What the Nanny Saw Read Free

ago,” Foy explained quickly, hoping to preempt any further interruptions. He didn’t wait for Ali to register any response, assuming correctly that his philandering was widely known. “But when she turned round, her face was old and wizened like everyone else in the room apart from me. I realized that having propositioned her, I was going to have to go through with it.”
    He stopped for a moment, and Ali realized he was trying to get out of the chair again. He closed his eyes to focus his energy, took a deep breath, and then pushed down again on the armrests. This time he succeeded and began slowly to shuffle toward the table, where Ali was standing.
    “What do you think?” he asked.
    “So did you?” asked Ali. “Did you go through with it?”
    “What do you think it all means?” asked Foy.
    “I think Nick’s therapist would have something to say about it all.” Ali smiled tentatively. This was not the kind of conversation she could have ever imagined having with Bryony’s father. But the rules of engagement had evolved beyond recognition since that first visit two weeks ago from Felix Naylor, warning Bryony that there were rumors about Nick sweeping the City. There was something about disasters that made people reveal more of themselves than they might have thought prudent in normal circumstances.
    “Ha,” said Foy triumphantly. “Ha, ha! I knew I’d learn something significant from you. The question is, does Bryony know?” Ali immediately realized her mistake and held up her arms in defeat.
    “He saw her a couple of times at most,” she said reluctantly, trying to calculate how much information would satisfy Foy and what exactly he could do with it. “Toward the end, when everything had started to unravel. I don’t think Bryony knew.”
    “Why was he seeing a therapist?” asked Foy.
    “Lots of people see therapists,” Ali said with a shrug. “Especially rich people. One of Bryony’s friends even took her therapist skiing last year. She couldn’t manage a week without him.”
    “Not investment bankers,” muttered Foy. “Especially not one of the rainmakers.” He had now edged his way forward until he was standing right next to Ali. She could see a small patch of gray bristles on the side of his face that his razor had missed. It reminded Ali of a shave you might get in the hospital or in an old people’s home. It made him look old and vulnerable. His rib cage rose and fell a little too quickly as he struggled to catch his breath now that he was standing. Ali realized that his sense of victory had been quickly eclipsed by doubts over how this piece of information could be used in Bryony’s favor. “Nick is a significant figure. It would be seen as a sign of weakness. His judgment would have been called into question. There’s no place for emotional incontinence in the boardroom. It’s all about appearing confident. You don’t want to hand millions of pounds over to a weak-minded ditherer.”
    “He didn’t know that I knew,” Ali lied.
    “A spy within our midst?” questioned Foy.
    “Someone else told me,” said Ali.
    “A friend?” Foy pressed for more details.
    “Something like that,” conceded Ali.
    “I can’t believe Nick was seeing a shrink.” Foy shook his head in disbelief. “He was always so vociferously opposed to anything alternative. God, he wouldn’t even drink herbal tea in case people thought it made him look soft.”
    “Was the story of your dream true?” asked Ali. Foy nodded.
    “What happened next?” Ali asked.
    “I woke up because I needed to pee,” Foy said, and laughed. “Then the phone rang, and it was Julian telling me that there was nothing he could do to help me control the stories coming out about Nick and Bryony. He said he didn’t know anyone in management at the BBC, even though his son works there, and that the best thing we can do is to batten down the hatches and hope something bad happens in Afghanistan to take us off the front