Between Here and the Horizon (3 page)

“Mr. Fletcher will be with you in a moment,” the guard told me. “Have a seat. And don’t touch anything.”

I wouldn’t have touched anything anyway—everything looked like it cost more than my life was worth. I sat myself down on the other side of the desk and tried not to fidget. I checked my watch: Three fifty-nine. Four o’clock. Four oh-one. Four oh-two. Ronan Fletcher was officially late. Unbelievable, really, given what the receptionist had just told me. Two further minutes passed, and I began to think that maybe Fletcher had already left to attend to his children, but then a door to the right opened and in walked the man himself, pulling on the white cuffs of his sleeves as he hurried into the room.
 

I watched him, dumbstruck, as he seated himself opposite me. Not what I had been expecting at all. Ronan Fletcher wasn’t some stuffy, overweight trader with an extended gut from too many late night, fat-loaded meals and beers at his desk. He was tall, over six feet; he would have dwarfed my five-foot-eight frame if we were to stand side-by-side. Dark hair, and dark eyes; he could easily have been of Italian descent by his coloring, but his skin was pale. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscular, straining at the expensive looking material of his button-down shirt. He didn’t look up at me until he had himself settled into his chair.
 

When he lifted his head and finally pinned me in his gaze, I was stunned by the harsh angles and lines of his face. They were magnificent—a rough sketch in charcoal, torn out of Michelangelo’s notebook, all sweeping, bold strokes.
 
Strong jawline. High cheek bones. Perfectly straight nose. His bottom lip was fuller than the top, formed into a perfect Cupid’s bow. There was no denying it: the man was a work of art, as rare and exquisite as any of the artifacts mounted on his walls.
 

“Hello, Miss Lang,” he said coolly. “Thank you for taking the time to come out to New York. I know what an inconvenience it must have been.” His voice was lilting, a subtle melody teasing at the cadence of his words. Such a strange accent. One I couldn’t place.
 

“Not at all.” From my breezy tone, it sounded like I really meant it, that the journey really wasn’t a huge thing for me and I hadn’t minded it at all. Fletcher’s dark eyebrows dipped ever so slightly as he frowned.

“Some people don’t enjoy flying,” he said. “I’m glad to hear everything went smoothly for you, though, Miss Lang. Apologies that we couldn’t meet in Los Angeles, however my schedule has been rather punishing recently. There have been a lot of loose ends that needed tying up.”

I nod. “Of course. It’s wasn’t a problem.”

“Well, thank you regardless. Your punctuality and professional appearance in the face of such a long journey is very impressive. Professionalism is paramount to me, Ophelia. May I call you Ophelia?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. You’ll call me Ronan, too. Especially if we’re in front of the children.” I didn’t expect him to say that. I’d thought I would need to call him Mr. Fletcher or Sir or something. Addressing him by his first name seemed like an alien concept. Far too personal. Ronan must have seen the surprise flicker across my face. “The children don’t need another strict, formal nanny, Ophelia. They don’t need another of my ass-kissing employees hovering around them twenty-four seven. They need a friend. That’s what I’m looking for in the successful candidate for this role.”

“I see. I can do that,” I said.
 

“Good. Now. Why don’t we begin by you telling me about yourself and your experience as a teacher?”

I had always hated this part of interviews. Ronan must have already read my resume at length—he would never have paid to fly me out to New York if he hadn’t read my credentials—so it was frustrating that companies and individuals alike always went through the tired process of having you run down your skill sets and capabilities. It seemed like such a waste of time. I could hardly tell him that, though, so I obliged him.
 

Degree in social sciences and photography. Master’s in English literature and language. A diploma in statistical mathematics that I really only did for fun a couple of years ago. I explained about my time at Saint Augustus’s, detailing the extra roles I took on within the school, providing tutoring after hours for students who wanted or needed it.
 

“And the children at your school were all well adjusted? Did you have to work with any…
problem
children?”

