Jane (7 page)

“She knew who I was even though we’d never met.”

Lucia shrugged and deftly cut the crusts from her cucumber sandwich. “Everybody knows who you are. There’s only one nanny here.”

“I’ve hardly seen her around the house until now. Has she worked for Mr. Rathburn long?”

Lucia gave me a look that clearly said Brenda was none of my business. Then she opened the refrigerator, rummaged through, and took out a Tupperware bowl of fruit salad. “The food’s so much better now that the cook’s back,” she said. Then she sighed. “Brenda is no great mystery, Jane. She’s worked for Mr. Rathburn for eight years, so, yes, she’s been here almost as long as I have. She’s a seamstress. She mends anything we tear, on top of the light housework she does. Does that answer your questions?” Her voice sounded sharper than usual. Then she put a hand on my arm. “Brenda may be a bit strange, but she’s reliable, so Nico puts up with her eccentricities.”

That was all I could get from her on the subject, but her refusal to say more made me suspect she was hiding something. And just thinking back to the loud, cackling laughter I’d heard coming from the third floor convinced me that something wasn’t quite right with Brenda. In the days to come, Brenda and I would pass each other on the stairs or in the hallway, and she would give me a cold, steady look, as if warning me not to say a word. And once, in the evening, I could have sworn I smelled alcohol on her breath.

Now that Mr. Rathburn was here, the house seemed busier. Every time I turned a corner, I bumped into a new member of his entourage. His manager, a cherub-faced bald man named Mitch, came and went, spending hours holed up with Mr. Rathburn in his office or the music room. Jake, the crew-cut, overly tanned personal trainer, dropped in most mornings. Javier, Mr. Rathburn’s personal assistant, spent most of each day running errands.
The housekeeping staff — besides Brenda, two women in their twenties — often gossipped about Mr. Rathburn. It’s not that I meant to eavesdrop, but they would chat in the hallway outside my shut door as I read or sketched, waiting out Maddy’s afternoon quiet time. A favorite topic was his new album and the international tour that was being planned.

“Do you think this whole comeback thing is going to work?” I heard one of them say — Amber, I believe, though their voices were similar. “Will anyone buy it? The CD, I mean.”

“For our sake, I hope so,” said the other one — Linda, who had worn her dirty blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail until Mr. Rathburn returned to the estate but now wore it loose. “He won’t be able to maintain a house like this if he doesn’t have some kind of a hit, and soon.”

Amber’s voice was breezier. She was the more confident of the two, with an abundance of auburn curls that reminded me, a bit unpleasantly, of my sister. “I wouldn’t worry. He gets tons of royalties from that song he wrote for the movies. You know the one.” She sang a few bars. “He’s set for life. Unless he does something crazy. Marries some bimbo without a prenup or starts gambling.”

“When I was in high school, I was
so
in love with him,” I heard Linda confide.

“You only tell me that every day.”

“He’s even hotter now than he was back then.” Linda sounded wistful. “Especially when he’s onstage.”

“Get over it, girl.” Amber’s voice rang out — imprudently, I thought. “You should know by now, Nico doesn’t sleep with the help.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Linda said. “Don’t you sometimes think about what it would be like? You’re alone with him in this enormous house one afternoon, and he’s feeling kind of lonely…”

“Lonely? Don’t you mean
horny?
”

I had reached the bottom of the page but didn’t turn it for fear of alerting them to my presence. I doubted very much that they would like me to be overhearing their conversation. At least I took care of my own room, so I didn’t have to worry that they would open the door and find me there listening.

“You never daydream about it?” Linda asked.

Amber snorted. “No thanks. I like men who work for a living.”

“As if you wouldn’t. If he asked you, I mean. Sleep with him. You know you would.”

“I’d sleep with his money,” Amber replied with a laugh. And then, as if they’d finally realized they might be overheard, their voices fell to a whisper as the laundry cart creaked forward.

Perhaps they felt free to speak indiscriminately because Mr. Rathburn’s travels through the house were so circumscribed. Since his first night home, I’d only seen him on the first floor — never up on my wing. Still, I couldn’t help but think Mr. Rathburn would be enraged if he had heard them just now. Despite the way Lucia had talked him up as a nice, ordinary guy, he didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor or much patience with his employees, or anyone else for that matter, from what I had seen. Since that first evening, he hadn’t really spent time with Maddy, which seemed a bit strange to me; he seemed much too busy noodling around in his music room, working out, or going over strategy with Mitch.
Though he would kiss his daughter warmly whenever she ran into the room he was in, he would soon shoo her away to play with me, and I would lure her outside to her swings or the playroom full of her spectacular collection of toys — a playhouse full of cunning, child-sized appliances, a rocking horse and a teddy bear as big as I was.

