Dubious Read online

  I’m sick to my stomach with worry over Charlie. I need to call Kris and check that he’s all right, but Gabriel gave me my clothes and held onto my purse with my phone. I can’t allow myself to think about this morning or Puff. Not yet. For now, I need to be strong.

  With the imminent danger of death over, reality crashes down on me. Despair seeps into my pores. The calculation is harrowing. I’ll be thirty-two before I walk free. If I ever walk free. There’s no doubt in my mind Gabriel will kill me without blinking an eye. I know men like him. My father was one. The servant role isn’t only to pay off a debt. It’s a means of degrading me. I have no issue pulling the hair from Gabriel’s shower or scrubbing his toilet. What’s killing me is sleeping under his roof and eating food he pays for. I’m forced to allow my enemy to take care of me. It feels personal and wrong. The last thing I want from Gabriel is any kind of care. I’ll talk to Kris and negotiate to work Sundays. That way I’ll still be able to pay for my studies. No matter what, I’m not giving it up. It’s my only hope, our ticket out of Berea. I’ll just have to put my plans on the backburner for nine years.

  After getting lost in corridors and too many rooms with sofas and chairs––How many lounges can one family need?––I finally locate the kitchen at the far east end of the mansion. The size of the house overwhelms me. It’s going to be a hell of a job to keep the place spotless.

  Marie waits for me in a sterile looking kitchen, a hostile expression on her face. “I better show you around.”

  Wordlessly, I fall in behind her. We go through the ground level with its reading, sitting, television, entertainment, and dining rooms, and up a flight of stairs. The bedrooms and bathrooms on the first level are luxurious and comfortable. As we move along, my heart sinks lower and lower. It’s too much.

  “Who’s currently cleaning the house?”

  Marie looks at me as if I asked her for a gold coin. “A cleaning service. I presume since you’re here, they’ll be fired.”

  Poor people. They’re going to lose a big contract, but at least they’re free.

  At a wooden door with an intricate carving, she stops. “This is his bedroom. Next door is Miss Carly’s. Mr. Louw’s mother is at the opposite end.”

  She knocks on Miss Carly’s door and opens it without waiting for a reply.

  A girl of about sixteen lies on her stomach on the bed. The room is one of the prettiest I’ve seen. It’s decorated in blue with whitewashed furniture.

  “Carly,” Marie says, “this is Valentina. She’s the new live-in.”

  Carly lifts her head to look me up and down before burying her face in her iPad again.

  “His daughter,” Marie says, closing the door. She lowers her voice. “She sometimes lives with her mom, but she’s mostly here.”

  So, Gabriel and Carly’s mom are separated or divorced.

  We explore the house until we end up back in the kitchen. Only the kitchen is surgical white. It’s not a room the inhabitants of the house live in. There’s no breakfast nook, books, or flowers, not a trace of warmth. It’s a functional room equipped for the staff. This is where Marie pauses the longest to show me the adjoining scullery where they keep the household appliances and a fridge for the staff.

  “You can keep your food here,” Marie says. “The one in the pantry is only for the family.”

  Cleaning products are neatly stacked on the shelves on the wall. Everything is tidy and in its place. At least there are a state-of-the-art vacuum cleaner and washing machine to work with.

  “Do you know how to operate these?” Marie points at the washing machine and tumble dryer.

  I nod, even if I don’t. I washed our clothes in the bathtub, but how difficult can it be to figure out a washing machine?

  “The washing has to be sun-dried,” Marie explains, “unless it rains. Mrs. Louw doesn’t believe in wasting electricity.”

  From the scullery, a door leads to the maid quarters. This is where I’ll be sleeping for the next nine years. I put my head around the frame. The room is small, the double bed taking up most of the space, but the cream-colored carpet is clean, and the mattress looks new. The paint is white, and there are no foul smells or damp to darken the walls. A connecting door gives access to a small bathtub with a shower nozzle fitted inside, a basin, and toilet. It’s much better than what I’m used to. There are no linen or towels, and I didn’t bring any, but I don’t ask.

