Maid to Serve

by Ray Gordon

  Title Page

  MAID TO SERVE

  By

  Ray Gordon

  Publisher Information

  Maid to Serve first published in 2004 by Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera Books Ltd

  www.chimerabooks.co.uk

  Chimera a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

  Digital Edition Converted and Published by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.

  This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

  This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright Ray Gordon. The right of Ray Gordon to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Chapter 1

  Hayley made her way along the winding drive to Hadleigh Manor for the second time in the last four weeks. She still couldn’t believe she’d secured the job of housekeeper to a record producer and his wife. Apparently Michael and Belinda Philips were well known on the celebrity circuit, even though Hayley had never heard of them before, so securing this job was a dream come true. The only downside was that she was on a two-month trial, on probation, and she was going to have to prove herself in that relatively short period of time or risk being made redundant from a job she was really excited about.

  Lugging her suitcase up the stone steps to the imposing Victorian building, she walked through the front door – which she was surprised to find open – and looked about the large hall.

  Gold discs and photographs of rock bands – some she recognised and held in awe, some she didn’t recognise at all – lined the walls, and an electric guitar lay on a burgundy chaise longue which stood against one wall, hardly in keeping with the nineteenth century surroundings. There was a tall vase of dying flowers on a circular table in the centre of the hall, and the table itself was dusty, both of which indicated that they certainly did need a housekeeper. With rock music pulsing from somewhere deep in the bowels of the house, Hayley recalled the interview a month previously.

  Michael Philips apparently worked very hard, and he never wanted to be disturbed when he was working. Belinda Philips was a night owl and tended to sleep in until late in the morning. They led busy lives, deadlines were always tight, and so they were never to be interrupted or distracted unless previously requested. During the interview Hayley got the distinct impression that Michael Philips did most if not all of the work and Belinda Philips did the socialising. He earned the money, and she was hostess to the rock stars and the agents and the record companies.

  Hayley did not want to get off to the worst possible start by disturbing either of them, so climbing the stairs to the top floor she pushed open the door to the attic bedroom they’d shown her during her previous visit and dumped her suitcase on the bed. Smiling contentedly to herself, she looked out of the dormer window and cast her eyes over the extensive grounds of Hadleigh Manor. There was money here, she thought, watching the elderly gardener pushing a wheelbarrow across the vast lawn. Far removed from the small cottage in the village where she’d grown up, this was paradise. Far away from her old mundane job at the village bakery, this was a completely new world and she was determined to do well and stay for a very long time.

  Hayley’s room was small but well fitted with a pine wardrobe, a small television, a washbasin and a chest of drawers. A compact hi-fi unit and a selection of CDs stood on a pine corner table, and books lined the shelves above the bed, which looked very comfortable. This was to be her new home, she thought happily, opening her suitcase.

  Hanging her clothes in the wardrobe, the white blouses her mother had bought her, and the knee-length black skirts, she reminded herself that she was on probation. With no experience of such a position and no references apart from Mrs Watford’s glowing report of her work at the bakery, Hayley was a little surprised that she’d landed herself the position of housekeeper at Hadleigh Manor. There must have been countless girls who’d have leapt at the chance of working for Michael Philips the record producer, so what was special about her? Despite her delight at being here, her natural lack of confidence allowed doubts to creep in. Why had she been offered the job even though she could offer no relevant experience or adequate qualifications? Ah well, whatever the reason she wasn’t complaining and she must be positive, and she didn’t want to let her new employers down; again thinking how fortunate she was, she also knew the job wasn’t going to be easy. But she was used to hard work and it didn’t scare her.

  Mrs Philips had said that Hayley would have little time for going out and socialising, but having lived in a rural village community all her life she’d never really had the opportunity to socialise much anyway. There wasn’t a great deal to do in a small place amid square miles of countryside, and according to Mrs Philips, things wouldn’t be any different at Hadleigh Manor. Apparently the local pub was three miles away, and as Mrs Philips had so eloquently put it, it was teeming with the area’s lowlife. The local pub, as Hayley was told in no uncertain terms, was strictly out of bounds to her.

  Hayley had never travelled too far from her home village before. She was a happy girl who’d always enjoyed simple pleasures like reading, listening to music, walking in the countryside and watching television. But working for Michael Philips, a famous record producer, arranging parties for celebrities and such like, was just the beginning of what promised to be an exciting future.

  Placing her underwear in the chest of drawers, she span round as a floorboard creaked behind her. Glancing around the room she felt as if someone was watching her. There was no one there, but she had the distinct feeling that eyes were upon her. It was a large and very old house, she thought, closing the drawer. There were bound to be creaking doors and floorboards, making her feel a little creepy, but with Michael Philips working long hours in the basement and his wife sleeping in late, she was going to have to get used to being alone.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ Belinda Philips said coldly, appearing in the open doorway in just her bra and knickers.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Philips,’ Hayley said politely, smiling at the woman who was one of her new bosses. ‘I’m just unpacking and then I’ll go downstairs and...’

