I follow you in. The house unfolds before me, even more impressive the second time. I notice a photograph on the dresser next to the flowers. You and Saffron, standing together, beaming into the camera, wearing mortar boards and holding degree certificates. You must have met at uni. Meeting too young – one of the signs of an unsuitable relationship. I push that thought away. The first rule of my nanny agency is never, ever to flirt with the man of the house. Try it once and you’re off the books.

‘Can I get you anything? It’s really hot today. Would you like a cold drink?’ you ask.

‘I’m fine thanks. I’ll just unpack and then I’ll come and get a glass of water.’

‘Let me show you to your room right away then,’ you say. ‘Saffron’s already shown you the nanny quarters, hasn’t she? I know you said you liked them.’

‘I did indeed.’

‘Well I’m sorry but she’s out today with the boys at a friend’s house. But at least you can settle in in peace.’ You pause. ‘I’ll come up with you just to make sure everything is OK.’

We walk up the spiral staircase together, side by side. Your presence makes me feel uncomfortable. Because I daren’t let my eyes rest on you too long, I’m over-aware of everything around me. The thick-pile burgundy carpet. The golden rag-rolled walls. And for some strange reason I feel myself breathing too fast, too deeply.

We arrive in my sumptuous quarters, red silk an even richer ruby than I remembered. Four-poster bed, larger. Claw-footed bath more tempting.

‘Thank you, it’s fabulous.’ I smile.

‘I’ve put clean towels in the bathroom,’ you say, brown eyes gleaming. ‘And a large beach towel. The cover is off the pool if you fancy a swim.’

I look at you, the perfect man, standing in front of me, and just for a second, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Then I think of your wife, Saffron, and my brain becomes curdled with envy. Guilt supplants envy. What am I doing, admiring another woman’s husband? Especially when she’s been kind enough to employ me.

8

Saffron

It’s date night. Our new nanny, Hayley, is babysitting, as you are out playing bridge this evening, Caprice. And I’m sitting opposite your treasured son at Red Peppers in Esher, sipping a cheeky Rioja and picking at sesame quinoa. As Miles does not share my dietary habits, I watch him devour a steak burger on sourdough, with sweet potato fries. The heady stench of meat pushes towards me, making me feel slightly nauseous. I try to ignore it.

‘So what do you think about my theory?’ I ask.

He smiles. ‘The one you always harp on about? That Aiden fancies you, because he’s in competition with me?’

‘Yes.’