  “Well,” Marie dusts her hands, “I’ll let you get on with it. Your uniforms will arrive later. For now, you’ll have to work like this.” She gives my legs a disapproving look.

  “Can I have my phone?”

  “You’ll have to ask Mr. Louw about that.”

  The minute she’s gone, I use the bathroom to splash water on my face. The enormity of the situation pushes down on my chest. I can’t breathe. Needing air, I open the window, letting the breeze on my wet cheeks cool me. From here, I have a view over an enclosed courtyard. There’s a circular clothesline in the center and a wheelbarrow pushed up against the wall. Through the open door giving access to the backyard, the blue water of a pool is visible.

  Since I don’t know how to go about my new job with the massive size of the house, I decide to dive into the deep end and swim. It’s an approach that always works for me. For the next few hours, I work out a plan of action as I go, starting with laundry and dusting, then vacuuming and finally washing the floors and windows. My mind is filled with Charlie and Puff, and even if I can’t fight my tears, I can hide them while I bend my head over the mop. As I mourn for Puff, I let my hate for Gabriel and the guy who shot him ripen. The only ray of hope in this nightmare is that today is Wednesday. On Sunday, I’ll see Charlie.

  * * *

  In the late afternoon, Gabriel summons me to the reading room. Stepping inside, I’m taken aback by the presence of an elderly man dressed in a Mandela style shirt and chinos.

  Gabriel turns to me. “This is Dr. Samuel Engelbrecht. He’s going to take a blood sample and examine you.”

  I look between the men. “What for?”

  Gabriel ignores my question. “Are you on birth control?”

  The wind is knocked out of me by the implication of the question, even if I expected it as an inevitable part of the deal I’d made. If the doctor recognizes the shock on my face, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

  “No,” I force through dry lips.

  The doctor offers me an impersonal smile. “Take off your clothes and lie down on the couch, my dear.”

  I can’t move. I’m stuck to the carpet.

  “How long do you need?” Gabriel asks.

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be back for her.”

  On his way to the door, he stops in front of me. “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him.”

  Dr. Engelbrecht chuckles over his open doctor’s case. “It’s not nice to make jokes like that.”

  “It’s no joke.”

  Gabriel says it with a smile, but his words send a shiver down my spine. He walks from the room, shutting me inside with the doctor.

  “Come now,” the doctor says, “I don’t have all day.”

  It’s embarrassing to undress in front of a stranger who knows my employer is going to fuck me. My whole body blushes as I kick off my trainers, push down my shorts, and peel off my top.

  He must see many patients at home, because he’s well prepared. A disposable sheet is already spread out on the couch. I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling as I lay down, trying to go someplace dark in my head.

  He fits on a pair of surgical gloves. “Bend your knees.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry, my dear, it’s just a pap smear. You’re supposed to do it every year. First time?”

  I nod. It’s not like I have money for doctors’ visits.

  He chats through the examination to put me at ease, but I’m tense, and when he takes the sample it hurts. He lets me get dressed before he takes my blood. He’s just about done w
hen Gabriel steps back into the room.

  He walks to the couch where I’m sitting with my arm on the armrest while my blood runs into a vial. “How did it go?”

  It’s the doctor who answers. “Very well. I’ll have the results tomorrow.”

  I guess Gabriel wants to be sure I’m clean. Can’t blame him, seeing where I come from.

  “Depending on the hormone level results,” Dr. Engelbrecht continues, “I’ll drop off an oral contraceptive.” He removes the needle and gives me a cotton swab to press on the wound. After packing the samples in his bag, he removes the gloves, shakes Gabriel’s hand, and takes his leave.

  I stare at Gabriel when we’re alone, heat burning under the neckline of my top. “You could’ve warned me.”

  “It would’ve stressed you unnecessarily.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” I say, jumping to my feet. “I may be working for you, but it’s still my body.”

  “No, beautiful.” He gives me a calculated look. “I beg to differ.”

