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The filtered sunbeams stroked her face and Annabelle stirred. She yawned loudly and flinging out her arms she stretched, and then stiffened, as her fingers slid across cool silky cotton and fine soft lace.
“What the?” she murmured, as her eyes sprang open and found not an armchair, but a massive bed. Holding up the sheet she looked down, frowning as she realised she was wearing her P.J’s. “I don’t remember putting these on, or coming to bed.”
At her feet Percival registered his mistress waking and following the line of her body under the sheet he made his way to her. With his little motor purring smoothly he rubbed his face along her outstretched arm. After once again marking her as his property, he curled up and promptly fell asleep, still purring happily.
Stroking his soft fur she scanned her eyes around the room, the puzzle of how she’d come to be in here speedily evaporating. The room took her breath away, it was sumptuous and the thought crossed her mind that perhaps she’d been placed in the wrong room.
Surely this one was too upmarket for a garden-variety nanny. It had to be the V.I.P’s suite. She frowned and her stomach clenched at the thought of anyone else having this room. She didn’t want to give it up. Percival nipped her as her fingers stroked him more roughly than she’d intended.
“Oh I’m sorry little man,” she crooned. Blinking at her he settled back down, all forgiven.
The pale ivory walls were tastefully decorated with stunning lithographs of native birds and placed opposite the bed was a pink and white striped chaise. Piled with pastel cushions, it looked inviting and Annabelle imagined herself whiling away lazy afternoons stretched out on its luxurious length. Shaking off her lady-of-the-manor-fancies she continued with her inspection.
French doors opened onto a wide verandah and through the sheer curtains she saw a petite table and two chairs. The delightful warbling of magpies drifted into her room and she smiled as she listened to them chatter amongst themselves. She didn’t see many maggies in the suburb where she’d been living, they’d been overrun by plagues of dreadful mynah birds and starlings.
Although Sydney’s big parks had some nesting pairs in the towering elms and giant plane trees. She laughed softly remembering the TV footage of people running hunched over with newspapers and bags held aloft to protect from the bird’s stealthy dive-bombing attacks which ran from August to November.
“I hope the birds are friendlier here,” she said, wincing as she imaged the bird’s sharp beaks pecking her head. “Although it is January, so I should be safe. I hope.”
Pushing bird attacks out of her mind she rolled over, the doorway to the side catching her eye. Moving Percival she peeled the sheet back and full of curiosity she padded over to it, smiling as her feet sank into the thick woollen carpet.
Walking in she clapped with delight as she found herself in a combined walk-in and dressing room. Spinning she noticed with amazement that her clothes had already been unpacked and either placed into alcoves, or hung on lacy red hangers.
“Someone likes red,” she said skimming her hand over them before noticing the fact her clothes had been hung in like colours. “Oh my goodness, they’ve even been colour-coded. I’d never have thought to do that myself.” She raised a brow. “It looks rather swish.” Beneath the dresses and skirts her shoes had been placed into clear boxes and neatly stacked. Bending down she smiled as she ran her hand over the containers. “How sweet. Salomè has thought of everything.”
Opening one of the drawers she saw her bras, knickers and stockings all folded and placed neatly inside.
Little perfumed sachets nestled amongst them and the smell that wafted up was divine, carrying hints of jasmine and violets. Pulling open another drawer she held her breath as her hand reached down and lightly fingered the exquisite wisps of fabric that lay inside.
Pulling one out she sighed as it unfolded with a silky whisper. Sucking her bottom lip she felt a slight pang of jealousy for whoever owned this beautiful nightgown. Gossamer-like lace edged the bodice and hem of the shimmering white silk sheath. Holding it up to her face she closed her eyes delighting in the feel of it against her skin. With regret she carefully placed it back with the others and closed the draw.
She sniffed the air, the whole walk-in smelt delicious and turning away from her clothes she headed towards the square of golden sunlight which beckoned to her. Stepping onto dove-grey tiles she spun around in a small circle and gasped as she took in the en suite.
“Holy shit! This is larger than my bedroom at home,” she mouthed.
Beneath the wide picture window squatted an antique claw-footed bathtub. Walking up to it she looked out through the lacy curtains at the gardens outside. Tearing her eyes from them she turned and sitting on the tub’s side she took in the other details.
In the corner on her right was a modern, glass-screened shower and toilet and opposite that were two vanities equipped with – she gasped – a proper make-up mirror with decent lighting.
Walking up to it she opened the first drawer and saw her makeup and beauty products neatly placed inside. The next drawer contained her battered little hairdryer, curling wand and brushes and the bottom contained boxes of tampons and strangely enough, condoms and lubricant.
“I think there’s been a mistake, these aren’t mine,” she said and kneeling she gathered the sex things and threw them into the cupboard under the sink.
Standing up she peeled off her pyjamas and dropping them she leaned forward, inspecting herself in the mirror.
“No more slapping the war-paint on by candlelight girly,” she joked. Flicking the switch she laughed with delight as the globes lit up and then frowned as she noticed the tell-tale tinge of panda eyes. “Oh what did Salomè think when she clapped eyes on me last night? And she looked so stunning.”
Stepping into the shower she helped herself to the bottles of luxurious scented bath-gels –again not mine – and soon lost herself in the delicious feel of the powerful spray on her skin.
Walking out into the bedroom she froze, almost dropping the towel in shock. Salomè stood in the middle of the room, looking at her, her flawlessly made-up face wearing a dazzling smile.
In her hand she held a tray set with teapot, cups and toast pre-spread. Oh wow, my favourite breakfast- spread. How did she know?
But then Annabelle’s heart sank as her eyes moved from the tray and skimmed up and down Salomè’s shapely form. Once again she was dressed impeccably: black sheath, sheer black stockings, and impossibly high, black patent leather heels. A long strand of milky pearls was looped twice about her neck, draping down between her breasts in that chic way that some women do without even being conscious of it.
Does this woman ever look like shit? she thought, suddenly feeling terribly self-conscious of her shower hair which was hanging in long rat’s tails down her back, and her bare face. She was painfully aware she could only ever aspire to be half as stunning as this woman and in her chest she felt a painful tightening.
Acutely conscious that she was blushing she looked down at the floor and mumbled, “Good morning Salomè, I’m not late am I? Just give me a few minutes to get dressed and do my face and hair and I’ll be ready to meet the children.” Scurrying back into the dressing room she flicked through her clothes, murmuring, “What should I wear? Dress, or skirt and blouse?”
“No rush Annabelle my dear. It’s only just gone 7:00 am. You don’t need to start today.” She cleared her throat. “Actually there’s been a slight change of plan. Come and eat your breakfast while it’s still hot and palatable,” Salomè said in a silky voice.
Annabelle frowned and opening the drawer she rummaged around before selecting her nicest underwear; skimpy scraps of shockingly expensive lace and black-satin. She needed a confidence boost and when she felt like shit, these always did it for her. Wriggling into her sundress, she buttoned it up and grabbing her comb she stepped out, carrying the towel. Bending over, she wrapped it around h
er head turban-style and straightening back up, she gazed wide-eyed at the other woman.
The Devil Of Oz Page 10