Story: Executive Stress. Part 3.

by Charles Ryder

Two days later she discovered that her new guise was going to be put to the test. That afternoon, friends of Mrs Pugh were coming over to play bridge. Abigail was to prepare and serve them their refreshments throughout the game. She felt her stomach churn at the news. What if one of the women was to recognise her? All this subterfuge would have been for nothing, one call to the local constabulary and she would be arrested. When she haltingly explained to her Mistress her fears, she was told to pull herself together. She would simply have to be extremely convincing in her new role. By two o clock she was a bundle of nerves. When the front door bell chimed, she literally jumped. She smoothed her skirt down and scurried to the door. A large, immaculately made-up lady appeared.

“Good afternoon ma’am, welcome to the Pugh house.” She curtsied as Mrs Jackson had taught her.

The woman looked her up and down and handed Abigail her luxurious fur coat. Without a word she made her way down the passage to the sitting-room. Abigail hung the coat up and almost before she could turn round, the doorbell rang again. She hurried back and opened the door. The two remaining guests were chatting to each other.

“Good afternoon ladies, welcome to the Pugh house.” She curtsied again.

“So you’re the new girl are you, what’s your name?” asked one of them.

“Yes ma’am, Munroe, ma’am.”

Both women handed over their coats and scarves and passed into the house. Five minutes later the tinkle of a little bell called Abigail into the sitting-room. This was the moment she had been dreading, surely one of the women would recognise her? She entered the room and tried to keep her head down. She needn’t have worried; in the world that the three ladies habitually moved in, a maid was certainly nothing out of the ordinary. None of the ladies would be vulgar enough to comment on each other’s serving staff. They were simply there to serve a function, nothing more and nothing less. It would be like mentioning a scrubbing brush and then discussing it. From their point of view, Abigail may as well have been invisible.

“Three glasses of white wine and one gin and tonic please Munroe.” Asked Lydia Pugh, barely pausing in her conversation with her friends.

Glad to escape the room, Abigail scurried away and did as she was bid. She returned with the drinks on a tray and handed them out with a little curtsey. Nobody even thanked her, never mind look at her. One part of her was dismayed at her treatment. She was very unused to be being completely ignored. In most gatherings she was the centre of attention, people actually sought out her opinion. Here, dressed as a maid she was totally superfluous to requirements, unless it involved bringing the ladies more alcohol. The rational part of her mind however realised that in reality this situation was just what she needed. She had to grudgingly admit to herself that Lydia Pugh had proved correct; hiding in plain sight seemed to be a very good option. For the first time that day she felt a little more relaxed.

As the alcohol began to loosen their tongues the ladies conversation became a little more raucous. The lady with the fur coat asked her Mistress how Andrew was and what he was doing at the moment. Lydia replied that he was enjoying his time at the teacher training college and was expecting to move into teaching practise next month. Abigail’s ears pricked up at this news, she was vaguely ashamed of the fact that she didn’t know about that. The other two women, she realised had paused in their conversation and were both watching the fur coat lady expectantly.

“And what about Andrew’s delightful little wife, where’s she at the moment?”

Abigail felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach, as if time itself had stopped.

“Who knows, Christine? She certainly appears to have disappeared off the face of the earth doesn’t she?”

“Oh my word, poor Andrew he must be devastated.” Said one of the other two women.

“Andrew is very upset that’s true, but what can he do? It doesn’t look good for Abigail to be honest; the police are searching high and low for her. It does seem as if there’s been a huge misunderstanding at her office though.”

“Bless you Lydia, you’re being very loyal to the girl but don’t you suspect that something is a little...amiss? I assume you saw last night’s news? Her face was all over it.”

“And that poor man, Johnston was it, five years in prison, whatever he’s done it seems an awfully long time?”

Abigail watched from her place in the corner of the room as from nowhere, Lydia produced a white handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

“There there Lydia, don’t cry. It’s not your fault and clearly Andrew had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s very kind of you dear, but one can’t help feeling...responsible in a way. She is family after all.”

One of the other women had begun to cry now. The four of them all held hands.

“But what about that cocaine thing, apparently her car was full of it when it was recovered?” Added the tall thin lady.

“You don’t think she was involved in all that drugs thingy as well do you? Asked the fur coat woman

“Where do you think she is now?” asked the third.

“I don’t know Claire, I can only pray that she’s safe and sound somewhere. But anyway that’s enough of that. Munroe, another round of drinks if you please.”

