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“I thought you might be hungry,” she said, seeing the question in my eyes.
“Thank you.” I didn’t see the point in pretending that I wasn’t.
“Then go ahead, eat.”
I tried not to cram it in my mouth.
“Do you live around here?” she asked, as I ate.
I nodded.
“In an apartment?”
“A youth hostel,” I lied.
She studied me for a moment. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” I said, adding a year to my age.
“And where is your family?”
“Dead.” Then seeing her expression, I hurried to explain. “My father died from cancer earlier this year, my mother when I was a child.”
“That’s very sad, I’m sorry,” she said, and briefly touched my arm.
“Thanks.”
“What do you do?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Mainly kitchen work. But I’ve just been let go.” I gave a little shrug. “Not enough customers.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Anything. I’m saving to go to college.”
She nodded. “How are you with housework?”
“Good,” I told her. “When my father was ill, I did everything.”
The woman looked at me for a moment, then raised her eyebrows. “You followed me home last week.”
“Not to see where you lived, or anything,” I replied hastily, in case she thought I’d intended to rob her. “I saw that you were upset and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
She gave a sad smile. “That was very kind of you. Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I’m Carolyn Blakely and my husband has just left me for someone younger, which is ironic really, because I’m only thirty-three and I never felt old until he told me she was twenty-five.” She reached for her bag and pulled out a silver lipstick, rubbing it on her lips until they were as red as her nails. “I work long hours in PR, I have my own business, and my husband used to do most of the cooking, which was great. And most of the shopping. And some of the cleaning. So, basically, I’m looking for someone to do all the things he used to do, but with none of the moaning.”
“I won’t moan, I promise,” I said, and she laughed.
“You might have to work late in the evenings because whatever time I get home, I’d like dinner ready, and that might mean ten o’clock. But once you’ve done the shopping and cleaning and prepared the meal, the rest of the day is yours.”
“Really?” I couldn’t believe my luck. “And that’s all?”
Carolyn smiled. “Yes, I think so. What’s your name?”
“It’s Amelie, Amelie Lamont.”
“Pretty. Is it French?”
I nodded. “My father was French.”
