Jane (13 page)

“And will she stay in the guesthouse with the band?”

“Lord, no,” Lucia said. “It’ll be a real boys’ club in there. The guys aren’t as wild as they used to be, but they still like to live it up from time to time. The last thing we’d need is a photographer documenting their every move. She’ll stay in an empty room in Mr. Rathburn’s wing.”

“And how long will the photo shoot last?” I asked. “How long will she be here?”

“You ask so many questions. As long as it takes, I guess.”

*    *    *

After I put Maddy to bed that night, I let myself into Lucia’s office to use her computer. I’d made up my mind to research Bianca Ingram. I had a vague impression of her glamour, and I wanted to see how reality matched up with my recollections. As it turned out, my memory had sold her short. Online, I was able to locate more photographs
of
Bianca Ingram than photographs
by
her.

“But will they click? Celebrity photographer steps out with leading man” read the caption below a photograph of a laughing Bianca, her white teeth flawless, her long hair sailing behind her as she walked in steep heels down the red carpet, hand in hand with a blond man in a tuxedo. Her low-cut, violet gown emphasized her full breasts and narrow waist; a high slit revealed a long, bare leg. A choker of diamonds circled her throat.

“Despite It All, I’m Lonely” read the headline of an interview in which Bianca spoke of her wish to have a simple life in the country with a husband and some children. “It hasn’t worked out for me yet,” she was quoted as saying, “but I have faith that one day I’ll find what I’m looking for.” The story was accompanied by pictures of Bianca in jeans and a tight black T-shirt, an expensive-looking camera hanging from her neck. Her large dark eyes were fringed with thick lashes.

I searched for and read article after article about Bianca, until my eyes felt dry and gritty. Then I searched online for Mr. Rathburn and clicked on a snapshot of him playing an acoustic guitar — now I recognized it as one of his favorites; I often saw it leaning against his armchair — lips parted and eyes half-closed in what looked like deep pleasure. I studied the image awhile and made myself imagine Bianca Ingram and Mr. Rathburn out
together in public, emerging from a limousine to walk the red carpet, two rich, famous, glamorous people who were made for each other — and who were a species apart from someone like me.

You idiot,
I berated myself. What on earth had I been thinking? I’d been living in a fantasyland for the past few days. No, if I was completely honest with myself, I hadn’t been my usual, sensible self since I’d met Mr. Rathburn and he had spoken to me with interest and kindness.

He’s pleasant to his employees; he lets them call him by his first name,
I reminded myself.
Just because he talks to you doesn’t mean he thinks of you as an equal. He’s being a good boss, nothing more.

Back in my room, I took down the sketch I had done of Mr. Rathburn, crumpled it up, and threw it into my wastepaper basket. Then I made myself look unflinchingly into the mirror behind my door.
Not only is Bianca Ingram beautiful; she’s worldly and successful. And you’re a nobody,
I silently told myself.
No boy has ever shown the slightest bit of interest in you, and now, just because Mr. Rathburn is kind to you, you think he could have feelings for you? When he could have Bianca Ingram — or any other woman?

I promised myself that from that moment on, whenever I yearned for Mr. Rathburn or thought of him with the slightest bit of hope, I would find the closest mirror and stare down my own reflection — dull brown hair, overlarge forehead, ordinary green eyes with sparse lashes, stubborn chin, flat chest, and narrow hips — until reason trumped fantasy.

A week passed with no word from Mr. Rathburn. A pall settled over the estate, as though nothing interesting could possibly happen while he was gone. On the night of his second day away, I sat by myself in Maddy’s playroom to watch him trading quips with David Letterman on late-night TV. On the third day, several cartons arrived special delivery. It was Mr. Rathburn’s new CD. An exultant Lucia handed out copies to the staff. “These will be in stores by midnight tomorrow,” she said. “Doesn’t he look fantastic?” The cover featured Nico all in black, seated on a low stone wall, staring moodily into the distance, acoustic guitar in hand.

