spreading across the floor. But she couldn’t seem to move a muscle.
Jordan was staring down at his yogurt; Amy couldn’t read his expression. Rhiannon’s expression, however, was clear. For a moment, Amy thought the girl was going to shout at her mother. Will must have thought so, too, because he gently squeezed Rhiannon’s shoulder, and she was silent though her expression remained tense. It was a supremely uncomfortable moment, one the likes of which Amy had never before experienced.
But things were about to get worse. Suddenly, Cressida strode over to the table and picked up Rhiannon’s sketchpad. “That’s as good as you can do?” she said with a sneer. “That line is completely crooked, and the perspective is off.” She dropped the sketchpad onto the table and went to the fridge, where she removed a bottle of the expensive fizzy water she preferred. Bottle in hand, Cressida stalked from the kitchen. “Come to my office in fifteen minutes, Aimee,” she called over her shoulder.
When Cressida had gone, Will busied himself clearing away the shattered cup and spilled coffee. Amy had never felt herself at such a loss. She wasn’t sure it was her place to provide the emotional sustenance a mother wouldn’t or couldn’t give. Besides, she had a feeling that Cressida would be angry with her for stepping into the heart of a domestic situation. But Cressida had left the room. Amy walked over to the table and looked down at Rhiannon’s drawing. She was no art expert, but she could see that Rhiannon had talent. “I think your picture is really good,” she said.
“Thanks,” Rhiannon muttered.
Amy bit her lip. Her heart felt as if it might break. Why had Cressida had children in the first place if she didn’t seem to have even one ounce of maternal feeling?
“I like the frog,” Jordan said with enthusiasm. “It looks so real.”
Rhiannon managed a small smile. “I’m almost out of paper. Do you think we could get another sketchpad, Dad?”
“Absolutely.” Will rejoined the children at the table and took his daughter’s hand.
“Excuse me,” Amy mumbled, turning away. “Cressida needs me in her office.”
Chapter 90
“What brought this on?” Leda laughed and returned Amy’s bear hug.
“Nothing,” Amy said, releasing her mother and going over to the love seat, where she flopped into a corner. “I just thought I’d give you a hug.”
“Thank you very much. And here’s some good news. I have another new client. Marisa Whitby. She bought one of my pieces from Phil and then contacted me about doing a custom project. She came to the house to talk about options. She’s a very nice woman and has a lot of respect for Hayley.”
Amy nodded. “Yeah. Hayley said she’s cool. Mom?” Amy said suddenly. “What do you think of my hair? Do you think the curls make me look silly or immature?”
It took no great imagination to conclude that Cressida Prior had criticized Amy’s naturally curly hair. “No,” Leda said firmly, “I don’t, but it shouldn’t matter what I or anybody else thinks. You should wear your hair the way you want to wear it.”
Amy began to fiddle with one of her curls. “I was thinking that maybe I could buy us a new microwave,” she said. “They’re not expensive, and the one we have now kind of dies when you try to defrost something.”
Leda thought of Amy’s purchases this summer—the fur hat, the evening bag, the shawl. “Save your money,” she said. “Our household budget can cover a new microwave.”
“Okay.” Amy shifted on the love seat to a more upright position. “You know, the other day I was kind of thinking that I should return that velvet shawl. I mean, when am I going to get to wear it? And then I read the return policy and you can’t return sale items. I should have checked before I bought it.”
Leda nodded. “Lesson learned,” she said. “And it is a beautiful shawl. Life is long, Amy. I’m sure one day you’ll have an opportunity to wear it.”
“I suppose.” Suddenly Amy got up from the love seat and was gone from the studio.
Leda turned to her work. What exactly was going on with her daughter Leda wasn’t sure, but she felt a bit of hope take hold in her breast. It seemed that Amy might finally be growing up. At least, she might finally be breaking free of the stranglehold Cressida Prior had had on her these past months. And that would be something worth celebrating.
Chapter 91
“Nice look, Dad.” Ethan laughed and smoothed a tuft of his father’s hair that had been sticking up comically.
Jon Whitby laughed as well. “I’ve got a cowlick as bad as Alfalfa’s.” He looked to Hayley. “Have I dated myself?”
“No,” Hayley assured him. “I love The Little Rascals. Will you be here for lunch?” Though feeding the adults of the house was not in her job description, Hayley found that she wouldn’t mind making sandwiches for father and son.
“Nope,” Ethan said. “We’re going to play golf with one of Dad’s old cronies and have lunch at the club.” Ethan grimaced. “We’re both terrible players, but it’s a game people who work in our business are pretty much obliged to play.”
“And the food at the clubhouse is terrible,” Jon added. “They can’t even make a decent chicken salad sandwich.”
Ethan put his arm around his father’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Dad. We’ll stop for a hot dog at Flo’s on the way back. Bye, Hayley. I hope the girls don’t give you any trouble while we’re gone.”
When the men had gone, Hayley headed upstairs to the twins’ bedroom. Her heart felt so full she thought she might cry. She couldn’t help but wonder if her brother might have been a better person if his father had treated him with affection and respect. If Eddie Franklin had even once bothered to help his son with homework or to take him to the park to toss around a baseball, Brandon might now be a productive member of society rather than his own worst enemy. It was impossible to know for sure what might have been, but it was a question that too often haunted Hayley.
