La Bonne

by Michèle de Lully

  “Do you do that often?” she asked me dreamily, still floating on the cloud.

  “Every night,” I confirmed, for lately it had been.

  “Every night?” she exclaimed.

  “Yes, and from now on, so will you. Every night.”

  “Every night?”

  “Yes,” I told her, “and maybe every morning, too. We’ll see how your kissing progresses.”

  “If that’s what I have to do for Petros,” she sighed.

  “Of course it is.” Of course, that’s why we were doing this. For Petros.

  Alone in my room, my hand going to its familiar place, once again I could not separate the visions of Amanda and Petros. To be one of them, just to be there, beside them, the young and beautiful and pure. To start over again, but this time with everything perfect.

  When I began to have visions of Petros washing Amanda in the tub, I passed into that fiery territory and stayed there until sleep claimed me.

  Chapter Four

  The secret smile that Amanda flashed at me over breakfast was enough to melt a prison matron’s heart. Still, it barely made a dent in my confusion. I was supposed to be a lady’s maid and I was corrupting her. But that only bothered me for scant seconds.

  Vastly more importantly, I was supposed to be a normal, healthy woman, and this girl was corrupting me. I needed a man to set me straight. My problem was just that it had been so long I couldn’t remember what it was like.

  Except I could quite clearly imagine what it would be like with that Greek prince, that lithe, graceful icon of manliness. But thoughts like that made me light-headed, so I had to push them away, and in their place spilled images of sweet, bubbling Amanda.

  Today she bubbled more than seemed possible. After lunch she ransacked the mailbag and came up victorious. She tore open the fancy envelope in her hand with ferocity, an arch reminder that my golden kitten was in fact a grown woman, even if she did not know it yet.

  “Grandma,” she sang out, barely reading the card. “Grandma, I must ask your leave.”

  “What are you going on about, you foolish girl?” snapped the old lioness, suspiciousness flooding her face instantly. I could see how Amanda had remained so sheltered, the Dame was as paranoid as a police detective and twice as perceptive.

  “Petros has given me a birthday present. Do you remember, last month, at dinner, he said he would have a surprise for me soon?”

  The Dame glared, but saved her ammunition ’til the battle was truly joined.

  “He says the weather is perfect, now, and the boat is repaired.”

  Still the old lady did not bite. Silently I urged Amanda to proceed cautiously, to try to trap the old woman, but her girlish enthusiasm swept her away.

  “He has invited me on a cruise! On his own yacht, the Argo. For two weeks!” She read from the card, enraptured with the words, “I long to see your glow by moonlight on the waters of my people. The Aegean sea will think Helen come again, to steal the hearts of men.”

  “Mon Dieu!” The old lady gasped for breath. So did I—that sugary prose was enough to choke anyone. I would have laughed in his face if a man had said that to me.

  But delivered in Amanda’s guileless voice, sweetness was the only aftertaste.

  “Absolutely not,” said the Dame. “You can’t spend two weeks at sea with him.” I had to silently agree with her. Put Amanda within reach of a tongue that honeyed and there wouldn’t be any need of a doctor’s report. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, my dear,” she said, and clearly meant it. It was Petros she didn’t trust, any farther than she could throw a Grecian pillar, and neither did I. “But it would not be seemly for an unmarried girl to be alone with a man of his, ah, stature.”

  “But I won’t be alone,” countered Amanda triumphantly. “I’ll have my maid with me!”

  My jaw dropped in time with the Dame’s. Neither of us had expected that.

  “That is one of her functions, is it not?” Amanda pressed. “To provide an assurance of propriety?”

  Amanda had run her grandmother up a tree. A tree she had obviously been planning since the moment she saw me and hatched the sudden desire for a personal attendant. I was pretty sure I would get the blame for it, though.

  “I do not think a single maid is enough for propriety’s sake,” the Dame countered weakly, and I had to suppress a laugh. A hundred maids would not be enough.