  ‘Well can you please unpack quietly?’ Belinda Philips snapped, gingerly lifting her hand to her head and frowning. ‘And before you carry on with anything go and make me a coffee and bring it up to my bedroom.’

  Asking Belinda whether she took sugar – to which the answer was an impatient no, and no milk either – Hayley felt a little uncomfortable as she couldn’t really help but look anywhere but at the woman’s near naked body. She was probably in her thirties, attractive with long black hair, her cleavage between full breasts was deep, and she had a small jewel adorning the indent of her navel. She looked feminine and warm, but she came across as indifferent and cold. Like an icicle, Hayley thought as she found her way down to the kitchen and filled the kettle.

  Michael Philips had given her a brief tour of the house after the interview, and she managed to remember her way around pretty well. The basement was out of
bounds; that had been stressed in no uncertain terms. It apparently housed the studio, and no one but no one was to venture down there without the express permission of Mr or Mrs Philips – and that was highly unlikely to be given. Hayley had a lot to learn and a lot to remember; she had to familiarise herself with the vast house and the general running of it. But this was only her first day – only her first hour, in fact. Surprised that she could only find instant coffee, she spooned some into a mug and poured in the boiling water, believing she’d settle in to the house and her duties within a few days.

  Taking the hot drink upstairs, Hayley tapped on Belinda’s bedroom door before entering. The double bed with its brass bedstead was almost lost in the huge room. With the curtains drawn and the aroma of incense hanging in the air, Belinda was in bed with her hands covering her face, and she looked as though she was in pain, Hayley thought, placing the coffee on the bedside table. Clearly someone had overindulged in the evils of drink, as her mother was known to say.

  ‘No, no,’ Belinda huffed impatiently, finally lowering her hands and gazing at Hayley. ‘What on earth are you wearing, girl?’

  ‘I haven’t had time to change yet,’ Hayley replied sheepishly, looking down at her T-shirt and jeans. ‘I was unpacking when you asked me to make you your drink.’

  ‘Go and get changed at once,’ the woman grumbled. ‘Get changed and then come back here and show me. And be quick about it.’

  Leaving the room and closing the door behind her, Hayley thought Belinda somewhat unreasonable. The woman knew she’d only just arrived and hadn’t finished unpacking yet, let alone had time to change and settle in. But returning to her room she hoped she’d not annoyed her new employer in their first encounter. That was the last thing she wanted to do on her first day.

  Putting Belinda’s bad mood down to a severe hangover, Hayley slipped her jeans and T-shirt off and opened the wardrobe. Again having the unsettling feeling that she was being watched, she turned and looked at the door, but it was closed and she was definitely alone in the small room – as she knew she was. And yet...

  No, she was being stupid, she told herself, slipping into a white blouse and black skirt, and then sitting at her dressing table she sighed. She wasn’t unattractive, she thought, eyeing her reflection in the mirror and cocking her head to one side, smiling, displaying perfect white teeth, her blue eyes sparkling, so it was a shame and a frustration that she’d never yet had a boyfriend of any consequence. But now she was living and working at Hadleigh Manor, would she perhaps meet and fall in love with a famous rock star?

  Although she was twenty-two years old, she’d never really had the chance to meet young men. But that was because she’d only known her home village where the average age was sixty-odd. There had been a couple of lads there she quite fancied, but they’d both moved to London to find work. Village life had been quite lonely, truth be told, but hopefully she’d find a little excitement now, she mused, returning to Belinda’s bedroom to show off her new attire as ordered.

  ‘Your hair is supposed to be loose, not tied back,’ Belinda complained in exasperation as Hayley stood beside the bed. ‘And this is instant coffee. We keep this crap for unwelcome visitors and staff. Go down and make me a decent cup of the real stuff. Good God, I do hope you’re not going to be as useless as the last girl!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Hayley replied, realising that she did have a lot to learn, but also feeling aggrieved that the woman was talking to her in such a demeaning manner.

  ‘Have you forgotten what I told you at the interview?’

  Hayley frowned uncertainly. ‘Er... no ma’am, I don’t think so.’

  ‘I distinctly remember telling you about the coffee. If you can’t remember something as simple as that you won’t get very far with us. I’m unimpressed, to say the least.’

  Back in the kitchen Hayley again recalled the interview. She knew she should have worn her hair down, as Belinda had mentioned that was the way she liked her female staff to wear it. She was to call her, ma’am, and her husband, sir. She was to wear a little make-up, but not too much. She was to wear black shoes and dark stockings, and her black skirts and white blouses were to be crisply laundered at all times. But there had been no mention of Belinda’s coffee preferences, of that she was certain.

  Filling the filter before wandering through the backdoor into a small walled yard, Hayley looked up at the clear blue sky and inhaled the crisp fresh air. The sun was shining and the birds were singing, reminding her of home. Was her mother hanging out the washing in the back garden? She missed her home already, she thought, hoping Belinda Philips would brighten up later. She’d seemed warm and friendly during the interview, so perhaps it was just the hangover.

