Castle in the Clouds

Starting a new job and moving is always tedious and stressful, but I have to say, it goes a hell of a lot smoother when it's organized and paid for by your billionaire employer.

For formality's sake there needed to be an official job interview with the Khatri estate heads of staff. The morning after my rushed encounter with Andrew I received an email that Andrew was CC'd in but the sender was, according to the signature, Lawrence Kumiega, estate manager. The email cordially invited me to a job interview the following day, in a rented conference room of the same hotel. It was highly suggested that if I was serious about the job request that I be ready for relocation the following week. The Khatri estate would handle all arrangements, including any fees I accrued for forfeiting the lease on my apartment.

I was tempted to wear the same tailored suit I had worn to my first "job interview," but it was a bit rumpled after the hasty undressing it had experienced and in desperate need of drycleaning. I settled for a clean but conservative outfit: a grey A-line skirt, a black button-down blouse, my heels, and my hair in a low bun. Experience told me my face was outstanding enough that I didn't have to try too hard with my clothes to make a memorable first impression. I was a bit nervous about bringing a resume with such a notable gap in years since my last socially-acceptable job, but Darcy's agency was a legit tax-paying business, and I found a way to make the job sound less salacious: "Provided personal attendance to clientele." Resume tucked in a portfolio, skirt lint-rolled, hair smoothed, and smile bright, I stepped into the conference room the day of the interview ready for anything.

I was greeted by two starkly different individuals. Lawrence Kumiega stood to shake my hand first and introduce himself. He was a slim man, fair skinned, wearing a black pantsuit, with slicked-back dark hair turning grey at the temples. His face was strangely smooth, as though he had never smiled nor frowned so as to prevent wrinkles. In contrast, the plump grey-haired lady to his left in the navy blue dress had a face covered in laughter lines and crow's feet, and there was a warm sparkle in her hazel eyes. She introduced herself as Henrietta Skylark, housekeeper.

"Thank you for having me here today," I said as we sat down at opposite sides of the table. "I can't tell you how excited I am for the opportunity."

"You come to us well-recommended," Mr. Kumiega stated matter-of-factly.

"Let's start with a review of the job," Mrs. Skylark said brightly. "Housekeeper for the Khatri estate is very different from most modern housekeeping. The modern term for it nowadays is really house manager, but we enjoy our traditional titles. You will have to roll up your sleeves to help once in a while, of course, but we have a large staff of domestic servants to do the bulk of the manual labor of cleaning, laundering, and cooking. It would be too much for one person to do... especially now that the family is split between the two houses."

"Master Khatri spends his working days in the mountain estate," Mr. Kumiega cut in, "to have a private place for hosting clients and investors. The children remain at the home estate."

"Mr. Kumiega is the estate manager," Mrs. Skylark continued, "and he would be above you on the totem pole, as it were. He manages all the estate's needs, from hiring to purchasing to scheduling. He makes it so Master Khatri doesn't need to spend a moment thinking about the daily runnings of the home or staff. He's worked for the family his whole life, and he knows the estate like the back of his hand. However, even he can't organize it all."

I nodded. "With the new estate, of course."

"Exactly. As the housekeeper, you work under him to organize the finer details, especially with the staff directly. If the estate is hosting a party, Mr. Kumiega is in charge of the choices - what kind of cuisine, wine, decor, for example. The housekeeper's job is to help decide how it will all happen - specific menu items, setting up the event, training and preparing staff for their roles." Mrs. Skylark smiled fondly. "It's a demanding job, but it's one I've been thrilled to serve for... oh, gosh, it's almost forty-five years now I've been with the house, isn't it Lawrence?"

"I'm sure I don't know what we'll do without you."

"You'll have to make do." Her voice was bittersweet. "My bones simply can't keep up with the work anymore." She turned to me, her smile returning. "Well, my dear, perhaps you could tell us a bit about yourself."

From that point forward we went through the motions of a typical job interview. I have always been quick on my feet with creative answers, so I hardly found it difficult to navigate the expected questions - what values do you demonstrate that will be strengths in your new role, how do you prioritize when you need to make a choice, et cetera et cetera. I was feeling rather confident as Mr. Kumiega placed his fingertips together and readied his next question. "Miss Edwards, working for the Khatri estate is in many ways a way of life. Most of our staff live on the estate itself, and although you have set hours of work in a day you may find yourself being requested to help at odd hours, which you then flex on another day. You have days off, but may participate in family celebrations, and rarely have holidays off due to the needs of the estate." I nodded, and his fingers tapped against each other once. "Do you anticipate this having any barriers with your extended family?"