That day while Maddy took her after-lunch quiet time, I stretched out on my bed, headphones on, listening to the new CD for clues, for insight into the personality that had written the words and music. Mr. Rathburn’s voice, which once had struck me
as abrasive, now sounded expressive and full of character, and I realized with some surprise that I had grown to like his music. I went back and borrowed his earlier albums and noticed wit and wordplay I’d been deaf to before. A few listens later, I was hooked. His songs played in my head as I pushed Maddy on her swing, as I spread peanut butter on bread for her sandwich, as I tried to fall asleep at night. I hadn’t meant to become a fan, but there it was.

Throughout the day and especially at bedtime, Maddy would ask when her father would be back, and of course I had no answer to give her. Then, when he had been gone eight days, Lucia received a call. “They’ll be here in less than twenty-four hours,” she complained to me. “You’d think Nico would have given me more notice. Walter is going to have conniptions. Is Lonnie still a vegan? These trendy people. Remind me to call his personal assistant this afternoon.”

I wanted to ask all kinds of questions, to get a sense of the personalities that would soon descend on Thornfield Park, but Lucia didn’t have a moment to spare as she pushed to get the guesthouse ready for its occupants. First she made a long to-do list. “Am I forgetting anything?” she kept asking. “Jane, can you help me out? I need you to make some phone calls.” That day I pitched in by booking a waitstaff for the next night’s dinner and polishing silverware. I picked the garden’s most splendid sunflowers and arranged them in an enormous vase in the entryway. I drove into town to pick up Mr. Rathburn’s dry cleaning.

Lucia’s nervous energy proved contagious. Unable to fall asleep that night, I restlessly reviewed the contents of my closet. Lucia had told me that I should dress my best, but what did that mean
for an on-duty nanny? Other than my denim skirts and oxford blouses, I had a peach-colored sundress I’d worn to a wedding a couple of summers before, but surely it was too nice to wear while I chased Maddy from room to room and sat with her on the floor. And at the back of the closet, half-forgotten, hung the clothes I’d worn to my parents’ funeral — a simple black skirt and a white, scoop-necked shirt. A wave of sadness washed over me when I pulled the hanger out into the light, but I told myself that they were just clothes. Unlike the rest of my wardrobe, they looked almost new. With my pearl earrings and black ballerina flats, they would have to do. Earlier I had laid out a designer ensemble for Maddy — a black pleated skirt and a red plaid blouse, one of the few nonpink outfits in her extensive wardrobe. I hoped she wouldn’t balk at the color.

Just before I shut off the light, I made myself look once again in the mirror to face my flaws. Still, despite my efforts to keep my expectations realistic, I was happy that I would see Mr. Rathburn tomorrow, no matter the circumstances.

The next morning, Thornfield Park went into a frenzy. I had thought the entire house was already pristine and well arranged, but it seemed I had been wrong. Amber and Linda ran from room to room, dusting, polishing silver candlestick holders, laying out fresh linens, and arranging bouquets of gladiolas from the garden. Midmorning, the cook arrived in the kitchen with a jumble of shopping bags. I helped him put the groceries away. After that, I pacified Lucia by listening as she enumerated the many tasks she still had to complete by dinnertime. Throughout the day, I noticed that only one employee was not pitching in on the whirlwind
effort: Brenda. I saw her when she came into the kitchen to fix a ham sandwich that she promptly carried back upstairs; otherwise, she kept to herself. Nobody but me seemed to notice or care.

That afternoon, Maddy was far too excited to nap, and I worried she would be overtired and cranky by the time her father arrived. I watched her practice her routine from dance class over and over again; she wanted to put on a show for her father’s friends. I hoped he would give her a chance to perform, even though I would rather have stayed in the playroom, out of the way until the visitors left.

When Maddy tired of dancing, she and I played game after game of Chutes and Ladders. I could still hear cleaning noises all around us. I was trying to teach her checkers — a game I thought she might be too young for but one she immediately took to — when I heard Amber and Linda in the hallway. As usual, they were gossiping, too excited to care who could hear them.

“I tell you, they’re engaged,” I heard Amber say somewhat shrilly. “I saw it in
Tattletale
.”

“Tattletale!”
Linda sounded scornful. “I can’t believe you even read that rag. Wouldn’t we be the first to know if he’d gotten engaged? Besides, he’s only known her a few weeks.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. People jump into marriage all the time.”

“And regret it. I hope you’re wrong. That’s all I can say.”

“That’s just ’cause you’re warm for his form,” Amber said. “Don’t tell me you’re not. At the very least, they’re an item. You saw the photo in
Celeb World
.”