Then one night — his fourth night home — he surprised me. Maddy was directing me to build a castle out of blocks for her collection of princess figurines, and an impossibly high tower had just come crashing down when Mr. Rathburn walked into the playroom.

“Daddy!” Maddy looked up from the line of princesses she had put in careful order. “Come see what Miss Jane and I are building.”

“It looks to me as though Miss Jane is doing all of the building.” Mr. Rathburn stood for a moment, then sank into the rocking chair — the room’s one adult-sized piece of furniture — as though he had every intention of joining us for a while.

Was he there to spend time with Maddy? He didn’t approach her but instead sat back, observing our interactions. Maybe he’d come to get a sense of how I was getting along with his daughter. I willed myself to ignore his gaze — which was fixed intensely on the two of us — and concentrated on the tower I was rebuilding.

“Sleeping Beauty’s going to live in there,” Maddy said, half to her father and half to herself. “That’s where she’s gonna prick her finger and fall down dead.”

“She only falls asleep,” I reminded her. “The prince wakes her up.”

Maddy nodded solemnly. “Don’t knock it down,” she said.

“I’ll do my best, but no promises. This is a
very
tall tower.”

Though my hands were shaking a little, I completed the tower without incident. And though Maddy would boss me around if I allowed it, ordering me to make matching towers for each of her princess figurines, I let her know that she needed to sit beside me and do half the building herself. Mr. Rathburn watched us for a full hour before he stood and, without a word, left the room.

I heard nothing more from him until later that evening. I’d just kissed Maddy good night and was shutting her bedroom door quietly behind me when he approached me from the other end of the hall. In his jeans and rumpled T-shirt, he looked like many of the fathers for whom I’d babysat, except maybe for the tattoo on his forearm.

“Maddy’s almost asleep,” I told him. “But if you slip in and give her a good-night kiss, I don’t think it would disturb her.”

“I said good night to her already,” he replied, somewhat gruffly. “It’s you I’d like to talk to.”

I followed him downstairs to the living room; he motioned for me to have a seat in the armchair opposite him. Though the night was warm and the air-conditioning on, someone had lit a fire. I sat.

For a while he sat in silence, feet up on an overstuffed hassock. I waited for him to begin the conversation, and when he didn’t, I considered what he might want me to do or say. Copilot stretched out in his usual spot before the fire and looked up at me with mournful liquid-brown eyes. A moment passed and he stood, walked over, and dropped his heavy head in my lap. I scratched him between the ears, glad to have something to do. Just as I was
about to ask Mr. Rathburn if he had something particular in mind, he straightened in his chair. “I don’t need to call you
Miss
Jane, do I? I’d rather just call you Jane, if you don’t mind.”

I tried not to smile. “You’re the employer, Mr. Rathburn,” I reminded him. “You can call me anything you want. Well, almost anything.”

The sides of his mouth twitched. “Yes, well. There’s something very formal about you.” His eyes were dark and piercing as they searched my face. “You say you’re from Philadelphia?”

“From the suburbs. The Main Line.”

“Are your parents rich, then? Are you some kind of debutante?” I continued to meet his gaze, expecting his eyes to glance away at any moment, but they didn’t. “I know that’s a rude question. I don’t believe in wasting time. I’m not good at small talk. Are you?”

“I’ve never liked small talk. And I’m not a debutante.” It seemed such a strange question. “My father was a dentist, and my mother was a homemaker. We had enough money, but I don’t think we were rich by your standards, Mr. Rathburn.”

“Was?” He signaled for Copilot to lie down. “You say your father
was
a dentist. Is he retired?”

“My parents died in an accident.” By now I could make this statement with an unbroken voice. “About six months ago.”

His expression remained unchanged. “Don’t you have any family?”

“A sister in Manhattan, but we’re not close. And I have a brother, at least I used to, but he isn’t very stable. He disappeared last winter, and I don’t have any idea where to find him. I don’t think he would want to be found.”

