Excerpt
Lisel Herrera tugged at her skirt one last time before pressing the doorbell of the sprawling mansion.
The advert had listed a mobile number and had said simply, “Female, preferably between the ages of 16 and 18, needed for light housework. Please contact: Gareth Anderson.”
At nineteen, she barely looked fourteen. She desperately needed extra income right now and would do just about anything to get some, including lie about her age.
The door opened moments later and for a few seconds she gazed stupidly back at the man standing in the doorway, completely lost for words. Wearing a forest green roll neck jumper, black jeans and black monogrammed bedroom slippers, he looked as though he had just stepped off the screen of an old Hollywood movie. Late-twenties, or early-thirties, Lisel guessed. Two tiny wings of silver at each temple enhanced the glossy lustre of his jet black hair and almost perfectly matched his silvery eyes.
“Are you here for the job?” His voice was a deep purr that sent a shiver down her spine. As she nodded, too surprised to speak, he stepped aside and invited, “I’m Gareth. Come in, please.”
She had thought the exterior of the house impressive as she had approached the building, but it paled in comparison to the magnificent interior.
“Your house is beautiful and…and spotless,” she commented in awe as she looked around. “Why do you need help cleaning it?”
“Thank you. I do most of the cleaning myself, but I don’t always get the time when I’m working on a project. I need someone to keep things spic and span when I’m busy.”
“Why do you need someone young, or a girl for that matter?”
“Boys are dirty little creatures,” he said dismissively. “And the reason I specifically requested someone young is because the job pays just above minimum wage.”
Stingy bastard, Lisel thought in annoyance. His house is worth millions, and he wants to pay someone less than minimum wage to clean it? She would be better off stacking shelves at Sainsbury’s or Tesco!
Just as she opened her mouth to thank him for agreeing to see her for the informal interview and say goodbye, he continued, “Although if you do a good job there will be regular bonuses.”
“Why not just pay more and forget bonuses?” she demanded. It would make more sense.
“I’ve found that employees work harder when bonuses are promised. Believe me, you won’t be disappointed with the monthly bonus I pay you.”
Monthly bonuses? That didn’t sound too bad, if it was ten pounds or some equally ridiculous amount she would leave after the first month.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“You look younger.” He smiled, looking pleased at the thought. “When’s your birthday?”
“Actually it was last week. April 21st,” she said truthfully, seeing no harm in giving him the exact date.
“So you’re just sixteen?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Sixteen is the perfect age for the job. The pay is enough for a girl’s first job. An older girl would be able to earn more doing a regular job.”
His words sounded reasonable, but Lisel didn’t buy them. If the man cleaned his house himself and kept it as spotless as it appeared, he didn’t need help, young or old. She suspected that under his well-groomed exterior lurked a pervert of some sort. A more naïve woman might have been in grave danger from him. Lisel felt she could handle him; he seemed the type to cajole, not force, a woman into doing what he wanted.
“Are you doing your A-Levels at the moment?”
“Yes.” Lisel did a quick mental calculation and realized her error. “Actually I start studying for my A-Levels in September if I pass my GCSEs.”
“Does your school have a sixth form?”
“Yes it does,” Lisel responded her mind racing as she thought of an answer to his next most likely question.
“And which school is that?”
“St Angela’s,” she answered, hoping that the school did indeed have a sixth form. She had seen some rather mature-looking young women in the school’s uniform when she had briefly rented a small, cramped bedsit in Plaistow. They must have been at least seventeen.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a Catholic school isn’t it?”
“Yes.” At least it sounded like one to Lisel.
“So you have to wear a school uniform?”
“Yes.”
The interview was turning out nothing like she’d anticipated. What did wearing a uniform have to do with anything?
“What time do you finish school?”
“Most days I finish at half-four.” Schools generally finished earlier, Lisel thought, but she needed some extra time to get from her office to his house.
“Would you be able to get here for half-five? You can come straight from school.”
He spoke the words casually, yet suddenly everything clicked perfectly into place. He had a school girl fantasy, but unlike other men who were satisfied with an older woman playing the role, he wanted the real thing!
“I can get changed and still be here by half-five,” Lisel suggested, looking directly into his eyes to gauge his reaction to her words. If she had to buy a school uniform and rush home to put it on each day, it would take up too much time. She didn’t need the hassle or the added expense.
“I would prefer you to be here at five. My cook leaves at four to pick up her kids, it would be convenient for you to be here soon after she leaves.”
A less savvy woman might have believed his glib excuse, but Lisel had grown up struggling for a living in Venezuela and saw him for the predator he was. She’d had a lucky break when at the age of fifteen a young British couple who had come to the capital Caracas as volunteer teachers had hired her as a sort of au-pair for their seven-month-old son. They had brought her to the UK at the end of their two-year stint and she had spent another blissful year working for them and improving her numeracy and literacy skills before they had moved to the US only six months ago. They hadn’t been able to take her with them, but had found her a small flat and given her enough money to last three months in the UK while she looked for a job and just enough to buy a ticket back home if that failed.
Her money had almost run out—she had even used a little of the money that had been set aside for her plane ticket back home when she had successfully passed the interview for a job as receptionist for a large UK-based Venezuelan company. She shared reception duties with an older woman who complained bitterly each time she had to do the seven-to-three shift. It would be no problem for Lisel to convince the woman to let her permanently do the early shift in future. She could be home, dressed and at his place for five, but it would be one big rush.
“Five’s too early, even if I come to your house straight from school.”
“Okay, let’s leave your starting time flexible. I want you to come straight from school and work for two hours each afternoon. Would that be okay with your parents?”
“I live with my grandmother,” Lisel told him. “She doesn’t care what I do once I brought some money home.”
His eyes darkened to a stormy grey at her comment, convincing her that he had no good intentions. Any lingering guilt she felt at deceiving him melted like ice on a sweltering day. He meant to use her to act out some perversion or other; she would use him to get the money she desperately needed.
Promising to start the next Monday, Lisel caught a bus.
An hour later she sat in front of her second-hand computer more than a little annoyed with both herself and Gareth. She refused to go all the way to Ilford to the school’s recommended supplier to buy their ‘custard and gravy’ uniform which the girls in Years 9-11 wore. Instead she would go to Marks and Spencer, John Lewis or a similar high street store and buy whatever they had available. Since schools had already reopened for the summer term, she should get everything she needed for half price or less.
***
