Story: The Humbling of Kate Tillotson

by Jane H. Aubrey

(1)

It all started the Friday night Tom came home from work and announced that he wanted to break off the engagement. Kate was flabbergasted. After all, things had been going so well, hadn’t they?

They had been together for just over five years. Kate had been doing admin and secretarial work at Tom’s firm, and they’d started dating after the Christmas party. Since then she’d moved in to his sizeable house; after she was let go from the company she made little effort to find new work, and they did not need the money. Kate had become increasingly dependent on Tom, in more ways than one. She had no family left—an only child, her father had passed away before she met Tom, and her mother died two years ago. Kate was devastated. She became listless, bored, irritable. Occasionally she saw friends, but mostly sat around the house in jeans and t-shirts or old jumpers, watching television, spending time on social media and browsing things to buy on the internet. Their cleaner took care of the housework. As time went on, Kate and Tom had less and less to talk about, but the one thing that remained excellent was the sex, and after one particularly passionate session nine months ago, she proposed to him. Flushed with desire and excitement, he accepted immediately. But they still hadn’t set a date.

Of course, Kate was furious at Tom’s sudden decision. She shouted, remonstrated with him, berated him, told him she didn’t want to marry him anyway. Then she stormed upstairs. When she returned an hour later, she was calmer. She wanted to know why.

 

Tom pointed out that she wasn’t contributing to their relationship in any way—not just financially, but morally, intellectually, emotionally. The house was a mess all week before Dorota came. She was doing nothing with her life. It was a hurtful thing to say, but it was true, and Kate was intelligent enough to realise it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re right, I have been lazy. I’ll do better. Please, I will. You don’t have to break things off.’

‘I’m sorry too, Kate. But I’ve started seeing someone else. It’s been a few months now.’

Kate’s blood went cold; it was as if she were another person. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. She burst into tears and went back upstairs.

A few minutes later Tom came up to tell her he was going over to Emma’s house, and that he would be back in the morning. Kate had better start packing. ‘Please don’t, Tom. I love you. Don’t go. I can do better. I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have a job or any money. I don’t have any family.’ This made him pause. He certainly didn’t want her to be destitute; on reflection, perhaps he was being too hard on her. In the end he agreed that they could discuss it over lunch tomorrow. And with that he was out of the door.

The next morning Kate awoke late, soaked in her own tears. There was a message on her phone from Tom saying he would be home at 1. It was now 11. She looked around. The bedroom was a mess, and Dorota wasn’t coming until Monday. Remembering what he’d said the night before, she got up and began to straighten the bed and put away the clothes on the floor. She tidied up downstairs, too, rinsing out the bottles she had drunk last night and cleaning off the table. Tom had mentioned lunch. Perhaps she could make food for once? Kate wasn’t sure what to cook, but she scrambled some eggs and found some chicken breasts in the fridge to fry with vegetables. It was ready by half past twelve. When Tom appeared thirty minutes later, right on time, the food was cold. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said with a sheepish smile. ‘I wanted to cook something for you. For us.’

It was all right, he answered. They sat at the dining room table and ate. Kate begged him again to come back to her; the thought of being abandoned terrified her, and she had no means to support herself. Tom pointed out that this was no good reason for him to let her stay—he wasn’t running a charity. And his new relationship with Emma was much healthier; he was not willing to give up something so wonderful.

‘Please, Tom. I know I haven’t been a good partner. But you’ve been cheating on me: that isn’t fair either. You owe me a second chance.’ When he considered this, Tom had to agree. He’d been no saint. Kate seized the moment: ‘Maybe I could put up with her as well for a little? It would be strange. But better than having nothing.’ It was, indeed, a daunting idea, but she knew he would come back to her eventually if things improved at home; as she spoke she put her hand on his trousers and slid it up towards his crotch.

Tom pushed it away. ‘Just a moment.’ He took out his phone and went into the next room. A few minutes later he returned. ‘She’s coming for dinner. You can meet her. In fact, why don’t you cook for us? This chicken isn’t so bad.’

