Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“I think you have some on your face,” I say, inching forward to check. Is there any point in even letting this one through the front door? It’s a waste of my time. She’s quite literally covered in mud.
She rolls her eyes as if the mud is a pesky child who needs to be dealt with. “Do you mind if I just have five minutes to clean myself up? It’s always the same in January. Mud and puddles. You can’t avoid them.”
We’re in the center of London. It’s not hard to avoid mud. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty difficult to find mud.
“I suppose, I just—”
She brushes past me and heads toward the back of the house. “Is it just through here?”
“Yeah, as far as you can go, on your right.” I tip my head back and groan. I just want to find someone good. This process is such a ball ache.
Jacob and Vincent pull me into the sitting room. “This resume is excellent,” Vincent says. “These Portland nannies are the best,” he says. “Royalty all over the world use them.”
“The thing I’ve learned this morning is the CV doesn’t mean anything. I just met this one and she’s not going to cut it. She’s covered in mud for crying out loud. How can she look after a child if she can’t even sort herself out?”
“Anyone can get covered in mud in this weather,” Jacob says. “You can’t write someone off because of that.” Guinevere starts to cry, and I try not to show that I find it intensely irritating. She has everything she needs. Why is she crying? It’s completely irrational. I try to zone her out. The temporary nanny will see to it.
“This CV is really great,” Jacob says. “Some of the high-profile placements she’s had are really impressive. I bet she’s expensive though.”
“This girl won’t work. She looks like the kind of person who attracts mud. She’s…” I wince. “Messy.”
Vincent takes me by the shoulders. “You need to get a grip. Nathan’s told us what’s going on. Unless this woman whips out a lizard and asks to bring her baby-eating reptile to live with you, you need to offer her a job.”
“I do not.”
“Then you’re going to be left on your own with a three-day-old baby.”
Frankly, I’ll take a baby-eating lizard looking after Guinevere over doing the job myself. “I agree, I need to find someone today, but this woman isn’t it. The next one will be better.”
“There isn’t a next one,” Jacob says. “Nathan said you’d seen six out of seven.”
I scan the coffee table and start going through the CVs I printed out. “I’m sure there are a couple more.” I grab the ranking table I devised last night, listing the candidates in the left-hand column and the fifteen qualities I’m looking for along the top. Each candidate is given a score out of ten in each category, leading to an overall possible score of one hundred and fifty. Six candidates in, and no one’s scored above a twenty-five. There’s only one space left.
Jacob is right—the pig wrestler is the last candidate of the day.
“Of course you have a spreadsheet.” Jacob snatches the paper out of my hand. “Twenty-five?! That’s ridiculous.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to score the candidate who just arrived. If she gets over one hundred, you have to hire her. You can’t just interview nannies for the rest of your life.”
“You’re not picking Guinevere’s nanny. That’s my job.”
“A job you’re not doing, to be fair,” Vincent says.
“High standards aren’t a bad thing.” The woman who just arrived—I check my table to confirm it’s Eira Cadogan—is an absolute no-go as far as I’m concerned. If she’s prepared to turn up to an interview covered in mud, how on earth am I going to be able to live with her?
“High standards are fine,” Vincent says. “Impossible standards aren’t.”
I push my hands into my pockets, uncomfortable with how familiar this conversation feels. Over the years I’ve had it with teachers, my father, professors. Most of the time it’s been entirely hypocritical, coming from people who are just as perfectionistic as me.
“Come on,” Jacob says. “We’re here to help you get a sense of perspective. I promise we’re not going to put our niece in danger. We want what’s best for her.” He gives a sideways nod at the door. “Let’s see this woman. Give her a chance. She might be great for you and little Gwinnie.”
I resist the urge I have to growl at the nickname.
I poke my head into the hallway, but there’s no sign of her. “Where is she?” I ask. Vincent and Jacob just look at each other.
“Maybe she overheard us and left. Probably thinks you’d be a nightmare to work for,” Vincent says. “Not sure how she got that idea.”