At 12:01 on Sunday afternoon the door to Dubois Manor swings open and Danielle Reneux deadpans, “You are late.”
To Art’s credit, he knocked at noon. He swallows the retort so he doesn’t begin this job with bad blood and gives her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I won’t be late again, now that I’m living here.”
It must be the wrong way to assuage Danielle. Her lip curls ever-so-slightly. She spins on her heel and retreats into the shadow of the mansion. Art yanks his suitcase over the small step and shuts the door, skipping to keep in stride.
“There are house rules all employees must observe.” Every ‘th’ becomes a ‘z’ in her mouth. The H’s are silent. Zer ah ‘ouse ru-els. “First and foremost, the curtains are to remain drawn at all times. Do not disturb the other employees when they are in their rooms. Do not disturb me unless it is for work. Do not disturb Doctor Dubois in his office when he is grading papers. Do not disturb Doctor Dubois at mealtimes. Do not disturb Doctor Dubois’s private room. Are we clear?”
Jesus Christ. Art lugs his suitcase around a sharp corner, grunts. “Um, we’re clear.”
“Leave your bag outside the door. We will sign your contract in my office.”
Danielle’s office smells strongly of wood polish. Art’s eyes water as he glances over an antique bookcase housing very old, worn French titles. A neat desk sits beyond two white sofas and a low coffee table. Curtains, again, cover the windows. Pity. It would be so much warmer in the sunlight.
Maybe Jean burns easily.
Danielle sinks into one of the sofas and gestures to the other. “Sit. The contract is on the table.”
The contract is a hundred pages long. Page after page of tiny text fills every available space, clause after clause. Danielle makes no attempt to explain or go over it in any way. Art scans the sea of words, speed-reading, initialing where he should initial and signs where he should sign. Midway through the stack, he pauses.
There’s a Hold Harmless clause.
Art picks up the page, licks his lips. “The employee absolves the employer of all liability should the employee be injured while working, including but not limited to accidents, negligence from either party, etcetera.” He looks up. “Uh, butlering is a relatively low-risk profession, isn’t it?”
Examining her nails, Danielle replies, “We are sure to cover all our bases just in case.”
“But is there risk involved? Aren’t I just handling events and making sure the rest of the staff stays organized?”
Danielle says again, “We are sure to cover all our bases just in case.”
Uneasy but with not much choice, Art signs the page. He might have signed away his soul, for how knotted his stomach is. “Did the last guy have to sign that, too?” he jokes.
Danielle neither laughs nor smiles.
He clears his throat and moves on. Near the end of the contract is another few pages that stop him in his tracks. Art blinks at them, hesitates.
“What?” Danielle is getting impatient.
“I have to sign an NDA?”
“Doctor Dubois is quite serious about staying out of the limelight. The non-disclosure agreement assures that details of neither his personal nor professional life will make it into the wrong hands.”
In Art’s admittedly limited experience (mostly what he’s learned from films), NDA’s are what super famous people make their employees sign. Agents for actors and singers, campaign staff for politicians. Household staff can sign NDA’s, sure, but maybe if they’re working for the queen. Not a rich-but-relatively-unknown university professor that doesn’t even have a website.
Art signs anyway. He can keep a secret.
Danielle doesn’t touch the contract when it’s finished. She offers him a tight, disingenuous smile and says, “The rest of the staff have been informed of your employment. You will meet them as they go about your duties. It is worth it to note our head of housekeeping is unavailable for several weeks and will return to the manor at a later date. You are in charge of dividing tasks amongst the other housekeepers until her return.”
“Yes, no problem.”
“You will see Caite for the gate code. Best you learn it quickly; Levi tends to arrive unannounced.”
“Levi?”
“Levi Cuevas.” She says the name like it’s a dirty word. “Doctor Dubois’s personal chef. He and his sister seem to think they live here.”
For some reason, it sticks out to him. He can’t imagine why.
Do not disturb Doctor Dubois at mealtimes.
“Caite will also show you to your room. Now go—Doctor Dubois has requested you begin your duties tomorrow.” She’s not fond of this idea, if the pucker of her lips is anything to go by. “I hope you know what you are in for, Arthur. We have an event in four weeks.”
He’s turned promptly out of the office.
Art’s ex-girlfriend stands not far away, eyes on the ground, line of her lips flat. Art takes a quiet breath, cursing in his head. “Hi, Caite.”
She turns away. “Grab your suitcase. I’ll show you your room.”
She must not have finished college either, and the realization shocks him into quiet. Why else would she be driving someone around for a paycheck? Living in his house?
He wants to ask what happened after he left school. He doesn’t want to ask what happened after he left school. He keeps his mouth shut.
Downstairs they go, around a corner, to a hallway lined with doors. Caite opens the one closest to the steps and stands aside. “This is you. I’m three doors down. Doctor Dubois is busy in his office so don’t expect to see him tonight.”
It’s short. Curt. She has nothing else to say to him. It’s when she’s turning, beneath dim hallway lights, that he sees it—a sparkle on her left hand. Simple and elegant. Maybe his only chance to apologize without actually saying ‘sorry’.
“Pretty ring, Caite,” Art calls after her, desperate for things to be normal again. For them to be friends again. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
Caite Lifton glances over her shoulder. Stares. Inhales. “Be careful here, Artie.” It’s barely a whisper. “Keep your head down. That’s all the advice you deserve from me.”
And maybe there’s something he’s missing. Maybe it matters he’s signed away Jean’s responsibility to his health and wellness, that he’s put in writing he won’t disclose any learned secrets. Maybe there’s more going on here than it seems.
Maybe Caite’s advice should scare him a little.
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