  ‘Ah, Hayley,’ Michael Philips said, wandering into the kitchen and looking out into the yard.

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said brightly. ‘Would you like some coffee? I’ve just put some on for Mrs Philips.’

  ‘No thanks, not for me.’ He frowned, as if troubled by something. ‘Is she awake yet?’ he asked.

  ‘She?’ Hayley echoed, following him back into the kitchen. ‘Oh, your wife. Yes sir, she is awake but in a bit of a bad mood, I think.’

  ‘Is she complaining about everything?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir?’

  ‘Has she started complaining about everything yet?’

  ‘Um, no, no she hasn’t.’ Hayley was a little baffled by the comments of her new boss.

  ‘She will, believe me,’ he sighed despondently. ‘But don’t worry too much; her bark’s much worse than her bite.’

  Pouring Belinda’s coffee as her employer grabbed a biscuit, Hayley concealed a smile. He seemed a little frightened of his wife, so perhaps her bite was actually worse than her bark!

  But they were a good-looking couple, she pondered. He was still pretty dishy even though he must have been around fifty, and with plenty of money they should be very happy – unless the age difference was a bit of a problem. Probably they were happy together, she thought, smiling at her boss as he munched on his biscuit and studied her.

  ‘Have you settled into your room okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I haven’t really had the chance to—’

  ‘Good, good, I’ll be up to see you later for a chat,’ he cut in before she had the chance to fully answer him. ‘I’m rather busy with the plebs at the moment. They’re a spotty bunch of teenagers who’ve formed a band.’

  ‘That’s an unusual name for a band,’ Hayley chuckled. ‘The Plebs.’

  ‘No, no,’ he laughed, ‘that’s what I call them, that’s not their name. But their music’s good, and that’s why I’m producing them. Anyway, I’ll see you later.’

  He seemed nice enough, Hayley thought. Looking casual and relaxed in jeans and a T-shirt, his greying hair brushed back from his tanned face, he was quite a rugged man and not the type to be afraid of a woman. But there again, looks could be deceptive. And he was very well spoken, which wasn’t in keeping with Hayley’s idea of the world of rock music. Perhaps she’d watched too much television.

  Plucking up the courage to take volatile Belinda’s coffee up to her, she took a deep breath, left the kitchen, and climbed the stairs again. Her bark was worse than her bite, she told herself. And she certainly hoped so, she mused ruefully, knocking on the bedroom door and entering.

  Belinda was in the en-suite shower, so Hayley placed the tray on the bedside table and made a hasty retreat. Back in her room she finished unpacking and sat at her dressing table and toyed with her long blonde hair, which she’d always tended to wear tied back. But that wasn’t what Belinda wanted, so releasing the band, her golden locks cascading over her shoulders, she shook her hair loose. Then applying a little make-up she prayed that she now looked right for the finicky woman. Hair loose, white blouse, black skirt... in the world of rock music she’d thought things would be pretty laid bac
k, with wild parties and music and drinking going on all the time. But perhaps she was out of touch – or perhaps she’d never even been in touch.

  Belinda obviously wasn’t easy to please, but Hayley was prepared to do her best to win her round. After all, this was her probation period and she needed to impress. With lunchtime nearing she checked the notes Belinda had given her at the interview. A light lunch was to be prepared, preferably a nice salad, at one o’clock every day. Wondering why the timing was so precise, she went down to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Perhaps they had to fit everything in with appointments, she pondered, opening the salad drawer. After all, they must both lead pretty hectic lives.

  Preparing a ham salad, Hayley decided to spend the afternoon familiarising herself with the kitchen and taking stock of the supplies. She was to order groceries from a Mr Jones, and his phone number was on the fridge. Meat and dairy products came from Mr Tomlinson and everything else was to be ordered from the nearest town’s supermarket. Belinda had said that Hayley wasn’t to go shopping, which she’d found rather odd. Everything was to be delivered.

  Setting the dining room table, Hayley checked her watch. It was bang on one o’clock and she’d prepared two ham salads with brown bread and butter. Perfect, she thought, making some final adjustments to the knives and forks, positioning them just so. Then again climbing the stairs to Belinda’s room she tapped on the door, but there was no reply, and opening the door and entering, discovering that Belinda wasn’t there, she wondered what to do. She had to get this right, she thought anxiously, and Belinda might not be aware of the time. Descending the stairs again it dawned upon her just how quiet the house now was. There was now no deep pound of the base music from the basement, and not a sound disturbed the still air.

  Having followed her orders to the letter and prepared lunch for one o’clock, she decided to take a quick break and look around the grounds before taking stock in the kitchen. If her bosses had become sidetracked and weren’t aware of the time, then there was nothing she could do about it. Lunch was on the table, she’d done her job, and that was all that mattered. Whether they chose to eat it or not was up to them.