Oh, boy. That seemed like a leading question. Were his kids little terrors, disruptive, incapable of behaving themselves? If they were, it wasn’t a big deal. I’d had to deal with plenty of spoiled shits back home, over privileged and entitled, who thought you were their servants, at their beck and call whenever the mood took them. “I’ve dealt with a number of kids who had difficulties, yes.”

“Speak plainly, Ophelia. There’s no room for political correctness here. When you say difficulties, what do you mean?” His voice had little to no inflection as he spoke. Everything about him was calm and devoid of emotion, though his dark eyes sparked with an intelligence that was more than a little intimidating.
 

“Problem” was always a dirty word at St. Augustus’s. We were never allowed to make a student feel any less than anyone else in class, so we’d have to use words like
challenged
, or
high energy
. It seemed as though Ronan Fletcher wanted to get down to brass tacks, though. “Problems with authority. Issues with violence, and with aggression. Some of the kids refused to cooperate on any level. Some could be unresponsive. Physically and verbally abusive at times.”

“Were you ever tempted to respond in kind? When you were attacked physically or verbally?” His words were said with complete and utter detachment, which was at odds with the reaction they inspired inside me. Rage fluttered in the pit of my belly, burning quickly outwards, flushing through my body.
 

“No! Absolutely not. Even if teachers were allowed to manhandle children, which we’re obviously
not
, I would never physically discipline a student. It’s not our place. And children can be hurtful to the people surrounding them at the best of times. If they’re feeling vulnerable or threatened in any way by the situation they find themselves in, they lash out. It’s my job to make them feel safe and comfortable, so they don’t need to curse and swear, or say horrible things. It would be counterproductive for me to respond in any way to that kind of behavior.” I knew he was testing me; he had to make sure I was a suitable role model to care for his children, but asking such a blatant, awful question was borderline offensive. Ronan remained impassive, hands stacked in his lap, leaning back in his chair, watching me.
 

“Okay. Let’s discuss your availability. The agency I hired to fill this position said you weren’t working at the moment. Why is that?”

“The school closed down. I wasn’t fired, if that’s what you’re implying. All the staff at St. Augustus’s were made redundant.” I could feel myself growing pricklier by the second, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. There was something infuriating about the way he was asking his questions that made me feel inferior and unqualified to essentially babysit his children. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit.
 

“
I see
.” In that small statement, Ronan Fletcher made me feel as though it were my fault that St. Augustus’s had gone under. My fault that the funds couldn’t be raised to keep the school going; My fault that the other faculty members had lost their jobs, too. In my head, I was reeling, all kinds of excuses and explanations dancing on the tip of my tongue, begging to be unleashed. I didn’t utter a word, though. I just sat there, hollowed out and miserable, as Ronan seemed to consider his next move.
 

“So you would be available to start immediately?” he said finally.
 

“I would.” I was surprised he was even bothering to check this information, given how clear it was that he didn’t think me fit for the job.

“And do you get sea sick?

“I’m sorry?”
 

“Sea sick. There’s a considerable amount of boat travel involved in this job.”

I just stared at him blankly. “I would have to cross the river a lot?”

“Not the Hudson, no. I need someone to care for my children in my hometown, which just so happens to be on a remote island off the coast of Maine. There is a six-mile ferry journey between the mainland and The Causeway, and sometimes the waters can be pretty rough. The position is a six-month contract, as I’m sure the agency explained to you. You will have two days off a week, and the children’s aunt will also be on hand to assist in their care. Ideally, the successful candidate for this role will take care of the children during the day, making them breakfast, taking them to school after the new year, once they’re enrolled at the local elementary. Collecting them and helping them with any homework, playing with them in the evenings etc. Before they are able to go to the local school, both Connor and Amie would need to be home schooled.
 

“Rose, their aunt, will take care of them two days of the week, as well as some evenings, which she can work out with the successful candidate once they have arrived on The Causeway.” He said “
The Causeway”
like it was difficult for him to form the words in his mouth.
 