The slightly drunk women all milled around the door as they struggled to put their coats back on.

“Don’t worry Lydia these thing’s have a way of sorting themselves out.”

“Chin up darling, she’s sure to be alright they’re sure to catch her soon.”

Libby’s right Lydia, they’ll either catch her or she’ll give herself up. Perhaps a spot in prison might bring her round to her senses. She has been a very foolish young woman after all.”

Almost as soon as the front door had been closed on the retreating women, Abigail burst into tears.

“Oh Madam, what on earth am I going to do? Matt Johnston and I were both managers, five years in prison! Oh, I couldn’t bear it.”

The older woman took her in her arms and hugged her protectively to her ample bosom. There, there dear don’t worry; you’re safe here with mummy.”

She might have been safe, but the role she had been forced to adopt was slowly overwhelming her. Her Nemesis, Celia Jackson had acquired a thin, whippy cane from somewhere and as a result her punishments had become somewhat more formal. Whenever Mrs Jackson considered that Abigail had transgressed she was ordered to go and fetch the cane. Like a naughty schoolgirl she had to go and remove the cane from its special hook in the kitchen and bring it to her Mistress. Sometimes the large woman simply ordered her to hold her hands out and receive a couple of strokes across her delicate palms. Mrs Jackson liked to coincide that particular punishment just prior to making her carry out some sort of manual labour where the sting in her hands would be a constant reminder of her naughtiness. Other times she might be given a couple of strokes over her knickers while bent over the big kitchen table. Occasionally though she would be ordered to touch her toes or her knees, her knickers lowered and a brisk six strokes applied to her bare bottom. Lydia Pugh liked to attend those occasions, which of course only added to Abigail’s humiliation.

Abigail absolutely hated those situations, but what could she do? She couldn’t just leave, where would she go, what would she do? She daren’t offend Mrs Pugh or Mrs Jackson for that matter, but she couldn’t put up with the situation for much longer. Something would have to give .Fortunately for her; Lydia Pugh had also noticed the change in Abigail’s demeanour. Perhaps now was the time to try and resolve the unsatisfactory situation that they all found themselves in? She picked up the phone and dialled Richard Moore’s number. Less than a week later Abigail found herself in front of Mrs Pugh and her lawyer once again.

“I know that this situation can’t go on forever my dear, but we may have a solution to your problems darling. Mr Moore has certain er...contacts. Your situation is quite familiar to them. They specialise in freeing up accounts that have been temporarily frozen. Apparently there’s apparently a loophole or something that allows a very temporary window of opportunity. Mr Moore suggests that we could use that opportunity to move your assets from your frozen accounts into another unused account. Could you maybe explain the situation a little better, Richard? You know I’m not very good with financial matters.”

Richard Moore adjusted the cuffs of his hand-made shirt. “Briefly, Mrs Pugh my contacts have a number of accounts that have been created for this very situation. The accounts are completely legitimate and will not arouse any suspicion in the minds of the authorities. I suggest that as soon as we can we access your old accounts and transfer the monies into your new account. My contact has explained how your accounts can be temporarily unfrozen on appeal. While that appeal is being examined we shall take the opportunity to quickly and discreetly make transfers on your behalf. Once your new account has your money in it, what you do with it is entirely up to you.”

Abigail could have kissed the attractive older man. At last there appeared to be light at the end of the tunnel. She could take her money and disappear, couldn’t she?

“That sounds wonderful Mr Moore, but where will I go?” Her quavering voice was so at odds with her previous incarnation as a hard-nosed businesswoman that Lydia Pugh couldn’t avoid a very brief smile.

“That’s a good question Abigail, but if you recall your new appearance can be matched to your new bank account. It wouldn’t be too difficult for my contacts to organise a new identity for you. A new identity means a new passport, if you require one. From there on you would be totally at liberty to move your life forwards.”

My word, the man was so smart. It was no wonder he was a lawyer .The idea was quite brilliant, it only remained for her to sanction it.

“How long would it take?”

“No more than two weeks Abigail and after that you’d be as free as a bird.”

“And it’s all legitimate, Mr Moore?”

“It’s a tactic we’ve used several times Abigail, and so far I’m proud to say we’ve had a 100% success rate.”

Abigail’s mind flashed briefly to an image of her reclining on a sunbed somewhere. No more slaving away for Lydia Pugh, no more uniforms, and no more fear of imprisonment.