‘WHAT?’ Kate couldn’t believe her ears. ‘You want me to cook for your fucking mistress? That’s going too far!’

‘Calm down, Kate. You just said you could live with her. If you’re not going to do the slightest thing without whining about it, there’s no point. I knew this wouldn’t work. I’ll call her back.’

‘Wait!’ Kate sighed. It was unconscionable. ‘All right. I’ll do it.’ She put her hand on his. ‘I love you. I’ll do my best.’ He looked at her gravely, but then bent down and kissed her hand. It was the first rain of Spring.

That evening she found herself back in the kitchen, making spaghetti bolognese, which was about the limit of her culinary competence, or rather, a touch past it. The doorbell rang, and Tom went to get it. A moment later Emma appeared in the kitchen. She wasn’t so much pretty as handsome, with a neat brown bob, a slight build, tasteful, expensive clothes; she looked a few years younger than Kate, but was no callow girl. ‘You must be Kate.’ She smiled.

‘Er, yes, hello.’ She blushed. This was incredibly awkward.

Emma looked her up and down. ‘There are stains all down your front. Don’t you have an apron for when you cook, dear?’ The condescension was crushing.

Tom came in behind her. ‘Actually my mum gave her one a few years ago. But I don’t think she’s ever worn it. Here.’ He fished it out behind the door, a horrible, ultra-feminine confection in white, with purple flowers and a long pink tie, the sort of thing one imagined, no doubt incorrectly, to have been popular in the 1950s, and which, unaccountably, had experienced an ironic revival in recent years. Kate silently put it on, fumbling to tie it behind her, and failing.

‘Here, let me help you.’ Emma made a neat, tight bow. ‘That’s much better. Now, don’t let me disturb you. It’s awfully kind of you to cook for us. I’ll just pour the wine I brought and we’ll leave you to finish.’ She left a glass for Kate.

Dinner itself was no less uncomfortable. Tom wolfed down his spaghetti but Emma only ate a little of hers. ‘Please don’t be offended, Kate. I try not to eat too much in the evenings.’ Tom cleared the dishes away and started the washing up. After a long silence, during which the two women stared into their wine, Emma asked Kate what she did for a living. She didn’t know what to say.

‘Oh, well, not much at the moment. I’m looking for work but haven’t seen much recently.’ There was a pause. She should continue the conversation. ‘What do you do?’

‘I’m in senior management at the Belleview. Do you know it? It’s really one of the best large hotels in town, if I dare say so myself.’

‘Oh! How did you get into that?’

‘Bog-standard, I must admit. Started in hospitality to pay for my degree, and worked my way up after that. Not the most glamorous career, but it’s a comfortable living and I like the work. Perhaps I could get you a job, but it would be entry-level.’

The cheek of it! Kate said nothing. She wondered what sort of job Emma meant. Then Tom came in from the kitchen. ‘Thanks, Kate, really good of you to cook. I’m pretty wiped, though. Think I’ll hit the sack.’

‘Yes, me too,’ said Emma. ‘I work Saturdays so it’s been a long day. Thanks, Kate.’ There was no gratitude in her voice. Then she got up, went over to Tom and kissed him, rather ostentatiously, as if to rub Kate’s face in her predicament.

‘Emma’s going to stay the night. Can you take the guest bedroom?’

Somehow, Kate knew that was coming. She nodded, sullenly, determined not to cry in front of Emma, who started to say something, but thought better of it.

As Kate lay in bed, she could hear the two talking, giggling, and then making love in the room next door. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. As she tried to picture them in her bed, her hand drifted, almost of its own accord, under her night-dress. Before she knew it she was touching herself, remembering Tom’s caresses only a few days earlier. She was soon asleep.

