Elliott

Two weeks with Jenna, and I feel like I never want to leave the island. My next shoot is just a few days away in Paris. Jenna and Sophie are coming with me, of course, but I know it won’t be the same with all the mad pressure of filming. I’ll get very little free time, and there will be so many more people around. So I make the most of the time with Jenna and Sophie here—both of them during the day, and Jenna at night in my bed.

The weather remains good despite it being almost November, and we spend the last day on the beach. “You seem really at home here on the sand.”

“I always loved the beach. We used to go to Blackpool when I was a kid. Miles of sand to play on. Donkey rides. There was a tower and a pier. Everything. Well, everything except warm water. That was freezing, but we didn’t seem to notice.”

“I hate to drag you and Sophie away from here to Paris.”

“You’re going to leave us behind?” She seems dismayed at the idea.

“No; although my arm might suffer on the flight, there’s no way I’m not taking you two. I just wanted to warn you that Paris is not like Palma. I’ll not get to see you much and there will be a lot more media attention. The paparazzi will find out we’re filming there pretty quickly.”

“I’ll keep out of your way. I’m just your nanny and no one is going to be the least bit interested in me.”

But as soon as we are there, it starts. The paparazzi are at the airport, and they get pictures of us arriving. They must have been staking out the place for someone else, but they still get Jenna and me together on camera for free.

By the next day my agent sends me copies of the articles that are already out there asking, “Who is the mystery woman?” It doesn’t take them long to find out. It never does. And then the questions start. “Is the mystery woman (now known to be Jenna Matthews) just my nanny?”

It’s difficult to deny anything, seeing as I’m kissing her and looking into her eyes in one of the pictures. Any fool can see this isn’t an employer-nanny relationship. But they always have to get their quotes, and if they don’t, they’ll make them up. So without saying much, I admit I’m dating Jenna and hope I won’t be misquoted.

I let my agent handle it all, and I don’t upset Jenna with any of it. Hopefully it will all die down and they’ll go away and bug someone who will fill more gossip column pages than I ever could.

But then, a day later, my agent sends me an article featuring an interview with Ruth. It’s bad, implying all kinds of things, but there’s nothing much a lawyer can do anything with. She doesn’t name me as her employer or talk much about herself. She tells a tale of what it’s like to be a nanny to “the stars,” and the sort of things that go on because “celebrities get away with murder.”

And I have to admit, it’s true, there are a few black sheep, but none of it applies to Ruth or her time with me. And definitely not the bit where she says many nannies are dumped and blacklisted because they refuse to sleep with their employers. It doesn’t help my mood when the next sentence says that Ruth is currently looking for work, as if she’s also blacklisted and that has anything to do with me.

I’m so happy Jenna doesn’t see that article. She’s as carefree as ever, enjoying Paris, taking Sophie around in her stroller, and in my bed at night I can tell nothing is troubling her.

“I saw your picture in Paris-Match, today,” she says. “I’m not sure exactly what it said, but there was something about your garde d’enfant and nounou. I’m guessing those are words for nanny. They only had your picture there.”

“You don’t mind that they are starting to print stuff about us?” I ask her. “There are some pictures with you in them, too.”

“Should I mind?” she asks. “Do I look fat? Are they asking why you’re with someone like me?”

I’m careful with my answer, hating how I can’t be open with her. “They’re not always kind, but why would they ask that? You’re beautiful.”

“You’re demented,” she says, laughing.

“I think I might be. You mesmerized me.” And I show her how demented I can be with my body. We don’t get to sleep for a long time after that. The makeup artists will earn their keep dealing with the shadows under my eyes next day.

But by then I have more to worry about than a rough time in makeup. There’s a second installment from Ruth going on about outlandish behavior at celebrity parties. I know that crap is all made-up, or it’s from her time with Angelica, because she wasn’t with me long enough to attend any parties. She repeats some of the stuff about nannies being required to do all kinds of things to keep their jobs, and she says some of them will do anything.

There’s no reference to me again. But my agent also sends a snippet from the gossip section of the paper. “Sorry, but I thought you should see this, too. It looks like they are trying to link the two stories.” There’s a picture of Jenna in the few moments she was topless on the beach, insinuating she’s some kind of harlot because the photo was taken soon after I switched nannies, information probably supplied by Ruth. The picture was taken by someone on the beach that day, probably in the background of the shot. It’s blown up and blurry but it’s unmistakably Jenna and me.

I hope Jenna never sees the articles. I don’t want her feeling bad about something as innocent as Sophie pouring cold water on her when she’s sunbathing. It’s lucky we’re in Paris where there’s less exposure to the foul British media, and less fuss in a country where every other woman goes topless on the beach.

But I forgot about Jenna’s friend.