Jane by April Lindner Read Free Book Online Page A

start.”
    He stared at me a moment, then stalked back to his car. I watched as he expertly pushed aside the deflated driver’s side air bag and turned the key; I guessed this wasn’t the first time he’d performed that maneuver. The ignition caught. He rolled down the window and called to me. “It’s apparently indestructible too.”
    “And you’re really going to be okay? You shouldn’t drive if you feel light-headed.”
    He smiled condescendingly. “Thanks, nurse. I’ll be fine. I don’t have far to go.”
    “Okay then.” I wasn’t about to let him spoil my walk. “Good-bye.”
    I’d only taken a few steps when I heard him calling after me. “Wait!”
    I turned back.
    “I can’t let you keep wandering on this road that way. I didn’t kill you, but somebody else might.” He squinted and shielded his eyes. “Look, the sun’s getting lower. Do you know how hard it is to drive with the sun in your eyes? A driver can barely see the road this time of day, much less pedestrians lurking around corners.”
    I stood there, not knowing what to say.
    “I’ll take you wherever you’re going.”
    “Thank you but no.” I took a step away from him. There was no way I was going to get into a strange man’s car. “I’m only going to walk a bit farther, then I’ll go home. I live less than a mile from here.”
    “You do? There aren’t any houses around here.”
    I spoke without thinking. “Yes, there are. Well, one — at Thornfield Park.” I immediately regretted my words; if I didn’t trust him enough to ride in his car, why on earth had I told him where I lived? But then I remembered the high fence and the guardhouse and felt a wave of relief wash over me.
    “Thornfield Park?” He looked at me quizzically. “You live at Thornfield Park?”
    Of course,
I thought. He’s like the Waldorf mothers, wondering what someone like me is doing living in a celebrity’s mansion. For a moment, I wished I were dressed the part, in thigh-high boots and a silver lamé dress, or whatever it was a rock goddess would wear. Then I imagined myself struggling up the hill in three-inch heels. “That’s right,” I said, “I’m the nanny.”
    “The nanny.” His mouth twitched in that wry, one-sided smile I’d seen earlier. “Of course you are.”
    “So I’ll be perfectly fine,” I told him, not liking to be smiled atin that mocking way. “You don’t need to worry.” And I spun again and walked off, as fast and as purposefully as I could.
    “For God’s sake, stay out of the road!” he shouted after me, but I kept on walking, determined to salvage the rest of my afternoon. After about a mile or so, I found a field with a long view of a horse farm in the distance and a stump perfect for sitting on. I spread my coat across it and set about trying to paint. But my hands were unsteady; I had been more shaken up by the accident and subsequent encounter than I realized. My mind raced too; I had difficulty concentrating on the pad in front of me. After a few false starts, I packed up my paints. The sun was getting lower in the sky, the air unusually chilly for June. I pulled on my coat and headed for Thornfield Park.
    Lucia met me at the door, as if she’d been on the lookout for me. “Is everything all right?” I asked her.
    She motioned me to hurry in. “Nico’s back,” she told me, sotto voce. “Usually he lets us know when he’s coming home. This time… total surprise!” She looked and sounded flustered. “Usually I have days to make sure the house is in order. The cook isn’t even here.”
    Can’t he make himself a sandwich?
I wanted to ask. “It’ll be all right,” I told her, but she looked at me strangely. “Right. I don’t know the first thing about him — but until now you’ve made him sound like a pretty understanding boss.”
    “I know it’s your day off, and I’ll really owe you one, but can you please take care of Maddy so I can track down the cook?”
    “Of course, no problem.