It wasn’t long before Emma came over almost every night, and sometimes on weekends and her off days during the week. Her relationship with Kate remained cool, and they said little to each other, a situation not helped by the fact that they had so few things in common. By contrast, Kate marvelled at the fluency and variety of her rival’s conversations with Tom, which were much better than her own had ever been; it almost made her more jealous than the sex. But they still ate together every evening that Emma was over. Tom did much of the cooking, but Kate often helped, and occasionally Emma did, too, as she slowly became less a guest and more like a family member. Kate reluctantly agreed to start doing the housework during the day, and though she rarely did a thorough job of anything, it was just about enough; after a while Tom let the cleaner go. She was somewhat relieved; Dorota had never liked her anyway, and she tended to get in the way. Most jobs she didn’t mind too much, but she was awful at ironing, and she hated, absolutely hated, having to launder Emma’s clothes and the soiled bedsheets. It was the worst indignity, and she complained about it to Tom on a regular basis. At least there was still plenty of time in the day for social media and binge-watching television series of ever decreasing quality.

Although Tom didn’t appreciate the endless complaints, he was genuinely glad she was taking care of the house for once, and told her how proud he was of her. She hugged him; it was the closest she’d felt to him for ages. Then, unexpectedly, he led her to the bedroom, undressed her, and pounced on her. It was a Saturday: Emma was at work. They made love passionately; it was just like the old times. Kate knew it would only be a matter of course. ‘I’m glad you’ve come back, darling. Let’s not let it get like that again.’

‘No, Kate. This was nice, really nice. Thank you. But it will be the last time. I’m not going to kick you out. You’re pulling your weight here, finally, and if you didn’t complain so much it would be lovely to have you around the place. But I’m also not going to leave Emma. You should try to get on with her better. We can’t do this again. I’m sorry.’

It was a punch to the gut. She was so sure that things were improving. It would just take more time. She resolved to keep doing more to help, and to shower Tom with affection. Perhaps she could even make some more friendly gestures to Emma.

As for Emma, she was spending more and more time in the house, and even brought some of her smaller things over—books, toiletries, ornaments, cookware. It felt less and less like Kate’s domain. As she grew into the house, Emma increasingly concerned herself with Kate’s work, and started giving her little extra jobs. ‘Kate, dear, would you mind making me a sandwich? I’m starving. Thank you so much.’ ‘Kate, you wouldn’t be a star and nip out for some milk, would you? I have tons of work to get through or I’d go myself.’ ‘Kate, when you have a moment, I’d be grateful if you could give my shoes a quick polish for tomorrow morning—I have a presentation and want to look my best.’ She didn’t want to seem disobliging in front of Tom, so she did what Emma asked, if rather petulantly.

But Emma also helped her around the house on occasion; ‘I’ll do my fair share. I’m not going to be a freeloader, especially as it’s so good of Tom to let me stay here so often.’ She seemed to have almost no casual clothes, and when she worked she did so in her smart skirts and trousers, insisting on wearing the only apron in the house when the job was dirty. ‘As my mother always said,’ Emma commented, ‘one ought to dress appropriately for the task at hand.’ Having spent far more of her youth doing housework, she had considerably more expertise with the chores, and started to show Kate the best way to do things—how best to stack the dishwasher, how to make a bed up to hotel standards, how to clean a mirror without leaving streaks, how to get the inside of a teapot spotless with a long brush, how best to dust the picture-rails. On occasion this help gave way to criticism. Kate was vacuuming the carpet in the hallway, when Emma stopped her. ‘No, Kate. Look at the carpet more closely. The vacuum-cleaner isn’t going to get all the dust and hair out of it. Don’t roll your eyes when I’m speaking to you. It just isn’t. Look!’ She went off and returned with a rag and a bowl of water. Kneeling down, she wet the rag and scrubbed at a patch of carpet, exposing tendrils of dirt that came up easily. ‘See? You don’t need any fancy products. Just elbow-grease. Now, why don’t you do the rest? I’ll let you get on with it. Have you done Tom’s shoes for tomorrow?’

Not that Emma was an expert in everything. As she cheerfully admitted, she was almost as hopeless as Kate at the ironing; sometimes she’d have to take a blouse that Kate had attempted to the cleaners to get it pressed properly. But there was a new, collaborative mood in the house, and as much as she continued to resent Emma, Kate had a grudging respect for her competence and her confidence. In the evenings Emma began to teach her to cook, and now and then would praise Kate’s mediocre efforts to Tom. ‘It’s lovely to see you two getting along,’ he observed. It was true. They were getting along. Not that Kate could ever forget, for even a single moment, that Emma was fucking her fiancé.