“I might have,” Linda said. By the sound of it, they were stand
ing right outside the playroom door. I wished I could cover Maddy’s ears or distract her with a toy, but it was too late. I could see she was listening intently. Linda continued. “One photo doesn’t prove anything.”

“Come on,” Amber said. “The two of them at a restaurant, feeding each other? They looked pretty damn intimate to me.”

“I suppose.” Linda’s voice sounded fainter; soon the two of them would turn the corner and be out of earshot. “It’s not like he hasn’t dated before. I’ve lost count of the women.”

“There’s something different about her.”

“You think so?” Linda sounded incredulous.

“For one thing, she’s not an airhead. She’s one smart cookie,” Amber replied. “The article said she speaks three languages and has a master’s degree in art.”

“I hope he gets a good prenup.” Linda sniffed, and with that, they were gone.

Maddy looked up at me, her eyes large. “What’s a prenup?” And then, when I didn’t answer, “Were they talking about Daddy?”

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t worry about it. I think they’re letting their imaginations run away with them. Those magazines report all sorts of crazy things that aren’t true.”

“Why doesn’t somebody punish the magazines for lying?” she asked me. It struck me as a sensible question.

“Maybe somebody will.” For Maddy’s sake as much as mine, I hoped the gossip magazines were wrong. “Here, help me put the games away, and we’ll go find your new crayons. The big box.”

By dinnertime, a trio of waiters had arrived. The housekeeping
staff had changed out of their usual jeans and T-shirts into crisp black slacks and white blouses. Though their work was mostly done for the day, Lucia wanted them to be ready in case a visitor needed extra towels or something else. Lucia had changed into a fresh silk blouse and earrings, and Maddy and I were wearing the outfits I’d picked out the night before. A current of anxiety and excitement crackled in the air and grew stronger as 7 p.m., the estimated time of arrival, came and went.

Lucia’s cell phone rang at 8:15. “They just passed the gatehouse,” she announced to the assembled staff. “Brace yourselves.” Maddy’s bedtime was 9 p.m., but there was no way she would sleep before she’d greeted her father. Until she was called for, she and I stayed out of sight in the playroom. From the window, we watched three SUVs roll up the drive and stop near the front entrance to unload their passengers. I saw the guests emerge from the first two cars and recognized Mr. Rathburn’s bandmates from their photographs on his CDs. The third and final SUV carried the man I most wanted to see — Mr. Rathburn. He stepped out first, his shirt a brilliant shade of blue I had never seen him wear before. It suited him. He went around to the other side of the car and held out a hand to Bianca Ingram. Her legs emerged first, then the rest of her. Though dressed casually in high-heeled boots, jeans, and a tight white tank top, she radiated opulence and style, as she had in the red carpet photo. I stepped away from the window and let the curtain fall into place. “You’ll see them soon enough,” I told Maddy.

In the foyer, they were a noisy bunch, the men joking with each other, the women laughing. From the playroom, I could hear their muffled voices. And then there was Mr. Rathburn’s familiar, deep
voice. “Why don’t we pull out your figurines?” I asked Maddy, willing myself to be calm.

“Do we have to?” Maddy usually loved nothing more than to play with her precious collection, but she was on edge too. I thought about bringing her down to make cinnamon toast, but that would have required that we pass the newcomers, not to mention the risk of a mishap in the kitchen. Out of ideas, I popped
Sleeping Beauty
into the DVD player, and the video held her attention for a while.

Dinner came and went without our being called for. I could hear the chink of silverware against china and voices wafting from the dining room. I wasn’t surprised when we weren’t asked to join the party, and anyway Maddy and I had shared one of Walter’s macaroni-and-cheese casseroles earlier. Still, I wanted to put her to bed, and I was disappointed that Mr. Rathburn hadn’t called for her after having been away so long, especially when the crowd was gathered in the living room after dinner. I was just about to give up hope when I heard a knock on the door.

“Ready to go?” Lucia bent down and addressed Maddy. “The grown-ups want to see you now.”

To my complete surprise, Maddy looked shy. She grabbed my hand. “Can Miss Jane come too?” she asked.

“You’ll be fine,” I told her. “Miss Lucia will bring you in.”