  “Then we should begin interviewing additions to the staff immediately,” Amanda said coolly. “The Argo sails next week, and I intend to be on it. I am eighteen now, and you cannot keep me from my betrothed.” She swept out of the room with such dignity that, for a moment, I thought she had become the Dame.

  Glaring futilely at the departing princess, the old woman growled at me. “Perhaps not quite that much starch.”

  Could it be true? Could my indiscretions have given Amanda that imperial confidence? The concept left me tongue-tied with amazement.

  “No matter,” said the Dame when it was clear I had nothing to say. “Let us discuss the next phase of your employment.”

  The menace in her voice was naked. So much for dignity. The old woman was about to threaten me with as much ferocity as a lioness protecting her cub.

  “Since you’ve put this spine into Amanda’s back, you’ll have to see it through. Has anyone explained the facts of the matter to you?”

  I could guess well enough what she was getting at. Amanda had to come back from that voyage intact.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I admitted.

  “Not sufficiently, I warrant. So allow me to detail how they affect you personally. You still have three months left on your halfway house sentence. Should you skip out on those months, you’ll be sent to a real prison.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I agreed, “but I’m serving them here. There was paperwork.”

  “Paperwork,” she said carefully, “can be lost.”

  I gasped, drawing my breath in shock. The Dame played for keeps.

  “Your recommendation came from a police detective known to be a good and honest man. But he is of Cheroigne descent. Recommendations also can be lost.”

  She leaned forward and grabbed the apron of my uniform. Such intimacy from this distant and formal old woman made my blood run cold.

  “You are, like all young women, a foolish girl. You do not understand how important these things are. But they are important to me and to others, men and women you will never meet, but whose whims and attitudes can make or break your life. Bring my granddaughter back a virgin. Do not even contemplate the alternative.”

  “How?” I choked, more out of a desire to buy time to think than in expectation of an answer.

  “How else?” she all but snarled. “He is a man. You are a woman with nothing to lose. The rest you should be able to figure out on your own. But remember—Amanda has much to lose, and if you let her lose it, my wrath will have no ending.”

  It would seem that I had just been ordered to place myself at the sexual disposal of my lady’s fiancé. I would have been outraged, except that it was the fantastic Petros, and I would not be able to keep a straight face while objecting.

  But what it would do to Amanda began to worry me. Our friendship, as fast as it had grown, would never survive such a treacherous strain.

  The old lady must have seen this fear on my face, for she said in a far gentler tone, “Do what is best for Amanda, in the long run. Do you care enough for her to do what must be done now, for the sake of her future?”

  I nodded. Barely, but I did nod.

  “Then see to it,” she finished coldly. “And I will see that you are amply rewarded. House Cheroigne does not forget its enemies, but neither does it forget its loyal servants.”

  And that was what I was, of course. A servant. A few weeks ago I would have been violently angry at such oppression. But I had seen how the house ran, like a Swiss watch, every person in their appointed place.

  And I had seen the cost that the ladies paid for their privilege, i
n Amanda’s isolation and perhaps even now in the Dame’s coldness. I was not sure I wanted to switch places, frankly.

  But I did not want to leave, not yet. If I could, I would see Amanda safely married to her prince. That would be the one good thing I gave away in my life, to balance all the selfish pleasures I had stolen. For now, at least, I would serve the will of House Cheroigne, and the future interest of my lady, even if she would never understand.

  —

  The best thing about this trip was that I wouldn’t be wearing that horrible maid’s outfit. But the rest of my wardrobe was rendered downright tawdry next to Amanda’s casual finery. The contrast between her fitted slacks and my cheap ones, between her beautiful dresses and my sleazy miniskirts, brought me to the brink of tears. I was trying on my pathetic tops in front of the mirror and trying not to cry when Amanda found me.