(2)

The new arrangement was not without hurt and discomfort to Kate, but it was tolerable. Even if she missed the sex, she was glad for Tom’s affection, and Emma was no longer so hateful; it actually felt good to be a contributing and valued part of a family unit, no matter how unorthodox, and her fears of abandonment were subsiding.

One Tuesday evening, everything changed again. The women had made lasagne together—Kate’s first effort at it, and of mixed success. At the dinner table, Emma and Tom talked about the tribulations of their day. Whereas they often spoke about books or politics or films, tonight they both wanted to vent; Emma grumbled about the petty bureaucracies of hotel management, Tom about a difficult client. They ignored Kate, who eventually couldn’t help saying, ‘Honestly, you two do complain a lot. It’s me who has to spend all day at home by myself, doing the housework. Dusting your books. Washing your knickers. And all this while you steal my fiancé. I do have feelings, you know.’

There was a brittle silence. Kate had never seen Emma so angry.

‘That’s rich coming from you,’ said Tom. ‘You do nothing but complain.’

‘You’re unbelievable, Kate. It’s not as if you dust my books or wash my knickers very well. And I’m sorry to break it to you, but Tom is not your fiancé any more. You’ve only yourself to blame.’ That was wounding; Kate opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out.

‘Things are going to change around here. We can no longer go on as things stand. I’ve tried to be kind to you, but frankly you’re trying my patience, and Tom’s, too.’

Kate became nervous. ‘That’s not fair. What do you mean? Tom is happy with things here, aren’t you Tom? You seem happy. Are you upset?’

But Tom said only that he agreed with Emma, and that if Kate wanted to stay in the house she’d have to listen to her more from now on. Again, Kate said nothing. ‘Do you understand, Kate?’ She nodded sulkily.

Then Emma spoke again. ‘I don’t like the way you sit sullenly, like a teenager. You whinge when you’re asked to help and you’re constantly bothering us. You clearly aren’t the least bit grateful for Tom letting you stay.’

‘But that’s not true! I do help out!’

‘Be quiet, Kate. I’ve just about had it with your petulance. From now on when Tom asks you a question, you will say ‘Yes, sir,’ or ‘No, sir’. In fact I want you to address him that way whenever you speak. You’ll start showing him some respect.’

Yet again, Kate opened her mouth in shock, but said nothing. She was blushing furiously. Nothing was said for a few moments, but it felt like an eternity.

‘Do you understand, Kate?’ asked Tom again. She didn’t know what to do. This was monstrous! Should she get up and leave? The reality of her situation again weighed on her. She had nowhere to go. She was stuck.

‘Do you understand?’ His voice was louder and more curt.

Eventually she lowered her eyes. ‘Yes, sir.’ Never in her life had she said those words; they felt so strange to say, especially to a man she had called ‘darling’ only a few hours ago.

‘That’s not all, Kate,’ continued Emma; ‘you will address me as ‘ma’am’. ‘Yes ma’am’, ‘no ma’am’—do you understand?’

Kate stared into her lasagne, hot with shame. How could this be happening? The woman who had snatched Tom was ordering her to call her ‘ma’am’, and what choice did she have? She couldn’t do it. Nobody had ever heard of such a thing. She would not do it.

‘Yes, ma’am’, she mumbled, still gazing at her food.

‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you.’ Kate glanced up, tears in her eyes. Emma was unmoved.

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Take your plate to the kitchen, put your apron on again and come back here. Go!’

The imperiousness of Emma’s tone took her completely by surprise. Almost without thinking she got up, picked up the plate, and shuffled towards the kitchen door. Emma stood up as she passed. ‘Yes?’ she asked, looking into Kate’s eyes.

‘Yes, OK.’

