The Au Pair Page 10

  Too late, Jilly remembered one of the pieces of advice she’d read from another au pair agency’s guidelines. The danger with taking on au pairs who are already here is that it’s not always easy to send them back. You might end up giving them temporary accommodation yourself until something can be sorted out.

  Well, there was no way they could do that!

  ‘Fatima,’ she began as the girl waddled in before she could stop her, carrying a plastic supermarket bag stuffed with a black hoody and a wet-looking striped towel. ‘Why have they thrown you out?’

  Fatima patted her stomach. ‘I is expecting.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘It is why I come to your country. My dad, he would execute me if he know.’

  She looked around the hall, peering round the corner into the sitting room, her eyes widening as though she was looking at Dawn Green’s opulent nine-bedroom house instead of her own, more modest home.

  ‘So I can live on the sofa? Yes?’ She clutched at Jilly’s hands. ‘Please. I am very hard worker. I will help you. You will not be regretful!’

  USEFUL PHRASES FOR AU PAIRS

  To help your pronunciation, some words are spelt phonetically.

  I have sis tight iss

  I am allergic to deodorant

  I am late

  I desire to visit Buckingham Castle

  Your husband sleepwalks

  Please may I borrow your rase er

  Extract from the Useless Guide for Foreigners

  Chapter 8

  MARIE-FRANCE WOKE EARLY. As always, her first thought was her father. She’d been here for nearly a month now yet was still no nearer to finding him. The telephone directory hadn’t helped at all. Several people had simply slammed the phone down, declaring that they didn’t take ‘cold calls’.

  It was all so frustrating! She could be getting ready for the Sorbonne now. Then again, this might be her only chance to find her roots. She had to succeed. She simply had to!

  Slipping out of bed, Marie-France performed her morning stretching exercises and then looked out of the window. How strange! Sometimes she still expected to see the glorious sight of a chateau in the distance. Today, there was a small bird with a red chest on top of one of the dustbins below, pecking insistently at a piece of ‘cab itch’ on top.

  Recently, Madame Dawn had put everyone on the family on a ‘cab itch’ diet. Everyone apart from Tom, that was. The joke was that no one else needed it. They were as skinny as rakes. As for Tom, all he needed to do was take more exercise instead of lying on the floor with his computer games.

  Children in England were so spoilt! Then again, everything in this country was so different. It wasn’t just that they drove on the wrong side of the road. It was their custom of taking milk in tea. Shops which were open on Sunday so that each day of the week was the same as the others. The cold wind even though it was summer. And the way they wrote the dates with the day before the month. Boring clothes in shops where grey seemed the favourite colour. The obsession with something called steak and kidney pie. Strange phrases like ‘use your loaf’ which, when she’d looked it up, had nothing to do with bread. The list was endless!

  ‘Marie-France!’

  It was Tatty Arna’s voice. Marie-France opened the door, still in her chemise. ‘Oui, ma petite?’

  When she’d first arrived, she had put Tom and Tatty Arna down as a pair of spoilt brats. But over the last few weeks, Marie-France had learned to feel rather sorry for the little girl. She and her brother had every thing they could possibly want in the way of material possessions but the one thing they didn’t have was their mother. Madame Dawn was always out!

  If it wasn’t a lunch, it was coaching at the tennis club or a shopping trip or a dinner party or a pilates lesson or maybe t’ai chi. ‘You don’t mind doing extra hours, do you?’ their mother had asked and Marie-France had once more nodded quietly and said that was fine provided she was paid extra and maybe given time off in lieu.

  Now, as Tatty Arna’s little face gazed up at her, Marie-France knelt down and gave her a cuddle. Funny really. She’d never considered herself to be the maternal type before. But Tatty Arna with her sleepy eyes and pyjamas that smelt of that funny English washing powder reminded her of herself at that age.

  ‘Tom woke me up.’ The little girl rubbed her eyes. ‘He jumped on me because he said I’d taken his new television.’

  Marie-France’s mind went back to yesterday when Madame Dawn had returned from an extra long lunch, carrying two yellow bags with the name Selfridges on each. ‘They’re mini-tellies for the kids,’ she’d announced. ‘Might keep them quiet for a bit. All the celebrities’ brats have them apparently. Will save you the need to read a bedtime story.’