  “Here,” she said, handing me one of her lace-lined spaghetti-strapped designer affairs. I’m sure it fit her like a glove, flattering her every curve, but on me it just advertised every flaw. I wasn’t skinny on top or thick around the waist, but I could never live up to the clothes that were tailored for her perfect figure.

  “Hmm, not really,” Amanda said, eyeing me critically.

  I bit my lip to stop myself from snapping back with something catty. It wasn’t her fault, I kept telling myself. But at this moment that excuse was stretched to the breaking point.

  “You’re right,” she said to the bitter face I was making. “I can’t see wearing that in the Mediterranean, either. Too much lace.”

  She turned her back to me and rifled through her closet. I took off the top and laid it carefully on the bed. It probably cost more than a week’s salary for me.

  Amanda sighed in dissatisfaction, throwing another extravagant silk blouse onto the floor. When she pouted like this, she looked like a twelve-year-old. No wonder Petros still thought of her as a child.

  “I hate all my clothes,” she said miserably. “Grandma has to let me go shopping. She can’t expect me to go to Greece in that.”

  My jealousy spiked at that moment. The girl had closet after closet of designer labels so elite I had never heard of them. She had beautiful things and didn’t appreciate them, while I had practically nothing. I had to turn away from her to hide my anger and get myself under control. I picked up her discarded clothes and hung them back in the closet, like a good maid.

  “See, I don’t have anything like this,” Amanda said when I came out of the closet. She was holding my black leather miniskirt against her waist and posing in front of the mirror. At first I actually thought she was making fun of me, and my face burned.

  And then I realized she really wasn’t. She had expensive clothes, yes, but they were the pretty things a girl would choose. Not the clothes a woman who was trying to land a man would choose.

  On the other hand, my entire wardrobe was basically an advertisement for male attention.

  “Let me see your bathing suit,” I said. Petty of me, yes, but I was still wounded and trying to salvage some pride.

  She looked at me dubiously, but went into the bathroom to comply. I pulled out my bikini, stripped down and slid into the scraps of hot pink fabric. Cheap, tacky, slutty even, and it revealed enough of my assets to lay bare their every fault. But men still turned their heads when I walked by in it.

  Amanda came out in her one-piece suit. It was lovely, of course, and her body was flawless. She was beautiful.

  But not sexy.

  We stood together and looked in the mirror, the princess and the slut, and now it was Amanda’s eyes that grew wet.

  “Will you help me?” she asked plaintively. “Will you help me pick things he will like?”

  “Of course,” I said, shamed by my pettiness. I had been glad of her humiliation. But she had never sought mine. She had complimented what I had as much as she could.

  “Of course,” I said again, my resolve returned. “We’ll get you clothes that will get you arrested if you wear them in public.”

  She laughed and hugged me, and all my resentments melted away.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and stripped off her bathing suit without hesitation. Once again I was exposed to that superlative nude body. My jealousy threatened a comeback, but she really couldn’t be blamed for this.

  I stepped out of my bikini, and for a brief moment we were both naked. Amanda noticed me then, remembering that there was another person in the room who was not related to her. A person she had, just last night, been kissing passionately. We still did that most nights, and I had to confess that she was coming along nicely. There was real passion behind her efforts now. I didn’t admit it, though. For some reason I agreed to the practice whenever she suggested it. Why was a topic I choose not to think about.

  She blushed, and I went into my room to dress. Thinking about how Petros would react to the clothes I would put on Amanda’s flawless body filled me with a wicked glee. Her irresistible but unconsummated enticements would be my revenge on the handsome but untouchable players. And his marriage would be my victory over feckless men everywhere. Which was, in my experience, all men, most especially the handsome ones.

  —

  Our shopping trip met an early obstacle. All of our justifications were rendered ineffective by the simple fact of the Dame being out of the house.

  “I don’t need permission, anyway,” Amanda decided. “I can’t be expected to go on such a trip without some shopping.”

  I wasn’t so sure the old lady would see it that way, so I pointed out the other problem.