There was a sudden crack and Kate fell to the floor, dropping the lasagne everywhere. Emma had slapped her, hard. ‘Yes, ma’am!’ she said sternly, but not angrily. Tom looked up with surprise. ‘Emma, is that really necessary?’

‘Yes. She needs to learn.’

Kate rubbed her cheek and got to her feet. She was in too much shock to cry. ‘Now go to the kitchen,’ Emma said, ‘fetch the dustpan and clean this up.’

‘You’d better do as she says, Kate.’

This time Kate did not forget. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ In the kitchen she took the hated apron off its hook and tied it on again. She fetched the dustpan and a cloth, swept up the pasta and wiped the floor down. The plate was unbroken, thankfully. When she returned she went to sit back down.

‘No,’ said Emma sharply. ‘Go and stand by the credenza, with the plates.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Still in shock, she did as she was told.

‘Stand up straight. Feet together, shoulders back, chin up, hands folded in front of you. Keep your eyes on the floor. Good. Things are going to change, Kate. I’m not joking around. From now on you will cook dinner, you will bring it to the table, you will serve us. Tom first, then me. Then you will go and stand there, in that position, ready to offer any service we need during the meal. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied Kate wretchedly. She wanted to slump forward, to curl up in a ball, to shield herself from this sudden battery of cold, unfeeling command. But it was as if an invisible force was holding her erect—she dared not move.

‘You will stand still, not fidgeting, and in silence, with your eyes down. You will not speak unless spoken to, and then you will reply promptly and politely, and you will look us in the eye. Is that clear?’

This was unbearable. She was being treated like a servant. Was this a sick game? But Kate looked up. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘When we are finished, you will clear our plates, and then clean the kitchen—dishes, sink, counters, floor, everything, spotless. Then you will come to the living room to ask if you may serve any drinks. You will ask politely and willingly. Once you have served us there, you may eat your own dinner in the kitchen. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘After eating you will come back for final orders, and then be dismissed to bed. You will not remove your apron until you have been dismissed. In fact you will wear it from now on when in the house. Makes you a bit more presentable. And you’ll need it to keep your clothes clean. Not that they look much better when they are clean. But I’m not going to be helping you with the housework in future; it will be your responsibility, all of it. It’s ridiculous that I’ve had to show you how to do every little thing; it’s a wonder you can tie your own shoe-laces.’

‘That’s not fair!’

‘There you again, you can’t help yourself. I don’t want to hear any more back talk. None. Imagine if the staff at the hotel spoke like that! Anyway, you ought to have learned your chores by now and I will be making sure you do them properly. Do you understand?’

She sighed. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

Tom spoke up. ‘This is going to be a bit harder on you, I’m afraid. But if you aren’t happy with this arrangement, you’re free to leave.’ He paused. ‘Do you have any questions?’

‘How long will this be for?’

‘Kate, this is the new situation. It’s not temporary. Are you going to have a problem with it?’

Of course she had a problem—it sounded like unpaid servitude. It was unjust, tyrannical, ghoulish. Possibly illegal. But she felt defeated and intimidated. ‘No. . . No, sir.’ Tom smiled. It was the first time he had smiled at her in some time, and at the sight she forgot her pain and felt a small tingle of joy. Emma cut the moment short: ‘Now shut up and let us eat.’

Tom and Emma went back to their conversation. The topic drifted onto novels they were reading, each of which the other had already read, so the conversation was lively and fluent, punctuated with bursts of excitement and amusement. Kate had not read either book, so she wouldn’t have had anything to say, even if she had been invited to. Emma told her to refill her glass of wine from the bottle, but otherwise ignored her.

At the end of the meal they got up and left the room as if she were not there. This hit her in the stomach: was she really now just a servant? Had Tom really stopped loving her? Was she to be alone in the house for the rest of her life? Nevertheless, when they were gone Kate scurried forward to clear the plates, cutlery and glasses. She loaded the dishwasher, the way Emma showed her, and washed the dirty pans by hand, by the end of which her apron was soaking wet. Then she wiped down the dining room table and the kitchen counters, and finally swept the floor. After being on her feet through dinner, it was tiring work; how did professional caterers and cleaners manage all day long?

