His mother’s personal assistant sniffed at Knight as if he were the purveyor of all things distasteful, and said: ‘Do you know that I personally spoke with Nannies Incorporated, Fulham Nannies, the Sweet & Angelic Agency, and every other agency in the city? Quite the reputation, I’d say, Peter. So where are they? The little brutes? I’ll need to know their schedules, I suppose.’
‘They’re in the living room, watching the telly,’ Knight said. Then he looked at his mother as Boss disappeared inside. ‘Is he up for this?’
‘At triple his exorbitant hourly wage, I’m sure he’ll figure out a way,’ Amanda said, taking off her sunglasses to reveal puffy red eyes.
Knight ran up the stairs to his bedroom and changed quickly. When he came down he found the twins hiding behind the couch, eyeing Boss warily. His mother was nowhere to be seen.
‘Her highness is in the car,’ Boss said. ‘Waiting.’
‘I done one, Daddy,’ Luke said, patting the back of his nappy.
Why couldn’t he just use the loo?
‘Well, then,’ Knight said to Boss. ‘Their food is in the fridge in plastic containers. Just a bit of heating-up to do. Luke can have a taste of ice cream. Bella’s allergic, so digestive biscuits for her. Bath. Story. Bed by nine, and we’ll see you by midnight, I’d think.’
Knight went to his children and kissed them. ‘Mind Mr Boss, now. He’s your nanny for tonight.’
‘I done one, Daddy,’ Luke complained again.
‘Right,’ Knight said to Boss. ‘And Luke’s had a BM. You’ll need to change it straight away or you’ll be bathing him sooner rather than later.’
Boss became distressed. ‘Change a shitty nappy? Me?’
‘You’re the nanny now,’ Knight said, stifling a laugh as he left.
Chapter 36
AS KNIGHT AND his mother made their way to St Pancras Station and the high-speed train to Stratford and the Olympic Park, Professor Selena Farrell was feeling damn sexy, thank you very much.
Dusk was coming on in Soho. The air was sultry, she’d got vodka in her, and she was dressed to kill. Indeed, as she walked west from Tottenham Court Road towards Carlisle Street, the classics professor kept catching glimpses of herself in the shop windows she passed, and in the eyes of men and women who could not help but notice every sway of her hips and every bounce of her breasts in the skirt and sleeveless blouse that clung to her like second skins.
She wore alluring make-up, startling blue contact lenses, and the scarf was gone, revealing dark-dyed hair cut in swoops that framed her face and drew the eye to that little dark mole on her right jawline. But for the mole no one, not even her research assistant, would ever have recognised her.
Farrell loved feeling like this. Anonymous. Sexual. On the prowl.
When she was like this she was far from who she was in her everyday life, truly someone else. The illicitness of it all excited the professor yet again, empowered her yet again, and made her feel magnetic, hypnotic and, well, downright irresistible.
When she reached Carlisle Street, she found number four, its sign lit in pink neon, and entered. The Candy Club was the oldest and largest lesbian nightclub in London, and was Farrell’s favourite place to go when she needed to let off steam.
The professor headed towards the long bar on the ground floor and the many beautiful women milling around in it. A petite woman, quite exquisite in her loveliness, caught sight of Farrell, spun in her seat, mojito in hand, and threw her a knowing smile. ‘Syren St James!’
‘Nell,’ Farrell said, and kissed her on the cheek.
Nell put her hand on Farrell’s forearm and studied her outfit. ‘My, my, Syren. Look at you: more brilliant and delicious than ever. Where have you been lately? I haven’t seen you in almost a month.’
‘I was here the other night,’ Farrell said. ‘Before that I was in Paris. Working. A new project.’
‘Lucky you,’ Nell said. Then she turned conspiratorial and added, ‘You know, we could always leave and …’
‘Not tonight, lover,’ Farrell said gently. ‘I’ve already made plans.’
‘Pity,’ Nell sniffed. ‘Your “plan” here yet?’
‘Haven’t looked,’ Farrell replied.
‘Name?’
‘That’s a secret.’