Danielle Steel - Fine things

“Yes. That's right.” He thought briefly of the sloppy Norwegian who kept taking Liz' clothes and glanced at Mrs. Pippin's starched collar. He decided to be honest with her. “We've had a tough time, or actually, they have.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “My wife was sick for almost a year, before …” He could never say the words, even now. “And she's been gone for three months. It's a tremendous adjustment for the children.” And for me, he didn't add, but her eyes said she knew it, and he suddenly felt like sighing and lying on the couch, letting her take care of everything. Something about her suggested to him that she was absolutely perfect. “The job isn't easy, but it isn't overwhelming either.” He told her about the two women he'd had, the others he'd seen, and described exactly what he wanted. Miraculously, she seemed to find it entirely normal.

“It sounds wonderful. When could I start?” She beamed at him and he couldn't believe his ears.

“Immediately if you like. Oh, and I forgot to mention. You'd have to sleep with the baby. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all. I prefer it.”

“Eventually, we might move, but I don't have any plans at the moment.” He was vague and she nodded. “And actually …” There was so much in his head that he was confused now. He wanted to be completely honest with her. “One day, I may go back to New York, but I don't know anything about that right now either.”

“Mr. Fine”—she smiled gently at him—“I understand. Right now you don't know if you're coming or going, and neither do the children, and that's perfectly normal. Suddenly all of you have lost the mainstay of your existence. You need time to heal, and someone to watch over you while you do. I would be honored to be that person, thrilled if you would let me take care of your children. And whether you move to another house, an apartment, New York, or Kenya is not a problem. I'm a widow, I have no children, and my home is with the family I work for. Where you go, I go, if you want me.” She smiled at him as though speaking to a child and he wanted to giggle.

“That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Poppin … I mean Pippin…. Sorry. …”

“Not at all.” She laughed with him and followed him into the kitchen. She was tiny, but there was something powerful about her, and amazingly the children liked her. Jane invited her to stay for dinner, and when Mrs. Pippin accepted, she put another hamburger on, and Alexander sat on her lap until he had his bath, and then Mrs. Pippin went to discuss the financial arrangements with Bernie. She wasn't even very expensive. And she was exactly what he needed.

She promised to return the next day, with her things, “such as they are,” she apologized. She had left her previous family in June. The children were grown up and simply didn't need her anymore, and she had gone to Japan on a holiday, and come back through San Francisco. She was actually on her way to Boston, but had decided to check with the agency because she found the city so enchanting, and voila. The match was made in Heaven.

After she had left to go back to her hotel, while Jane was putting the baby to bed that night, Bernie called his mother.

“I found her.” He sounded happier than he had in months and he was actually smiling. You could almost hear it, and you could hear something different in his voice. Relief.

“Who did you find?” His mother had been half asleep. It was eleven o'clock in Scarsdale.

“Mary Poppin …actually, Mary Pippin.”

“Bernie”—she sounded firm and much more awake now—“have you been drinking?” She glanced disapprovingly at her husband, who had been awake on his side of the bed, reading his medical journals. He looked unconcerned. Bernie had a right to drink these days. Who wouldn't?

“No. I found a nurse. A Scottish nanny, and she's fantastic.”

“Who is she?” His mother was instantly suspicious, and he told her all the details. “She might be all right. Did you check her references?”

“I will tomorrow.” But the references checked out exactly as she had described them, and the family in Boston raved about their beloved “nanny.” They told him how lucky he was, and suggested that he keep her forever. And when she arrived the next day, he was inclined to. She tidied up the house, sorted the laundry, read to Alexander, found a brand-new suit for him to wear, and had him clean and combed for his father when he came home. And Jane was wearing a pink dress and pink hair ribbons and a smile in time for dinner, and suddenly he felt a lump in his throat remembering the first time he had seen her, lost at Wolffs with long braids and pink ribbons just like the ones Mrs. Pippin had put on for her that night.

The dinner wasn't wonderful, but it was decent and simple. The table was nicely set, and she played a game with both children afterwards in their room. By eight o'clock the house was neat, the table was set for breakfast, and both children were in bed, brushed, clean, read to, well fed, and cuddled, and as Bernie said good night to each of them, and thanked Mrs. Pippin, Bernie only wished that Liz could have seen them.

Chapter 25

It was the day after Halloween that Bernie came home and sat on the couch, glancing at his mail, and then up at Mrs. Pippin as she emerged from the kitchen wiping flour off her hands to hand him a message.

“Someone just called for you, Mr. Fine.” She smiled at him. She was a pleasure to come home to, and the children loved her. “It was a gentleman. I hope I got his name right.”

“I'm sure you did. Thank you.” He took the slip of paper and glanced at it as she walked away. The name didn't mean anything to him at first, and as he walked into the kitchen to make himself a drink, he questioned Nanny. She was breading fish for dinner, and Jane was helping, while Alexander played on the floor with a pile of small, bright-colored boxes. It was the kind of scene Liz would have created around her as she worked, and it gnawed at his heart to see them. Everything still made him miss her. “Was that the man's first or last name, Mrs. Pippin?”

“I didn't get a chance to write down his first name, although he said it.” She was busy breading the fish, and didn't look up at Bernie. “The last name was Scott.” It still didn't mean anything to Bernie. “The first was Chandler.”

His heart stopped as she said it, and he went back to the living room to look at the number. He thought about it for a long time, and didn't say anything about it at dinner. It was a local number, and Chandler was obviously back for more money. Bernie was thinking of ignoring the message when the phone rang at ten o'clock that night and he had a premonition as he picked it up. And he was right. It was Chandler Scott.

“Hi there.” There was the same aura of false cheer about him as before and Bernie was not impressed.

“I thought I made myself clear last time.” There was no hospitality in his voice.

“Just passing through town, my friend.”

“Don't let us stop you.”

Chandler laughed as though Bernie had said something very, very funny.

“How's Liz?” He didn't want to tell him what had happened. It was none of his goddamn business.

“Fine.”

“How's my kid?”

“She's not your child. She's mine now.” It was the wrong thing to say and Bernie could hear him bridle.

“That's not how I remember it.”

“Really? How's your memory on the ten thousand dollars?” Bernie's voice sounded hard, but Chandler sounded slimy.

“My memory's okay, but my investments didn't turn out so hot.”

“Sorry to hear it.” Then he was back for more money.

“Me too. I thought maybe we'd have another little talk, you know, about my kid.” Bernie's jaw went taut beneath his beard and he remembered his promise to Liz. He wanted to get rid of the guy once and for all, and not have him come back once a year. In fact, it had been a year and a half since they'd given him the money.