This caught me off guard. "Could... could you explain what you mean?"

"Holidays, for example," Mrs. Skylark contributed. "Would it be difficult for your family if you couldn't celebrate Christmas Day with them, at least not on the day proper?"

"Many of our staff who terminate their positions leave due to strain with family members." Mr. Kumiega added.

"Ah. That won't be an issue. I don't have extended family."

Mr. Kumiega's face didn't change, but Mrs. Skylark's brows furrowed in concern. "No one at all, dear?"

I shook my head quietly. I wasn't sure how to explain my situation in a way that sounded professional, and hoped they would accept my blunt answer.

Mrs. Skylark's expression softened. "Well, you needn't worry about that. If you work well and show dedication, the Khatris will take care of you. They always have for me." Mr. Kumiega nodded solemnly. "Let's move on," she continued. "Can you tell us an example of a time an event you were managing went wrong, and you had to improvise?"

Settling back into familiar territory, I relaxed again. "Absolutely! Just give me a moment to pick one, because let's be honest... does any event ever go according to plan?" Mrs. Skylark chuckled with me at that. "Oh, I know the one. It was one of my last large events, with the Brown & Brown law firm. They were having a New Year's party and they combined it with a double announcement: they were adding Brown Jr to the firm as a third partner, and he had just gotten engaged. Wine was flowing, hor d'oeuvres were greatly successful, the music was wonderful, and then it was time to give a toast to the new firm partner. The only problem was no one could find him."

I fought to hold back a smirk as I recalled that night. "After fifteen minutes of the staff doing a full-building search, I finally found him... in his dad's office, pants around his ankles, and one of my waitresses... on the desk."

"Oh my!" Mrs. Skylark gasped. Mr. Kumiega blinked, which I interpreted to mean as surprise.

"And I had every intention of keeping things as discreet as possible," I emphasized.

"Separate them, fire the girl, give him a moment to get himself together, and clean the office. His father and uncle were roaring drunk downstairs and in no state to get any kind of bad news. But then I saw the camera."

"Surely the security camera would only matter if someone were to request the footage," Mr. Kumiega murmured.

"It wasn't the building's security camera," I explained. "It was a small dashcam, shoved between two books on the wall. I only noticed it because the low-battery light was blinking, but it was definitely still recording." Mrs. Skylark leaned in with interest. "Now, I couldn't just get rid of the camera. I didn't know if it was placed there by Mr. Brown himself, or if someone was trying to collect blackmail material, but if it was Mr. Brown's and he reviewed the footage? A disaster. Brown Jr. was no help, he was starting to fall asleep the moment my waitress hopped off his... desk. The waitress was angry and uncooperative, and only got worse when I pointed out the camera. Thankfully one of my busboys was coming to check on me and escorted her off the premises."

"Quite the predicament," Mr. Kumiega muttered. "And your solution?"

"Well, I dragged Brown Jr. downstairs for his toast. While everyone was distracted, I got the valet to take me to Mr. Brown's car. I figured if the dashcam in the office was his, he probably had a dashcam in his car as well, probably the same model too."

"Why so?" he asked.

"Well, lawyers are very clever when it comes to legal matters, of course," I said politely. "But I've found most people who work such busy jobs and don't have, for example, a talented estate manager," I nodded to Mr. Kumiega, "tend to keep their home lives as straightforward as possible. Eat at the same place every lunch, buy the same clothes, anything they consider mundane. So if he had decided to install his own camera for personal use in his office, separate from the security cameras, he would use something he already knows how to use, such as a dashcam. And sure enough, guess what we found in his Tesla?"

"A matching camera?" guessed Mrs. Skylark.

"Indeed we did!"

"And what did you do with that information?"

"Simple. I switched the cameras and had the valet drive the car back to parking."

Mr. Kumiega actually leaned forward that time. "Explain."