  Now Marie-France knelt down next to the little girl. ‘And did you take it?’ She gave her an understanding squeeze. ‘Just to annoy him?’

  ‘No!’ There was a big sob. ‘I don’t know where it is. And I can’t go back into my room because he’s waiting there for me.’

  Tom was such a bully! Always hurting his sister and then declaring that she had started it. Marie-France didn’t care for him; she could see exactly what kind of man he would grow up into. ‘Come with me, chérie.’ She slipped into her jeans and white T-shirt. Her shower would have to wait until later. ‘We two can make croissants in la cuisine!’

  ‘It’s us two, not we too!’ Tatty Arna giggled. ‘You do speak funny English but I like it! I like cooking too but Mummy never lets me. She says there isn’t any point because we have people to do that kind of thing for us.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Marie-France shut the door behind her, wishing that she had a lock to keep her things private. ‘Cooking is an enormous pleasure in life. But you know what is even better?’

  The little girl, whose hand was now in hers, shook her head. ‘No?’

  ‘Tasting!’ Marie-France ran her lips around her mouth in an exaggerated way. ‘And if you are good, you can try out the first croissant!’

  They spent a happy half-hour or so in the kitchen – with Cook jealously looking on – while Tatty Arna, under Marie-France’s instructions, rolled out the puff pastry. ‘Fantastique! Now we spoon dollops of melted chocolate on top – see? – and roll them up before popping them into the oven.’

  When they came out, all crisp and golden, even Cook’s mouth was watering.

  ‘Vous en voulez?’ Marie-France offered with a friendly smile.

  The cook, a stout woman with a wedding ring that looked far too tight for her bulging white finger, glared at her suspiciously.

  ‘What’s she saying?’ she asked Tatty Arna as though Marie-France was some kind of alien.

  ‘She wants to know if you’d like one.’

  Marie-France gave a nod of approval. She’d been trying to teach the children a few phrases of French since she’d arrived and although Tom refused to listen, little Tatty Arna was a quick learner.

  The cook eyed them hungrily. ‘Might as well.’ She took a bite. ‘Blimey. They’re hot.’ She waved it around in the air and then took another bite so that chocolate was smeared all over her mouth. ‘Not bad, I suppose, for something that’s French.’

  Marie-France nodded with approval. Maybe now was the time to ask Cook that question she’d been burning to ask. ‘I know you have inhabited this area for many years,’ she began.

  Cook stopped, mid-mouthful. ‘What’s that to you?’

  ‘I was imagining,’ continued Marie-France, hoping that the cook could understand her English, ‘if you are acquainted with a family called—’

  ‘That smells very good!’

  Biting back her disappointment at the interruption, Marie-France swivelled round. Monsieur Phillip lounged against the doorway wearing a grey suit and a crisp white shirt slightly open at the neck, revealing dark curly hairs underneath. How handsome he looked!

  ‘We’ve been making choir sounds,’ chirped Tatty Arna.

  Marie-France laughed. ‘Croissants, ma chérie.’ She sang it out loud to show her how the
first part of the letter went up the scale and then dropped.

  Monsieur Phillip eyed the tray hungrily. ‘Any chance of a spare one before I hit the road?’

  ‘Naturellement! But you must have some strong coffee to go with them or else they do not taste the same.’

  Somehow, they all found themselves sitting round the table – even Cook – with Tatty Arna looking much happier. Maybe now was the time to make more enquiries about her father.

  ‘I want to ask something plis,’ she continued, handing the plate around. ‘I tell you before that I look for old family friend of my mother. She was au pair in this town many years ago and she—’

  ‘What the hell is going on?’

  Madame Dawn strode in, wearing a grey designer tracksuit with sparkly bits. It made her look like a baddy in a sci-fi film, thought Marie-France. She had clearly been for her morning run and she wasn’t wearing make-up, which made her face look pale and lined and her eyes like a little piggy’s. Now she was staring straight at her!