  I don’t have a reply. All I can do is rush past him, escaping the unsettling situation, and for now he lets me.

  * * *

  The hard physical labor is an outlet for my anger, frustration, and even a bit of my fear. As I don’t run into anyone while I’m cleaning, a false sense of calmness settles over me, but I start to stress again when I realize I can only manage the ground level in whatever time of the day is left. At least the house is immaculate. I can start with the first floor tomorrow. I won’t manage unless I work on a rotation basis, deep cleaning some rooms only every second or third day.

  I don’t stop for lunch, and I never had breakfast. By the time I walk into the kitchen at sunset, I’m famished, sweaty, and tired, but everything downstairs is sparkling clean. Marie is stirring a pot on the stove. The delicious fragrance of tomato and beef stew fills my nostrils. My treacherous stomach gives a growl. My body doesn’t understand pride or honor. It’s ruled by the simple survival needs of hunger and thirst. Taking a glass from the cupboard, I fill it under the tap and drink deeply.

  Marie wipes her hands on her apron. “I kept you a sandwich.” She motions at a plate under a fly net on the counter with a white envelope next to it. “Mr. Louw left your food allowance. He said you won’t leave the property before Saturday, but if you write down what you need, I’ll order it for you. We have a delivery service that comes every day.”

  Of course they do.

  Glancing at the wall clock, the housekeeper continues, “I’m off. The dinner is ready. Mrs. Louw is going out, tonight. Set the table for Mr. Louw and Miss Carly in the informal dining room. Make sure the kitchen is clean and the table set for breakfast before you go to bed. Mr. Louw usually sees to his own breakfast as he eats before I get on duty. I’ll be in at eight.”

  A soft meow sounds from the door. I look down into a pair of yellow eyes flecked with green. A gray cat, his tail and paws tipped with white, runs inside and rubs against my leg.

  I bend down to pet him. “Hello, you. What’s your name?”

  “That’s Oscar,” Marie replies.

  From her tone, I gather she doesn’t care much for him.

  “He’s Mr. Louw’s late grandmother’s cat.”

  Pleased with the attention, the tabby flops onto his side. He stretches when I scratch his chin.

  “Nothing but a nuisance,” Marie says with a click of her tongue.

  This makes me like her even less. I don’t trust people who don’t like animals. “He seems quiet enough.”

  She snorts. “Pisses everywhere. You’ll see how much you like him when you have to clean it.”

  “Has he been neutered?” I lift a back leg for a better look. Yep.

  A puff of air escapes her lips. “Like I’d know.” Marie takes her jacket and purse from a hook behind the door. “See you tomorrow at eight.” She shuts the backdoor behind her with a firm click.

  Curious, I tear open the envelope with my name on it and peer inside. I’m surprised to pull out eleven five hundred rand bills, five hundred more than my monthly wage. It’s a lot more generous than I expected. I contemplate refusing the money on the principle, but I don’t have a choice. Without an income, I can’t take care of Charlie and pay for my studies. Or eat. Feeling my hunger with full-blown force, I refill my glass with water.

  At the sound of the running tap, Oscar twitches his ears.

  “Are you thirsty? Where’s your bowl?”

  When I move toward the door, he jumps to his feet and scoots past me to the scullery. There, next to the dishwasher, are two porcelain bowls, one filled with water and the other with kibbles. It doesn’t take me long to locate the bag of pet food under the sink. It’s a cheap brand, one with more fiber than nutritional value. Typically, it’s manufactured to fill, but not to nourish. I top off the food, rinse the water bowl before refilling it with fresh water, and make myself at home on the floor next to Oscar where I feed him pieces of the ham and cheese I dig out of the sandwich. Not the healthiest meal for him, either, but at least it’s tastier than the cardboard they’re feeding him. The food makes Oscar my new best friend. As I set the table and bring the laundry in from outside, he stays by my side, stealing hopeful glances at me that I can only reward with caresses, at least until I have my own groceries.