"Stealing the camera was unacceptable. But having Mr. Brown find the footage of his son's... activities and make rash decisions, or attempt to sue my employer? Also unacceptable. Switching the dashcams meant no footage was stolen or destroyed, but he was highly unlikely to ever actually view what happened. If he ever got into a car crash, he would probably only go back as far as the crash itself. If he decided to review the footage from his office and suddenly found it switched to car footage... well, perhaps he'd blame his own clumsiness for the switch and think nothing of it. But if he ever did discover the footage, it would likely be long after the waitress was fired and his son had gotten married. And to the best of my knowledge, Brown & Brown & Brown is still going strong today."

Mrs. Skylark glanced at Mr. Kumiega, who was still staring straight at me. "And what lesson did you learn from this event?" he asked me evenly.

"There is always an option to protect your employer that doesn't use illegal methods," I suggested. "And discretion is more successful than rash thinking."

Mrs. Skylark looked some combination of stunned and impressed, but I kept my eyes level with Mr. Kumiega. He had been difficult to read the entire interview, and I had chosen the story about the Brown firm as a gamble. If he really had served the Khatri estate his entire life, I was willing to bet he valued protecting the family's reputation at all costs, and had quietly terminated staff who threatened the sanctity of the estate. Yet I couldn't find a reaction in his eyes, and I wondered if I had gone too far. Perhaps I should have told the story about the time we ran out of sausages three hours into Oktoberfest instead...

--

Whatever impression my story had left on the heads of staff, it hadn't been enough to dissuade them from hiring, perhaps with Andrew's encouragement. I received a phone call from Mr. Kumiega the following morning with a job offer, which was swiftly followed by an emailed itinerary. My eyes widened as I scrolled through the detailed schedule, realizing what I was getting into. In two days' time I was expected to meet with a lawyer's aid who would assist me in signing my contract, non-disclosure agreements, staff handbook, and tax paperwork. Later in the week I was expected to attend a fitting for my wardrobe, which would include housekeeping uniforms. The following day a moving company would present themselves at my apartment to pack and transport my belongings. A hotel reservation for one night had been made for me, after which I was to report to a local airstrip with helipad, before dawn, to be taken to the estate by helicopter. Helicopter!

Flying by helicopter was exhilarating, and by far the best part was arriving at the Khatri estate. Miles from anywhere, wide open fields and forests leading to rows upon rows of carefully cultivated gardens, a giant white-paved driveway leading to a peaceful pond with a jovial fountain at the center, and the mansion itself - there were no words for how it looked in the early morning light. Rays danced on the snowy white stone, glinting off the windows like little stars. The architecture was unlike anything I had ever seen, a somehow seamless marriage between the royal domes and arches of the Ujjayanta Palace and the grounded firmness of an English country manor. It looked as though it would take days to find and explore every room! Surely this could only be the result of the imagination of Arvind Khatri, Andrew's father and the founder of their hospitality empire.

The moment we landed at the helipad behind the manor, Mr. Kumiega and Mrs. Skylark were waiting. I was certain that, had I searched the windows, I would find curious peering faces of staff, before they rushed to return to their duties. "Thank you for being timely this morning," Mr. Kumiega greeted me with a voice raised over the whir of helicopter blades.

I thanked the beauty industry for sturdy hair clips and hair spray as I felt the wind whipping around me. "Happy to be here," I yelled back. "Good morning, Mrs. Skylark. Where are we starting today?"

"I'll take you to your rooms to drop off your things and let you get changed," she said excitedly, turning towards the house. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, your pilot brought a delightful breakfast." I had barely eaten from excitement, but the muffin I managed to down had been appreciated.

"Fantastic, follow me!" And with that she was off, quick long strides escorting me to my work. I strode with my new supervisors to the servant's entrance, and found myself growing excited with each step. Who knew what adventures could await me in such a grand place?

I kept up that enthusiasm even as I found myself thrust into the mundanity of work. I was escorted to a room I would be staying in while I trained under Mrs. Skylark for two weeks. My more decorative belongings would be waiting for me at the mountain estate, but belongings I had chosen and labeled separately were laid out for me on the dresser, including my laptop and my DVD collection of Agatha Christie's Poirot. In the wardrobe I found my custom uniform. There were optional housekeeping uniforms - the starched black dress, or shirts with slacks or skirts, all with white collars and aprons. I was informed that these were for the occasions I would have to assist with cleaning, particularly if I was tasked with setting up events. For my more managerial duties, I was provided with clothes I had requested - skirt and pant suits in navy blue, grey, and black. I chose one, hurriedly donned it, and was quickly thrust into the swirl of activity for my first day of training.