Hayley found both Whitby girls sitting up in their cots.
“I brush my hair,” Layla announced, pointing to the dresser on which the hairbrushes, combs, and other toiletries were kept.
Hayley smiled and brought Layla’s brush to her. “Lily? Do you want to brush your hair?” she asked. Lily considered the question for a moment before shaking her head in the negative.
As Hayley set about tidying the room, she wondered if there was something she could do for her brother. The problem was, she had no concrete idea of what sort of help might benefit Brandon or even if he would consent to be helped toward a better life. You couldn’t force a person to change if he didn’t want to, and especially not if he felt he wasn’t up to the challenge. It had to be true that sometimes doing nothing to help a person was better than doing the wrong thing. Didn’t it? Or was inaction a form of enabling?
Lily suddenly pulled herself to her feet with the help of her cot’s rail. “Out!” she demanded, at which her sister stood and demanded the same. Hayley smiled. Her poor brother might be a lost cause, and maybe the same could be said for Hayley in some respects, but here were two children who had a very good chance of becoming healthy and happy adults.
Chapter 92
Amy glanced across the desk at Cressida, her head bent over a thick bound document. Cressida had set her the task of sorting through a large box of plastic-coated paper clips. Cressida preferred to use red paper clips. The others Amy was to throw away. It was a ridiculous task, totally unimportant, not the sort of work a mentor would set for a protégé whose future she took seriously.
Amy restrained a sigh. She wished she could talk to her mother or Hayley or even to Vera about Cressida’s odd behavior. For so long she had gone on about how wonderful Cressida was to whoever would listen. To admit that she had been wrong would be a serious blow to her pride, but . . .
There was a knock at the open door. Amy automatically turned to see who it was and quickly turned back. The last thing she wanted was to be a witness to yet another unhappy exchange between Will and Cressida Prior.
“I brought the mail,” Will said, approaching the desk.
Amy tried to keep her eyes down but couldn’t resist a quick glance upward, just in time to see Will hand an envelope to his wife. Cressida pulled the envelope from him with a grimace. Amy quickly looked down.
Without another word, Will left the room.
At least, Amy thought, there had been no slap. She had never seen Will be anything but pleasant and respectful to Cressida. But when Will was alone, how did he feel about his marriage? Did he resent his wife’s success and her attitude of superiority? He simply couldn’t be happy, could he? There were people who sought to be punished or made miserable; Amy had learned about them in a psychology course. Masochists, they were called. Maybe Will was a masochist.
Amy returned to the ludicrous chore Cressida had set her. She wasn’t in the habit of giving other people’s sex lives much thought, but in this case she simply couldn’t help it. The Priors shared a bedroom, so there had to be some degree of intimacy, even if they slept in separate beds. But how could Will want to make love to his wife knowing she thought him a failure? If they were having sex it must be mechanical and loveless, simply a marital chore that one or both of them insisted on just to quiet an itch. Amy was a virgin by choice, and she knew she probably harbored an overly romantic view of what sex should or could be, but still, even the most sexually mature person must consider the notion of sex in a loveless relationship less than ideal. Wouldn’t she?
“Aimee! Are you working or daydreaming?”
Amy flinched.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, pulling another red paper clip from the box.
Then Cressida smiled brightly. “I’ve an idea. Let’s go to the kitchen and make those kale shakes you like so much.”
With difficulty Amy managed a smile. “Okay,” she said. There was no point in saying no to Cressida Prior.
Chapter 93
“Guess who I saw earlier?” Vera said. “Hayley and Ethan Whitby. They were coming out of The Bookworm. They were smiling.”
“There’s nothing unusual in that, is there?” Leda said. “Books do make people happy.”
“The smiling isn’t what I found interesting,” Vera explained. “It was the fact of their being together, though the Whitby kids were with them. And one of the waiters at the restaurant was being catty to my hostess about girls from the gutter aiming way too far above their heads. It was clear he was talking about Hayley, because he went on to mention Eddie Franklin by name, as if Hayley has any relation to that creature other than an unfortunate biological connection.”
“And you stood there and listened to malicious talk?” Leda asked.
“Only for a minute, and then I told them both to get back to work. The point is that people are talking.”
“Do you think there’s something between Hayley and Ethan?” Leda asked.
Vera shrugged. “How would I know? Though I have to say they look right together. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but there you have it.”
Leda considered. Frankly, it was difficult to imagine a relationship of substance between Hayley and Ethan ever getting off the ground, let alone proceeding smoothly into the future. Leda was not enough of a romantic to believe that love could conquer all obstacles, like a vast social divide, strong family opposition, or in this case Hayley’s own well-known aversion to the dangers of romance. Still, wonderful things did happen, assuming that a relationship between Hayley Franklin and Ethan Whitby would be a wonderful thing and there was no way to know. Marisa certainly approved of Hayley as a mature and intelligent young woman, but that didn’t mean she wanted her for a daughter-in-law.
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