If Helen had seen a rosebush about to leaf out, or a pot of early pansies on the step, then maybe she would've felt less wary. But except for the ivy tumbling discreetly through the spokes of the fence, and the thick, gnarled branches of an old tree nodding close to the second-floor windows, she saw nothing that seemed relaxed or welcoming. If houses reflected their owners, then Helen wasn't sure she'd like these owners.
She got out of the car and slammed the door. It was a simple, mindless act.
But it changed Helen's life forever.
The noise of the car door spooked an owl that apparently had been roosting in the tree. The bird swooped down in front of Helen, then headed directly for her, locking its gaze on hers. Helen froze. Her heart jumped to her throat. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Just as suddenly, the owl broke away and bounded off erratically.
It had happened so fast, in the blink of an eye. Helen was left shaking and weak-kneed, as if a mugger had jumped out of nowhere and grabbed her purse. She tightened her grip on her shoulder bag, not altogether convinced that the owl wouldn't be back for it, and hurried up the three steps to the door of the mansion.
Before Helen could lift the heavy brass knocker cast in the shape of a square-rigged ship, the door was swung open for her. An attractive, thirtyish woman stood in the doorway, oblivious to the raw March wind.
"Ah! You made it!" she said to Helen with a warm, vivacious smile.
Helen was caught off guard at the sight of the slender, auburn-haired beauty. "Mrs. Byrne?"
I knew it, she thought. There's nothing wrong with her.
The woman laughed and shook her head as she stepped aside. "No, no, I'm just the nanny. Peaches Bartholemew. Come in. Mrs. Byrne is dressing to come down. In the meantime, come and meet Katherine. She's been so excited all day."
So. Wrong on two counts. Well, one of them was an honest mistake. Peaches Bartholemew looked and acted like the mistress of a mansion. She was beautifully dressed in a calf-length skirt of fine-spun wool and a sweater that had a lot more cashmere in it than poor Becky's. The apricot color highlighted the delicate flush of her Meryl Streep cheekbones; it was easy to see how she'd got the name Peaches.
A poor and distant relation was Helen's first, old- fashioned thought as the two women made their way down the soaring hall, lit by a wonderful chandelier, to one of the reception rooms. Helen stole a glance at the nanny in profile and realized how striking her beauty was: straight nose, high cheekbones, delicate brows and lashes, makeup artfully applied. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a French braid, more elegant, somehow, than the cleverest cut.
Helen responded to the woman's pleasantry about spring being just around the corner, but she was thinking, I wonder if I would've had the confidence to hire a nanny this pretty.
They entered a room of lofty proportions which clearly served as a music room. A grand piano was strategically placed beside full-length windows that opened to a view of the garden; a deep, well-thumbed assortment of sheet music was scattered across the top of an obviously valuable Federal sideboard with a serpentine table-edge.
"Katie, come see who's here," Peaches called gaily. She had a beautiful voice, rich and musical. No doubt she accompanied the pianist in the family, whoever that was.
"Katherine?" Peaches said again in apparent confusion. It was obvious that a game was being played. "For goodness' sakes ... I thought she was in here."
Suddenly a brown-haired moppet in Oshkosh overalls popped out from behind a Queen Anne armchair and shouted, "Boo!"
The child broke into a fit of giggles as Peaches reached down and wrapped her arms around her, half-tickling, half-turning her to face Helen. "Do you know who this is?" said Peaches to the child.
Without looking up, Katie giggled again and said, "Yes. Mrs. Evett. She teaches preschool," the child added, in case there was any doubt.
Helen crouched to the little girl's level and said, "Hi, Katie. I'm glad to meet you. Your mommy said that you're a very smart little girl."
Katie fixed her bright blue eyes on Helen's gray ones. "I know my ABCs, and I can count to twenty," she said. This she proceeded to do on the spot, except for seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen.
When she was done, Peaches tucked one of her curls back and said, "We've been practicing a lot, haven't we, honey?"
"Uh-huh. And I know how to draw. Want me to show you?"
Helen said yes and Katie ran to the other end of the room where she'd been coloring at a low table, then fell to her knees and began sorting through her pile in search of her best pieces.
"She's determined to make a good impression on you," Peaches whispered to Helen. "I'm not sure what Linda told her, but Katie seems to think she may not get into the class."
"Oh ... no, I wouldn't say that," Helen said vaguely. It was awkward to be put on the spot that way, which is why Helen preferred to do the interviews at school.
The reference to "Linda" rather than to "Mrs. Byrne" did not escape Helen. Over the years she'd met hundreds of nannies picking up their charges at the end of the day. Very few of them referred to their employers by their first names. Maybe Peaches was a relation after all.
To fill the void while they waited for the child to make up her mind, Helen said softly, "Does Katie have many friends to play with?"
Peaches pursed her lips thoughtfully, cocked her head in the little girl's direction, and sighed. "I wish I could say yes. But all the children in the neighborhood are in preschools, getting ready for Harvard and Yale. Linda was determined to hold out, but the pressure got to be too much.
"Oh, good, Katie," said Peaches to the girl as she came skipping back with a crayon-drawing in her hand, "that was my favorite, too."
Without a word the child handed the sheet to Helen, apparently preferring to let her work speak for itself.
Helen didn't have a clue what the brown and red scribbles were supposed to be. Nonetheless, she was impressed with the little girl's command of shapes. "Oh my," she said enthusiastically. "You must come sit next to me and tell me everything that's in it."
Helen took the girl by the hand and led her to a small camelback sofa opposite the piano, glancing at the entrance to the room as they passed it.
The nanny took the hint. "I'm sorry for the delay," she said at once. "I'll just go see—"
She never got to finish the sentence. A man's voice— loud and urgent and somehow ghastly—cried out from a floor above them, "Peaches! For God's sake, up here!"
Time After Time Page 41