“An
island
?” He wanted me to leave the mainland? He wanted me to travel to some remote speck of land out in the ocean with him and his children? I couldn’t quite manage to make the information sink in. I’d been devastated by the idea of being a six hour flight away on the other side of the country, but Mom had talked me down. She’d reminded me how easy it would be to jump on a plane in New York and get back to L.A. whenever I wanted, and cheap enough too, if I was earning decent money, but an island? Off the coast of Maine? That was not a simple hop, skip and a jump away. That was far more complicated indeed.
 

Ronan seemed unsettled as he continued, which didn’t reassure me at all. “I was born on The Causeway,” he explained. “I haven’t been home in some time. If you were selected for the role, you would need to commit to traveling to the island and staying for a full six-month period.”

“I wouldn’t be able to fly back to L.A. on the weekends?”
 

Ronan shook his head. “Unfortunately that wouldn’t be practical. It would take more than a full day to travel in each direction, and I would like someone on hand in case of an emergency. You’re more than welcome to spend your free time as you want on the island, but I would prefer if you have your cell phone with you at all times, so Rose can reach you should she need to. I’m going to be writing a book, and so I won’t be available for much of the time. Once the six-month contract is at an end, I’m hoping I can arrange for another family member to take care of Connor and Amie in my absence.”

“I see. This…isn’t really what I was expecting. Are the children okay with such a huge change of scenery?”

Ronan’s expression grew cold, turning his perfect features to smooth, flawless marble. “Ever since their mother died this time last year, Connor and Amie are still…” He frowned, lips slightly parted as he seemed to search for the right word. “
Adjusting
to the loss. A change of scenery is exactly what they need.”

Shit. I’d overstepped. I shouldn’t have suggested he didn’t know what was best for his kids. And the second he’d mentioned his wife’s death, something had altered in him. Ronan was a storm now. A perfectly dangerous storm. I could see the clouds forming over his head, twisting and turning as a darkness seemed to overtake him. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry.” My words were weightless, inconsequential, but they were all I could manage. What I could possibly say to rewind the past few minutes and reset the interview. Nothing fitting came to mind.

“It’s of no consequence,” he said hurriedly. “If you’re offered the job, you will be given a file containing information you should know about Connor and Amie. Their personalities, their issues and their specific needs.”

“I still...I don’t think I can move to a remote island for six months, Mr. Fletcher. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

“I told you, call me Ronan. And I’m aware a six-month contract such as this is a lot to ask, which is why the pay is so generous. I assume the agency told you what the salary was?”

I shook my head. “Generally that’s discussed once the job’s been awarded.”

“I’m offering a hundred-thousand-dollar payout upon completion of the six-month term. During the six months on the island, you would receive a stipend to cover any costs you might incur through your work with the children, or your own personal requirements. This monthly sum is outside of the final one-hundred-thousand-dollar payment. Perhaps you’d like to think about what your answer will be should you be offered the job, Ophelia.”

A hundred thousand dollars? My salary at St. Augustus’s was only fifty-five thousand, and that was for an entire year. A hundred grand could solve a lot of problems at the restaurant. It could literally turn everything around for Mom and Dad. I just couldn’t envisage it, though. Another state? Another time zone? A tiny little island off the coast, in the middle of nowhere? God, it was all too much to take in.
 

“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I’d at least
think
about it if I were offered the job,” I said. “It’s a very tempting offer.”

Ronan scratched his clean-shaven jaw, giving me a tight smile. “Excellent. Thank you, Ophelia. Then I suppose we shall be in touch soon to let you know one way or another.”

“That’s it?” I’d barely been sitting in the chair for twenty minutes. They told us repeatedly at the agency that a good, successful interview generally lasted anywhere between thirty minutes and an hour. A paltry twenty-minute conversation definitely wasn’t going to impress them when I gave them telephone feedback tomorrow. Damn it. Who knew how many more people he was going to interview, or how many people he’d already seen? There was no way my bumbling explanation of my capabilities, followed by my hostile reaction to his line of questioning had made anything but a bad impression.