“What about friends?”

“I had a close friend at Sarah Lawrence, but she moved back to Iowa.”

He thought for a moment, then continued. “Why did you drop out?”

“I couldn’t pay my tuition.”

“Your parents didn’t leave you any money?”

“The stocks my parents left me turned out not to be worth much. My sister did a little bit better; she inherited some money market accounts, I think. And my brother was named executor of the will. He sold the house and kept the money.”

He leaned in a bit closer. “You don’t seem bitter.”

“Should I be?”

“Most people would be. In your shoes.” He got to his feet. “I don’t imagine you drink?”

I shook my head.

“Stay here.” A minute later, he was back with two glasses of ice and a bottle of mineral water. “Bottoms up.”

I took a sip. I had been thirsty without realizing it. He sat back down. “Do you mind my asking so many personal questions?”

I thought a moment. “No. I don’t mind.” I wasn’t just being polite. It was a relief to speak plainly and not have to hide my situation, as though it were something to be ashamed of.

“Are you lonely?” he continued. “The most personal question yet.”

“I used to be. But I’ve gotten used to spending time by myself. And I haven’t felt alone since I’ve been here.” As I uttered the words, I realized they were true.

“I guess you’ve bonded with Maddy,” he said without a trace of sentimentality in his voice, at least none that I could detect. “I can tell she’s become attached to you.”

I nodded. It was nearly impossible to reconcile this serious man in front of me with the persona in his songs, music videos, and news clippings.

“I’ve been watching the two of you. You’ve done her some good. She listens to you, and that wasn’t true of the nanny before you. Or the one before that.”

“She’s not the easiest or the most difficult child I’ve taken care of.” Then it dawned on me that he had paid me a compliment. I allowed myself a small smile. “But thank you.”

“For what?” He poured himself another glass. “More?”

I held my glass out. “Thank you for the praise. It’s always nice to feel… I don’t know… useful. Capable.”

“Huh.” Mr. Rathburn tossed the empty glass bottle across the room into a waste can. It rang without breaking. “I’ve never seen you smile before. I didn’t know you could.”

I could feel the smile fade from my lips.

“No, no. That wasn’t meant as a criticism. I wasn’t laughing at you. It was just… the truth. From what you tell me about your life, it hasn’t been a pleasure cruise.”

“I guess not.”

“I’ve got one more question for you, Jane.” He eased his slippered feet back up on the hassock. “I’ve noticed that when you bring Maddy to preschool, you stay out instead of coming back here. Where do you go?”

I hesitated.

“You don’t have to tell me. You’re free to go wherever you want. I’m just curious. You’re not off walking on the main road, are you? The way you were when I almost squashed you flat?”

“Not usually,” I said. “Most days I drive around looking for a subject. I do watercolors when I’m not looking after Maddy.”

“Watercolors?” He sounded intrigued. “Can I see some of them?”

I was so startled by the request that my reply came out ruder than I intended. “But why would you want to?”

Mr. Rathburn raised an eyebrow in reply.

“They’re not that good,” I said. “I’m just a beginner.”

“Bring them out anyway,” he said. “You’re too modest.”

“I’m too
honest,
” I corrected him, but I complied. Back in my room, I quickly rifled through my portfolio, looking for the best of the paintings I’d done at Thornfield Park. I brought them downstairs and spread them on the living room’s wide coffee table while Mr. Rathburn looked on with appraising eyes.

“These are interesting,” he said finally. “You’ve got a graceful line and a fresh approach to color. Don’t look so surprised, Jane.” Now he sounded annoyed. “You shouldn’t underestimate me. I may not have gone to
Sarah Lawrence
” — he drew the name out mockingly — “but I’ve had a lot of time over the past few years to study the things that interest me. Art interests me.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Rathburn.” I set out the last of my paintings. “I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“Or at least you should have hidden it better. Every thought that passes through your mind is written in neon on that face of yours.” Then he picked up my painting of a family picnicking on a
yellow blanket near the Sound; I’d worked quickly, hoping to finish it before they noticed me but really hoping they wouldn’t notice me at all. “You’ve captured that woman’s gesture very nicely, the way she leans in toward the man but also keeps herself separate.” He set the painting down and picked up another, of a lighthouse at twilight. “And this one — the colors are a little muddy, but the composition’s really striking. Were you happy while you painted these?”