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“We’ll be working in conjunction with each other,” he said. “In you come.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like some champagne?” he asked as I stepped inside the large foyer. I looked down at the white marble floors and then looked around. This place was gorgeous, and it looked spotless. I didn’t think I could keep it as spotless as it looked now, but maybe if no one were in the house, it wouldn’t get dirty very quickly.
“I said, would you like some champagne?” he asked me, and I was dumbfounded at his question.
“It’s nine a.m.”
“Mimosas then?” he asked. I wondered if he was just crazy. I took a deep breath as suddenly it occurred to me that what if this man, this Benedict, wasn’t the butler but the owner, and that was why Gladys, the housekeeper, was leaving because he was absolutely bonkers. I bit down on my lower lip. I didn’t know if I could work for a crazy person, especially if I were going to be living with him.
“I’m just joking,” he said, laughing suddenly. “It was a test.”
“Oh, okay. Part of the interview?” I asked. “To see if I’m an alcoholic or something?” He just stared at me for a couple of seconds.
“This way, madam.”
He walked formally through the foyer to a large room on the right. I could see a piano standing there. The furnishings looked odd in the space. They didn’t look beachy at all, but I supposed if the owner were old, then maybe that was what they were into. Maybe my new boss was going to be Robert De Niro or Al Pacino, or maybe even Morgan Freeman. I could feel myself getting excited again.
“So what’s your boss’s name?” I asked casually.
“I forgot because we’re not allowed to say the name to strangers,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh, okay. I mean, if I get the job, I won’t be a stranger.”
“If you get the job, Miss Harriet, then you will also get the name.” He bowed. “I will tell Gladys you’re here.”
“Okay. Thank you,” I said, taking a deep breath.
I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, and if I weren’t an absolute desperado, I would’ve left because bells were ringing in my head. Something was not adding up. I could hear the loud clicking of heels coming down the corridor, and I pressed my skirt down. This was it.
Gladys walked in, and my jaw dropped. Gladys was about eighty years old, but she was wearing the highest heels I’d ever seen in my life. She stared at me for a few seconds, her eyes widening. “You’re Harriet?” she asked, looking me up and down.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, putting on an older British lady’s voice. I wasn’t sure why I’d done it, but it just felt right.
“You’re British?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Had my voice just sounded Scottish? “I used to work for the royal family, ma’am,” I said, groaning inwardly. Why was I lying? Part of me didn’t even really want the job, but the other part wanted it so that I could find out who the famous person was that lived here.
“Oh, the royal family?” she asked, looking impressed. “Which members?”
“Which members you say?” I said, staring at her.
“Yes. Who did you work for?”
“Well, we’re not supposed to say.” I bit down on my lower lip. “But if you know anything about the royal family and you’ve heard of Prince William and Prince Harry, then you’ll know that they have an aunt and an uncle that, well, needs a little bit of help.” She stared at me for a couple of seconds. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“So you’re saying you work for Princess Michael of Kent?” she asked.
“Well, no,” I said, not wanting to say anything specific because what if Prince Harry was the person that lived here, and he and Megan were trying to get a housekeeper, and I gave a name, and then they were like, “Oh, let me call up my uncle or my aunt and see if you really did work for them.” And then I was like, “Oh, no. Actually, I was just joking, just like I never went to Culinary Institute.” But then it suddenly struck me that if Prince Harry was the one that owned the house, I wouldn’t have gotten the interview so quickly. “I’m not really allowed to say,” I said. “I signed an NDA.”
“I see,” she said, nodding. “Well, we can start the interview.”
“Will I have to sign an NDA for this position?” I asked her, wondering just how important the person was.
“I shouldn’t think so,” she said, shaking her head.
“Oh, okay.” So then it wasn’t anyone scandalous.