  ‘I asked you to make those croissants for a charity breakfast party. I’ve been angling for an invitation for months. Now you’ve gone and scoffed them all so what the hell am I going to take instead?’ Her eyes fell on Tatty Arna. ‘How many has she had? You know she’s on a diet. She’s fat enough as it is.’

  Marie-France gasped. Fat! There was hardly any thing to the child; she was all skin and bones, unlike podgy Tom who couldn’t do anything wrong in his mother’s eyes. Now little Tatty was crying and no wonder.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ began Phillip.

  Madame’s eyes flashed. ‘Don’t sweetheart me. I spend hours killing myself to look good for you and then I come down and find you lot having a tea party.’ She glared at Marie-France. ‘Clear this mess up now. And then go and get Tom up. He’s in a right state because his new telly has gone missing. After that, you can start the dusting. The cleaner is on holiday this week so you’ll need to muck in like the rest of us.’

  ‘But I commence my class today,’ began Marie-France.

  ‘Too bad.’

  ‘Dawn.’ This time, Phillip’s voice was much firmer. ‘I believe that the agency said we were meant to allow our au pair time off for language classes.’

  Her boss’s thin red lips tightened and Marie-France felt a twang of anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to be sacked. If she was to find her father, the best place to be was Corrywood and if that meant acting as a maid, so be it.

  ‘It ees OK. I can ignore my class.’

  A slow, triumphant smile crossed Dawn’s face. ‘If you are sure.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Phillip was looking cross now. ‘I insist that you go.’

  Don’t do this, Marie-France wanted to say. You are making it worse. ‘Perhaps,’ she said quickly, ‘I prepare les enfants for their activity course today and I do some cleaning before I go. That is all right? Yes?’

  Dawn glanced at her husband, her eyes narrowing. She really was, thought Marie-France, one of those women who should never, ever, get out of bed without eyeliner in place. ‘I suppose so. But make sure you’re back in time to prepare dinner. We’ve got some people coming round and I want you to make another of your pear tartes Tatins.’

  ‘Suck up all you like to that woman,’ Cook muttered as Madame Dawn swept out of the kitchen, closely followed by her husband, ‘but you won’t last. Why do you think the last au pair left and the one before that and the nanny before that one and the nanny before that? I’m only here meself until I can find something better and if you’ve got any sense, you’ll do the same.’

  The language school was held at the local school, Corrybanks Primary. Jilly had emailed details in advance so Marie-France could book up.

  ‘I’ve had to wait ages for a place,’ moaned a girl from Lithuania as they filed into the classroom, which was lined with pictures of the Kings and Queens of England from what looked like a class project. ‘When I arrive, it is full.’

  She said all this in a very broken accent which Marie-France could barely understand. In fact, her own English was much better than any of the others. Amazing how she had picked up words from the family in just a few weeks.

  ‘Me too,’ hissed a girl in a rather common Parisian accent. She wore a tacky silver chain round her neck, bearing the name Antoinette. ‘My family is more interested in me looking after their kids than helping me to learn the language.’ She plonked her mock Yves Saint Laurent handbag down on the desk. ‘Now they want me to look after another family’s enfant as well.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very fair,’ agreed the Lithuanian girl.

  ‘Exactement. So I have three kids in my hands! I say they must give me extra money and more time off. That is fair, n’est-ce pas?’

  Antoinette broke off as the language teacher came in. To her delight, Marie-France discovered the woman was French and had been living in England for five years.

  ‘I fell in love with an Englishman,’ she confided, sitting on the desk and revealing a shapely pair of legs which were almost as good, Marie-France noted, as her own and Maman’s. ‘Yes, it is true!’ She blushed. ‘Are any of you looking for someone special?’

  Antoinette, next to her, shook her head vigorously. ‘I don’t believe in long-term relationships,’ she retorted. ‘I want to have fun while I’m here.’

  The class laughed.

  ‘Be careful,’ warned their teacher. ‘There are some gentlemen in England but just as in your own countries, there are some unsavoury characters too. What about you?’ Her eyes had turned to Marie-France. ‘Are you looking for a man? Please reply in English!’