“I’ll do it Mr Moore, thanks very much for your help. And thank you, Mrs Pugh, you’ve been very kind.”

The first week passed very quickly, Richard Moore produced a ream of paperwork for her to peruse and to sign. Apparently her new account was to be in the name of Caroline Harris. The existing account had been created a year or so ago and the age of the fictitious Caroline was similar to her own. Caroline Harris? That was a nice, anonymous name she could live with. A man came to the house and took a couple of photographs of her, presumably for her new passport. Eventually she was recalled to the sitting-room.

“Everything has progressed very well, Abigail. I’ve forwarded your account numbers, passwords and PIN’s to the relevant people. Your new passport is being finalised as we speak. Would you like me to book you any form of transport or a hotel?”

Abigail smiled and breathed out a long and heartfelt sigh of relief. She couldn’t say that she’d actually enjoyed her time in the Pugh household, but on the other hand she had been kept safe and essentially, out of police custody.

“You’ve been most helpful, Mr Moore, but I’m going to take a few days to mull over my options.”

“That’s fine Abigail, can I be the first to shake your hand and wish you good luck?”

Once he’d left the house, Abigail and Mrs Pugh were left alone

“Well my dear, this looks like the end of our arrangement. Do you think you can manage on your own?”

“I think so, Mrs Pugh. I’ve managed to accumulate quite a bit of money over the last three or four years. So I’m planning a long holiday and then I’ll probably set up my own business.”

“That’s excellent darling, and Andrew, where does he fit into your plans?”

To be honest she hadn’t given her husband much of a thought over the last few weeks. He’d been so mean to her, so rude that she’d sort of lost interest in him. He was like a different person now, she wasn’t sure if she liked the new, assertive Andy. She certainly liked the original, compliant version better.

“Erm... I’m not sure at the moment Lydia. Of course I still love Andy, and the house is still half mine so I imagine we’ll still see each other...”

“I think you’ll find my dear that as part of your change of identity you voluntarily signed the deeds of the house over to Andrew. You no longer have an interest in the property, according to Mr Moore.”

Abigail blinked hard and looked at Mrs Pugh. She’d put £150,000 down as a deposit on their house, was the woman saying that she’d forfeited that? As if reading her mind, Lydia couldn’t help but smirk as she explained that the ownership of her former property now rested solely in the hands of her son. Indeed how could she, as Caroline Harris, claim any part of a property that had formerly been owned by Andrew and Abigail Pugh? Angrily, Abigail wiped the tears of rage from her eyes. How she hated this horrible woman!

“I don’t really understand why you’re upset darling. You appeared to be quite ready to cut and run and to leave Andrew on his own. This is simply one of the consequences of your own decision, do you see?”

“I see alright, Lydia. I see that you and your shady lawyer friend have stolen my house from me, the one that your stupid, weak son couldn’t raise a deposit for!  You don’t need to worry, when I have all my paperwork from Richard’s office I’ll be out of your life and your pathetic son’s, life for good. If the house is the price I have to pay to be rid of you two, well that’s fine. I’ve always hated you, you fat controlling pig!”

Lydia sat back in her comfortable armchair and smiled.

“Paperwork darling? I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at, there is no paperwork.”

“Harris! Harris! Stop daydreaming you stupid girl! Our guests will be here shortly and you’re still filthy!”

Caroline Harris quickly brought herself back to reality. Mistress had caught her dreaming again. More than likely there would be a price to pay for her inattention. Mistress liked to paddle her backside and she hardly needed an excuse to do so. She hurried up the two flights of stairs to her poky little room, which was more like a large broom cupboard than a bedroom. It was even worse than her former accommodation at Madame Pugh’s house .Quickly she took off her gardening smock, the tiny pair of shorts, and the flat plimsolls she wore to carry out her work. She splashed some cold water onto her face and dried herself with the crusty, threadbare towel. She pulled on her plain, simple white underwear and then carefully rolled on a new pair of black self-supporting stockings. Next followed a short, flared black dress that was edged in white lace. She put on some bright red lipstick and then carefully put her tiny, lacy cap onto her short jet black hair. Finally she placed her feet into her black, shiny patent leather high heels and tied the starched, white apron around her waist. She’d been in her new employers house for six months now, but if felt like six years. Her duties had multiplied of course, she was a scullery maid, a housemaid, and a gardener all rolled into one. She barely had five minutes of free time. Her new mistress, Miss Prior was, if anything, an even harder slavedriver than Mrs Pugh.