Mrs. Skylark may have claimed her bones couldn't keep up with the work, but she was certainly no slacker. She was a clear and patient instructor, but quickly assessed my level of ability and adjusted her methods accordingly. When it became clear that I was already familiar with most of the basic terminology, she quickly adjusted to teaching me the particulars of the Khatri estate itself. I found myself rushed from kitchens to chambers to a full-sized ballroom with barely room for breathing - and I loved every moment.

Supper was a surprise. I expected to eat with the servants in a separate dining room, but found myself escorted to a large family dining room instead. "We're going to eat with the children?" I clarified as I helped set the table.

"Of course," Mrs. Skylark answered. "They have their governess, but she takes this time to eat with her husband the gardener. We've eaten dinner with them their whole lives... Sometimes it feels like Mr. Kumiega and I practically raised them."

"The same as you did with Master Khatri, ma'am," a maid who was carrying out the covered entree added.

Mrs. Skylark smiled fondly and glanced at the head of the table, which was left without a place setting. "Miss Edwards, you'll find that as traditional as we are, there are a few things we do differently here, for the good of the family." She glanced back and forth, as though making sure the only listening ears were approved ones, then murmured to me, "When the first Master Khatri came to this country, he had the support and financial backing of his parents... up until the moment they cut him off when he chose to marry his wife, a commoner woman from a different culture."

I nodded just slightly to show I had understood.

"And she, poor thing, didn't have any living parents, so now with the first Master and Mistress passed on..." Mrs. Skylark glanced out a window at the gardens, where a beautiful custom playground was backed by a hedge maze. "Well, those children need a sense of family, don't they?"

It wasn't long after when the double doors burst open and two children came running in, giggling and squealing, with Mr. Kumiega shortly behind them. Mrs. Skylark clapped her hands. "Excuse me! Is this how we enter a room when we are about to meet someone new? First impressions!"

That calmed the two little ones down, but they had to muffle their giggles a few moments longer. They stood up straight as Mr. Kumiega put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Young master, young miss, it's my pleasure to introduce you to our new housekeeper, Claire Edwards. Miss Edwards, this is Tarak Khatri, and this is Marisol Khatri."

Tarak, who appeared about seven, had dark brown hair and fair skin, with deep brown eyes that gazed at me with curiosity as he shook my hand. There was something very serious about him, perhaps in the firm grip he had. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Edwards."

"It's very nice to meet you, young master," I said in return.

Marisol was also fair, with bright blue eyes and brilliant blonde hair. She looked like someone had spun sunlight into her locks. But her eyes grew concerned and, rather than shake my hand as her brother had, she ran to Mrs. Skylark. "Henri, you're not leaving, are you?"

Henri placed her hands reassuringly on Marisol's shoulders. "Now, dear, I'm not leaving for some time. But one day I'll have to retire, you know, or do you expect me to go on working forever?"

Marisol's lip began to wobble. "But I don't want you to go!"

Sensing his sister's distress, Tarak stiffened. "We'll just have to keep Henri here," he said sharply. "She can live with us forever, can't she Lawrence?"

Mr. Kumiega's face was, to my shock, soft and empathetic. "Henri will always have a home here for as long as you wish it, young master," he said calmly as he escorted the boy to his chair. "Miss Edwards is here to help her with the work, that is all."

This seemed to soothe Marisol, who finally turned to me inquisitively. "You're very pretty," she announced, with the kind of blunt honesty only found in five-year-olds.

"Thank you very much," I responded, smiling, as we sat down for dinner.

While the children enjoyed what I'm sure were the world's most delicious hot dogs, the adults were treated to a delightful three-course meal - a summer salad with cold shrimp, a prime rib, and a light sorbet made in-house. Nothing nearly as gourmet as what would be served for guests, but perfectly satisfying after a long day on your feet. While we ate the children delighted me in stories about what they were learning with their private tutors, or embarrassing stories about their favorite staff. They were about as comprehensive as most stories told by young ones, but we listened with rapt attention, perhaps none more so than Mr. Kumiega. It was the most alive I had ever seen him, and I thought he might actually crack a smile.