  Marie-France almost laughed at the irony. ‘Certainly I am,’ she retorted. ‘Is not everyone?’ There was a laugh, especially from Antoinette. It was clear from the way she spoke and from her low-cut red T-shirt that she was what the English called a tart. ‘But when I do discover him, it is not for a one-night stand.’

  There was an uneasy titter.

  The girl on Marie-France’s left, who was secretly rolling up a cigarette under the desk, spoke up. ‘I do not understand.’ She spoke in a guttural Scandinavian accent. ‘What is a one-night stand?’

  ‘It is an affair which lasts as long as a bottle of Beaujolais,’ shot back Marie-France.

  ‘Bravo!’ The teacher was already standing up and writing something on the board. ‘Today we are going to have a lesson on love and also tackle our tenses at the same time. Regardez! I love. I loved. I will love. And please, Margit, put away that roll-up. We do not allow smoking in the class.’

  The lesson lasted nearly two hours. Afterwards, Antoinette invited them all back to her house for coffee. ‘Madame is at the gym, thank God.’ Her eyes rolled as they walked along the high street, past shop windows which seemed so dull compared with French boutiques. That dress back there was little more than a black sack! Maman would have a fit if she saw that!

  ‘But soon we are going on holiday,’ she continued boastfully. ‘My family is taking me to a place called Ork Knee.’

  ‘They’re taking you with them?’ enquired a German girl whose French was almost fluent. ‘Then make sure they give you some time off. Mine took me to Disneyland at Easter and I ended up looking after the kids all the time. They said that they expected me to pull my weight as they were taking me to a nice hotel. But it was crap! I had to share a room with the kids. Can you believe that?’

  Antoinette shrugged. ‘Then maybe I say I will not go. I stay here instead.’

  ‘My family, they is having their vacation in the bath,’ said one of the new Italian au pairs. ‘The English, they are very strange, are they not?’

  Marie-France hadn’t thought of asking about holidays with her family although she had overheard Phillip saying something the other night about the Cayman Islands. Would they expect her to go with them or would they allow her to stay at home to ‘house-sit’ so she could get on with tracking down her father? She hoped it would be the latter.

  ‘Right, this is it.’ Antoinette tossed her dark cu
rls and strode up a horseshoe-shaped gravel drive towards a detached house with a grey roof and roses climbing round the door. Très jolie! She fished in her bag. ‘I’m sure I had the key in here somewhere. Merde. Never mind. I know where my family keeps the spare.’

  Turning over a large grey stone by the side of the front door, she unearthed a key. ‘I should have set the alarm before I went out but I couldn’t be bothered,’ she said as they all poured in. ‘Right, everyone. The kitchen’s this way.’

  Marie-France watched aghast as Antoinette put on the kettle and opened a packet of chocolate biscuits, scattering crumbs on the floor. She would never be so familiar in someone else’s house but then again, Antoinette wasn’t the kind of girl she would have been friendly with in France. Meanwhile, a couple of the other girls had moved through to the sitting room where they were putting their dirty feet up on the white sofas. The Scandinavian – Margit – was now lighting her roll-up right next to her. ‘Want a puff?’

  Marie-France wrinkled her nose disapprovingly. ‘Not for me. Especially not that kind of cigarette.’

  Margit shook her shoulders. ‘Suit yourself. This is my only chance. I told my agency I did not smoke because I thought it would be easier to find a family. Then she finds out and I am in a dog’s house.’

  Marie-France moved away towards the window. Outside was a wooden swing and slide and at the top, sitting crying, was a small girl. ‘Antoinette,’ she hissed in French. ‘Your family is at home. Look?’

  Antoinette waved her hand dismissively. ‘That is just Immy. She is OK.’

  Marie-France frowned. ‘Who is looking after her?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘But you were at school all morning?’

  ‘So?’

  She was beginning to understand now. ‘Your family thought you were looking after the little girl but you left her here. Alone?’

  ‘Why not?’ Antoinette’s eyes were flashing. ‘The mother lives at her gym. If she cared so much, she should look after her own kid. Besides, Immy likes playing in the garden and it is quite safe.’