  It’s late, but I’m worried I won’t have time to catch up with all the outstanding work tomorrow, so I fold the clothes I can and put the shirts and dresses for ironing aside. As I wait for the iron to heat up in the scullery, I hear sounds in the kitchen. Immediately, my stomach tightens. How, I don’t know, but I know it’s him. It’s as if the air thickens, making it difficult to breathe. I pinch my eyes shut and hold my breath, hoping he’ll leave, but the iron hisses and spits, giving away my hiding place.

  At the sound, Gabriel sticks his head around the corner. His eyes fix on me, and then on Oscar by my feet. It’s difficult to read him. He’s looking at me like he’s appraising me or trying to find fault. I hate that he makes me fear. I hate even more that he makes me curious. I try not to stare, but the scars on his face have a magnetic pull on my gaze. What kind of weapon creates such scars? What kind of man survives it? I can’t look away from the challenge in his stare.

  Finally, the harsh lines of his mouth soften a fraction. “You better serve dinner while it’s warm.” Abruptly, he turns and leaves.

  I let go of the breath I was holding, my chest deflating as his presence fades and the air decompresses again.

  Carly sits at the table opposite her father, a smart phone in her hand, when I enter with a tray loaded with dishes. She doesn’t look up from texting as I place everything in the center of the table. In contrast, Gabriel’s eyes follow me around the room. I become intensely aware of my clothes and the state of my body. My skin is shiny with perspiration. I need a shower. To add to my discomfort, he inhales audibly as I sweep past him.

  When the tray is offloaded, he nods at me. “Serve us, then leave.”

  I lift the lid on the bowl of rice and carry it to Carly. “Rice, miss?” I try to hide my discomfort as I’m forced to grovel and bow to my brother’s enemy.

  No reply. Her head remains bent over her phone, causing her wheat-colored hair to fall in a veil around her face. I hover until the slam of Gabriel’s palm on the table make both Carly and I jump. The cutlery and glasses clatter from the force.

  “Put away your phone, Carly. If I see it at the dinner table again, I’ll confiscate it.”

  She glares at him with a cool, blue gaze. “Then I’ll have dinner at Mom’s.”

  A muscle twitches under one eye before he narrows both. “You’re welcome to, but since I pay your allowance, your phone stays here.”

  She throws the phone down on the table, the mobile hitting the wood with a thud. “Fine.”

  “Valentina asked you a question.”

  She looks at me as if I’m the reason for their argument. “What?”

  “Rice, miss?” I repeat, keeping my face void of emotion. />
  “For God’s sake.” She sighs with an exaggerated eye roll. “Call me Carly. I hate to be called miss.”

  “Rice, Carly?” I say flatly.

  She steals a glance at her father and mumbles, “What the hell ever.”

  Gabriel’s knuckles turn white around the stem of his glass. I can’t get out of there fast enough. The atmosphere is so thick with tension I want to choke. I return to my ironing and listen, but there’s nothing but the clanging of their cutlery and the clinking of their glasses as the meal progresses in silence.

  By the time they’re done, so am I. All the shirts are folded to perfection, a hated curse pressed into every, neat line. The dining room is empty when I clear the table. Loud music comes from upstairs. I don’t want to contemplate the difficulties of Gabriel’s relationship with his daughter. I don’t care.

  When I get to my room, there are towels and a heap of linen on the bed, together with my purse. In the cupboard, I find three black maid’s dresses in my size. There’s no key in the lock and no chair or other piece of furniture I can push against the door, not that it will do me any good. I made a deal with a monster, and the only way to survive is to honor it.

  The first thing I do, is extract my phone and call Kris.

  She answers immediately. “Tell me you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At Gabriel Louw’s house.”

  “Did he…?”

  A flush works its way up my neck. He will, but I can’t tell Kris. She’s got enough on her plate. “No. How’s Charlie?”

  “He was upset when I fetched him, but he’s calm, now. He’s watching television.”

  “Thank you, Kris.” I blink away the moisture in my eyes. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “You did the right thing to call me. I was worried sick about you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I tried your phone several times. Why didn’t you answer?”