CLEANER: Chapter Seven - Part Six

MELISSA

It was fantastic in the hot tub, just as it had been fantastic in the sauna.

I rested my head on the back of the tub, letting the water support my weight and with the licks of blond hair coming down into my eye line and the perfect vision without glasses, I could almost imagine I really was Dahlia Western.

I played back our conversation in my mind, enjoying it, looking forward to her waiting on me. Had I ever been waited on in my life before this odd situation? Not since my mother had put food on the table when I was a little girl and she’d made me pay for that a thousand times over with flicks of her knife-like tongue.

To be a woman of leisure was... the best.

Dahlia returned fifteen minutes later in a brand new uniform. This time it was lilac with purple cuffs on the elbow-length sleeves, buttons, pockets, collar and hemline. Her dark hair had been mussed slightly before with bits in it from outside. It was brushed to a sheen now. She was carrying the plastic clip on shelf that went on the edge of the tub, using it as a tray for a low and wide bowl of soup.

I squidged up in the hot tub and enjoy took pleasure in watching her quietly slot the shelf into place. I’d had mixed feelings about having a light lunch when she’d suggested it, but I was glad I’d said yes now. It felt... right to be only eating lightly while I was in this role and it was good to have an external boost to rein in my proclivities.

“Thank you Melissa,” I said and she smiled warmly, stepping back.

I regarded her for a moment. It was so easy to think of her as being my employee; of myself as owning all this. It required only the tiniest suspension of disbelief.

“I’ve been thinking...” I said. Then I stopped.

Dahlia waited patiently for me to go on but my tongue was tangled. I hadn’t meant to say what I’d been thinking. It had just sprung out before I could stop it. The idea of it was reckless and stupid, especially after already suggesting that I come every day just twenty four hours earlier.

But it was out there already... partially... and sitting here on that opulent throne with her waiting on my like a servant, I had such a confidence as I wasn’t used to; that was still hard for me to manage. I had an impulse to say it anyway. What harm could it do?

Apart from breaking the spell and pushing her too far?

“Yes?” she asked and that clinched it.

“Now that you’re doing the garden as well... The cleaning in the house is going to be neglected.” I paused, waiting for her to interject; to angrily snap put of role and demand I get out.

She didn’t. She was hanging on my words.

“We... We can’t have that,” I continued, building in confidence as the seconds ticked on and she allowed me to go on. “In order to maintain standards here I think you’re going to have to change your working hours.”

Dahlia’s eyes were dancing. Her face was opening into the plainest expression of joy I'd ever seen.

“Melissa,” I said, “I want you to give up your other positions of work and instead work here full-time. Are you... Are you in agreement?”

A pause came that was palpable with potential. Then Dahlia curtseyed – she curtseyed! – and said, “Yes Miss Western. Of course. If you think you can use me.”

I grinned, trying desperately to not let it become a smirk and she grinned too.

“We’ll do that from Monday,” I said, fully confident in my role now.

Dahlia nodded. “Will that be all?” she said.

“Yes. Thank you,” I said, reaching for my soup. “No, wait.”

She turned to face me.

In for a penny; in for a pound.

“My... brother rang earlier. I spoke to him.”

“You... spoke to him?” Her face was a picture of childlike wonder and curiosity. “But...”

“He didn’t question who I was.”

“Really?” she asked. Then she mouthed the word, “Wow.”

“He requested my presence for drinks this evening at eight.”

Slight tension in her hands; her cheeks.

“I told him I’d be happy to go.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said, getting the message that her evening was planned out for her. There was obviously some kind of contest going on his her thoughts – presumably a reluctance to see her brother – but she didn’t express it.

I tried the soup. It was Oxtail and thoroughly delicious. I said nothing more to Dahlia, just to see if she’d dutifully slink off and after a minute she started to. She stopped in the doorway.

“Dahlia?” she asked.

“Mmm?” I didn’t look at her.

“I was just thinking... that... if it was okay with you... I could... I could ring up my other cleaning jobs and give them notice. Over the phone.”

I looked at her, startled; disbelieving.

“Yes,” I said. “That sounds like a brilliant idea.”

She brightened, cheeks flushing.

“I’ll get out after I’ve eaten and... help you remember the numbers to ring.”