  “But she has the limo. We can’t walk there, can we?” I didn’t know where there was, but I was certain it wasn’t anywhere close.

  That stumped Amanda, and I started to feel lousy. Here was this poor little rich girl, a virtual prisoner in her own home. I remembered all the times I had felt trapped and I relented.

  “We could just call a cab.”

  “They’ll come out here?” Amanda asked, and I felt suddenly guilty. The Dame wasn’t going to appreciate this bit of education.

  But to hell with the dragon, Amanda was an adult now.

  “Of course they will, Amanda. They’ll go anywhere, as long as you pay them enough.”

  “Oh,” said Amanda, and sat down in defeat.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked her. How could money be an issue here?

  “How can I pay them?” she asked. “I don’t have any money. I don’t even have a credit card.”

  It occurred to me that Amanda might never have even seen cash. Why would she?

  “I’ve got some money,” I said. “I’ll pay for the cab ride.” Such generosity to the rich, I thought sardonically. But that wasn’t fair. The truth was Amanda was my friend. And I’d pay cab fare for a friend.

  “Would you?” she exclaimed, and my heart leapt. Her enthusiasm was infectious. If she got this excited over a cab ride, once she figured out what sex was all about, poor Petros didn’t have a chance.

  “Sure,” I said with a smile. What do you get the rich girl who has everything? A cab ride, so she can buy more of everything. But it felt good to be able to give her something.

  We called a cab from the phone in the parlor, giggling like schoolgirls. Maria knew we were up to something and frowned disapprovingly. Probably that would have been enough to stop Amanda in the past, or even me, but the two of us together were irrepressible. When the cab honked in the driveway, we dashed out of the house before the butler could object, and threw ourselves into the backseat.

  “Town,” I gasped, “and step on it.” Then Amanda and I both burst out laughing.

  “You got it, miss,” said the driver, and the car accelerated down the lane, escaping the minatory glare emanating from various members of Cheroigne House staff at the door.

  “A bit of a lark, eh?” The driver grinned at us from the front seat. He must have thought us both servants, playing hooky for the day.

  “Not that much,” I warned him. Who knows how lucky he tho
ught he was getting? Men have the most outrageous fantasies sometimes.

  “Do you know where Della Villa is?” Amanda asked him.

  “Yes, miss,” he answered, more chastised by Amanda’s comment than mine. “It’s a bit of drive, though, at least an hour.”

  An hour! In a cab! This would bankrupt me. It would clean out my purse, and I had earmarked that money for other things.

  But it occurred to me that I didn’t actually need those other things right now. My bed and board was taken care of, after all. It would be graceless to complain about the cost to Amanda, she just wouldn’t understand. So for once I kept my mouth shut and let my gift be given freely, without recriminations or guilt.

  “We’ll start there,” she told the driver. “Unless you think we should go somewhere else?” she asked me, suddenly an uncertain little girl again.

  “No, that’s fine,” I said. I had no idea what Della Villa was, but I wasn’t ready to admit that just yet.

  Amanda leaned back and relaxed, obviously used to being chauffeured around. I wasn’t, but I tried to follow her example. It was good practice for me. On this upcoming trip, I was sure there would be lots of things I had to get used to.

  —

  Della Villa was in the part of the city I never went to. I couldn’t afford those kinds of shops. I didn’t even know anyone who could.

  Inside the shop I felt small. The clerks were all younger and prettier than me, and better dressed to boot. They ignored me, of course, smelling out my true nature instantly. But they greeted Amanda with what seemed like real smiles, not just the polished ones big spenders get.

  We pawed through the racks of beautiful clothes together, and I found myself giggling again. Amanda was positively beaming at me. But of course, I realized, she had never gone shopping with a friend before. She had never really had a friend to shop with.

  “How about this one?” she asked, holding up a see-through lace blouse.

  “Of course not, silly,” I laughed at her, and then automatically checked the price tag. It would look good over a slip, after all.