“Harris! Get yourself down here girl! They’ll be here soon”

Lucinda Prior wasn’t related to her in any way. She didn’t see the necessity to even pretend to be nice to her and therefore didn’t bother. She was in fact her husband’s new girlfriend, and as it happened the daughter of Lydia Pugh’s best friend, The Honourable Christine Harris. When the truth dawned on Abigail that Richard Moore and Lydia Pugh had conspired to steal all her money and to leave her destitute, the shock had been so great that she’d simply gone upstairs to her miserable room and stayed there for a week. Lydia had taken great pleasure in informing her that ‘Richard Moore’ was an actor friend rather than a solicitor, that the ‘local newspaper’ she’d been given was a fake, that her Bridge playing friends were real but had acted out the Matt Johnston scenario for Abigail’s benefit, and that most shockingly of all her husband had been in on the subterfuge right from the start.

She now knew that she had no job, no money, no husband, and nowhere to live. Beyond that she was simply numb; Lydia’s revelation had seemed to close down part of her brain. When she eventually recovered, it was only to learn that Lydia didn’t want her in the house anymore. Compliantly she had allowed Lydia to drive her over to Lucinda Prior’s large residence that her parents had bought for her. There she was introduced to her new mistress and informed that in order to be supplied with food and a roof over her head she would henceforth be employed as Caroline Harris, a maid. Too exhausted by recent events to argue, Caroline accepted and that was how she found herself.

Hurriedly she scampered downstairs, Miss Prior didn’t approve of lateness. She didn’t approve of much to be honest. She was a statuesque Amazon of a woman. Although she was younger than Caroline she acted much older than her age. She habitually dressed in dark, intimidating clothing and seldom smiled. She was quick to anger and had spanked and paddled Caroline more times than she cared to remember. That was how Abigail referred to herself now, Caroline. It was as if feisty, opiniated, career-orientated Abigail had existed but in the body of another person. Now she was obedient, compliant Caroline. A girl with self-esteem issues, a girl who’d lost her way in the world. Once in the presence of her Mistress she stood at attention.

“You’ll do I suppose. Remind me to paddle you when our guests have gone.”

“Yes Miss.” Caroline could only surmise that the paddling was due to her tardiness. She didn’t ask or complain of course. She had learned over time.

The doorbell sent her scurrying to the imposing front door. She daren’t let the bell ring more than two or three times. She opened the door and made a deep curtsey. The guests were her former Mistress and her former husband.

“Good afternoon Harris, how are you this fine morning?” asked the imperious woman.

“F...fine thank you ma’am.” Answered the timid woman. Lydia Pugh still frightened her. Even the fact that she didn’t work for her any more didn’t dispel the hold that her mother-in-law still exerted. She felt vaguely faint when she remembered what she’d called Lydia on that fateful day. She had a worrying feeling that she would shortly be called upon to make amends for that outburst.

Her former husband smiled in his condescending way. “My but you do look smart Harris, you uniform suits you now that you’ve lost a few pounds.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir.” She curtsied again just to be on the safe side.

The two guests were met in the hall by her Mistress.

“Hello Lydia darling, marvellous to see you.”

She gave Andrew a long, lingering kiss, which was understandable as they were engaged to be married.

“Hello lover, how are you?”

“I’m very well my sweet, thank you.”

“Harris, three coffees in the living room.”

Caroline turned and quickly made her way to the kitchen, trying to remember how the guests preferred their coffee. Her young Mistress was unlikely to accept ignorance as an excuse. Her backside involuntarily twitched when she remembered her most recent paddling, skirt up, knickers down and twenty strokes while obediently bent over the arm of her Mistress’s favourite armchair. She had, as required, thanked her Mistress for that humiliating punishment. Caroline had obviously deserved it; she had clearly failed to polish her Mistress’s shoes to anything like the gleaming perfection that was needed. Mistress had taken the time to patiently explain Caroline’s shortcomings and for that she was grateful, truly grateful. Caroline relied on her young Mistress in so many ways, for her job, for food, for her room in the large mansion, for her uniforms. When she thought about it, Caroline realised that she relied on her Mistress for virtually everything. She relied on her so much in fact that she found it almost impossible to imagine life without her Mistress, so hard in fact that her mind had begun to reject the entire idea.

Just then the smell of freshly brewed coffee interrupted her thought process. How did Lydia and Andrew Pugh like theirs again?

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