Applying the handbrake on her blue Vauxhall Corsa, the girl gazed up at the villa styled home smack in the middle of a posh estate. At the gate of the driveway the house had been impressive, but up close, it was overwhelming. It was like something out of Downton Abbey . She suddenly felt a little intimidating by the stunning structure before her, its pale lime stone walls in perfect contrast with the slate grey/blue roofing. Stretching out her nicely manicured hand she pulled the handle to the car door and climbed out. The lump in her throat rising as she got a clearer view of the house now that she wasn't looking through the windshield of her vehicle, which embarrassingly had not seen the car wash in months. Maybe she should park it around the back?
No point really. She was only here to cover for her friend;
'Hey Jodi, listen, I know this is a big ask--' cough, cough, cough. 'I am loaded with the flu, and I am expected at work tomorrow, I can barely lift--' cough, cough, cough. '-lift my head off my pillow but need someone to cover for me otherwise Mr Saxon will sack me, please, you're my last hope of keeping this job...' more coughing. Her friend sounded truly sounded ill, and desperate, and to be honest Jodi Paislee had not had much else planned, aside from pigging out on an extra-large tub of ice cream and vegging out on the sofa.
"Yeah, alright, I'll do it".
So here she was. Covering as a housemaid to one of her friends clients, one of the richest and more eligible bachelors in the city. Sucking in a deep breath she closed the door to her car and took one last look at the house before heading for the door "Let's get this over with" she muttered under her breath, the silver set of Yale keys in her hand as she picked through them to check which one was for the front door. 'The one that looks like a flat line on an ECG machine' such a delightful way for her friend to describe something, wasn't it- Oh come on! Where is it?
She went through the set of keys a few times, or it seemed like it, how many keys did one house need? Hadn't Saxon ever heard of a master key.
Aha! There it is... she picked it out and slid it into the lock, it gave a satisfying click as it pushed all the little pins inside to the correct positions and she reached out with her free hand to turn the handle before stepping inside to see that the interior of the house was just as stunning as the inside. It was very clean, sparse and very obvious that the man lived alone, not a thing was out its place. What the hell was she supposed to do here all day then?
The wandered further into the house, down the corridor to where the kitchen was. Every room she passed along the way. Games room, lounge, study, all very samey and lacked in personalised detail. It was as though the place was more a show home than anything "Maybe the guy isn't home much..." she thought, as she spied a folder. It looked so out of place sitting squint on the kitchen island. For good reason. It was the schedule that her friend worked by.
Her deep blue eyes scanned the page marked 'Thursday' since funnily enough, today was a Thursday. All she had to do was clean the master bedroom top to bottom, including the en suite bathroom. Prepare his breakfast and lunch for tomorrow and cook tonight's dinner. Sounded simple enough. She was a chef professionally so it shouldn't have been a problem. If she took her time with the bedroom and bathroom, made sure everything was as it should be, then she could focus on cooking and have his meal ready for him by-- she glanced at the time he was due to arrive. "Mr Saxon arrives through the door at approximately 6:34 in the evening". Jeez, talk about high strung. There was a little post-it note at the bottom. 'Dry cleaned uniforms are in the hall closet next to the Banksy art piece, get changed in spare room'
There was a uniform as well? Well at least she wouldn't get her clothes covered in cleaning product, or food. Wandering to the closet she was directed to she, opened the door and the only thing hanging on the railing was a black suit carrier, that had to be the uniform, so she lifted it by the coat hanger and pulled it out the small closet and closed the door again before she headed to the room she could get changed in. It was obvious which one was the master bedroom up the stairs, as it had large double doors and they were left open so she got a look at the job ahead as she walked down the corridor and found a spare bedroom.
The door was soon closed behind her, and she had slipped her plain grey cotton t-shirt up over her head and allowed her hair to cascade back down her back, wriggled out her white wash skinny jeans, kicked off her trainers and pulled her socks off awkwardly, but without crashing to the floor - thankfully. Soon standing in nothing but her bra and panties she leaned over the bed and pulled the zipped on the carrier slowly, nervous at what this uniform may be... and for good reason.
Once she caught a glimpse of it, she wished she had accidentally missed the post-it and not even bothered with it. It was, quite literally, a sultry French maid outfit! Her face was soon matching her hair in colour. This had to be a joke right? Bending over to reach her jeans still laying on the floor she grabbed her phone and quickly unlocked it and scrolled through the contacts, found the name she needed and pressed dial before putting it to her ear and listening to the dial tone then allowed the phone to ring.
There was a click as it was answered, a painful groan and then a croaky voice spoke 'Hello?'
"What the hell is this?" Jodi hissed down the phone.
'What is what? Jodi, I am sick, I am trying to sleep, what is the problem?' her friend could be heard yawning.
"THIS. The uniform, please tell me you are joking..." she pleaded.
'Mr Saxon isn't a joking man. That is the uniform. You need to wear it, part of my contract... Sorry Jodi...' was she fucking laughing? The bitch.
"Go to hell, you owe me..." Jodi hissed and hung up, she fell back and landed on the bed hiding her face. What ridiculous professional contract involved a maid to have a uniform provided by the employer, let alone one like that which lay untouched beside her? And it wasn't a joke? She groaned in frustration. Too late to back out now. She had promised to cover for her. But she was going to make her pay. The bitch.
Soon enough she had donned the lot. The dress; it fitted, barely, puberty and genetics had been more generous to her compared to her friend, the apron, and of course, what French maid outfit wouldn't be complete without sheer thigh high stockings with lace topping and platform heels? She was still quizzing over how she was supposed to get any work done in those shoes as she adjusted the straps around her ankle. "All I am missing is the feather duster..." she mused. She folded her clothes and set them on the bed neatly.
Now to get to work...
It took a majority of the day to do his room and bathroom. It was very tidy already but she payed attention to detail, stripped and made his bed, put the old linens on for a was cycle down the stairs, went over the carpet with the hoover, dusted and polished every surface, washed the windows, fluffed the pillows... you get the idea, and the bathroom wasn't much different. This job would have usually taken her about an hour or two, at the very most, but the heels, making her short five foot frame tower higher than she was comfortable with, made it more difficult to do things. She nearly broke her neck going down the stairs twice.
She was probably going to do it a third time as she headed out the room, turning back for one final look to make sure everything was pristine. She was happy. Whether this Mr Saxon was happy was another thing entirely. She had no idea what his expectations were, maybe she had met them, maybe she had exceeded them, or, the worst, maybe it would be like she had not even bothered. Jodi closed the doors and walked to the stairs, gripping the banister with her left hand but pausing before she descended.