Mary carefully tapped in the door code of the large building on Avenue Foch.
She entered the cool and quiet of the marble entrance hall. The red carpeted stair case curved up and around flanked by a polished chrome hand rail, an intricately coloured stain glass window cast a flattering light over the scene and the refurbished yet traditional lift waited patiently to whisk Mary up to the penthouse above.
She arrived on the sixth floor. A green door stood in front of her, a huge copper knob in the centre and matching copper plaque proclaimed “Residence Andreau’
Mary took a deep breath, flattered her hair and rang the bell.
The door was promptly opened by a messy looking lady wearing a green checked house coat and brandishing a yellow duster and spray bottle.
“Hello,” Said Mary. “I am Mary, hear to meet the family?”
The cleaner looked at her with a blank stair and blinked once.
Mary apologised and tried again in French.
But the lady just shook her head.
“Cheque, Deutch, Slovac?” she asked rapidly.
“Non, I am English” explained Mary slowly in her best French. “I am the new Nanny.”
The lady kept shaking her head.
Mary was starting to worry; she could feel herself start to blush, tears even threatening.
“Tu attende ici.” Said the lady and indicated to the metre square space right by the door, already taken up by Mary’s wheelie case.
Mary stood, bewildered and cramped for about 10 seconds until, click, the front door opened and 3 children and 3 adults rushed in