As she was working, Tom came in; he put his arms around her and told her how pleased he was with her reaction to Emma’s orders. ‘Do I have to call you ‘sir’ when she isn’t around?’ she asked recalcitrantly.

‘Yes, darling, I’m afraid you do. You have a new role in the house now. We’re not partners any more. I will let you stay here, but you are here to serve us. Not just me, but Emma too. You have to respect her authority. We’ve been discussing it, and we hope this will give you more of a purpose in your life. But you will have to accept it. Otherwise, the door is open. You’re not a slave—you can leave whenever you want. All right?’

‘Yes, sir. It’s just all very sudden.’

‘I know. But you’ll get used to it. I promise. Emma may be hard on you, but she’s not cruel. Neither am I. We are trying to help you.’ He kissed her lovingly and went back out.

When she’d finished she came through to the living room. Emma and Tom were snuggled up on the sofa, kissing. Kate cleared her throat. ‘Do you want something to drink?’ she asked nervously. Emma looked up. ‘’Sir, ma’am, may I serve you drinks?’’ she intoned; ‘I’m only going to tell you once—I expect you to remember how to address us more politely. And stand as I showed you when you are speaking to us.’

Kate adopted the position and repeated the humiliating question. Emma requested two glasses of sherry. ‘Do you know how to serve drinks? You put them on a tray.’

‘OK. I mean, yes, ma’am.’ Kate returned with two schooners, handing the first to Tom and the second to Emma. ‘You brought us appropriate glasses, that’s a nice touch, thank you. I’d also like a glass of water,’ added Emma. Kate found the compliment strangely gratifying, even if she detested the woman. She went to fetch the water, again serving it on the tray. Emma took a deep draught, and Tom said, ‘Oh yes, that’s a good idea, bring me one too.’

Suddenly Kate snapped. ‘I’ve just brought you both drinks, can’t you get your own water, just once?’ She immediately knew she’d made a mistake. Emma was the first to speak: ‘You were doing so well, but you’re already back to your childish, sullen ways. What are we going to do with you?’ Kate said nothing. ‘If you’re going to behave like a child, you’ll have to be smacked like one. Go and fetch the spatula. You’ll get ten strokes on your behind.’

Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. First treated like a servant, then like a naughty child? Even as a child she had never been smacked. This was abuse! ‘You must be joking. You can’t do that!’ she squealed.

Emma remained calm. ‘It will now be fifteen strokes.’

Kate looked frantically to Tom. He reminded her, ‘I just told you, Kate, you would have to accept Emma’s authority now. I’m disappointed in you.’ She blushed again. ‘I think this isn’t going to work out. You’d better get your things and leave.’

‘Darling, I mean, sir, I’m sorry, I’ll get your water. I’m sorry.’ She turned to leave, but Emma interrupted her. ‘Twenty strokes.’ ‘Please, ma’am! Please don’t do this, I’m sorry.’ She was weeping with fear and shame. ‘Thirty strokes.’ Tom gestured in the direction of the front door. Emma had gone too far—Kate would never go through with this. Would she? He watched her with curiosity.

She left the room without a word. Tom listened for the sound of her feet on the stairs, but it did not come. Instead Kate reappeared holding the spatula. It was a firm piece of steel, with four grooves along the blade, and she guessed it could cause considerable pain. She was right. ‘Give it to Tom, dear.’ Kate did as she was told. Emma pulled the ottoman up to the sofa where she was sitting. ‘Come and kneel over the ottoman. And take your jeans down. Good, and your underwear.’ Kate paused at the last. ‘Don’t fight it, just obey.’ Suddenly Kate wondered what it would be like to be a different Kate, one who accepted her new status, one who did as she was told, did not argue or complain, and spoke with deference to Emma and Tom, who, after all, had no obligation to let her stay at the house. She did not have to be stubborn. Would obedience be easier? Could it be more fulfilling than stubbornness? If her old comforts and pleasures—not just the sex, but the free and idle life—were no longer possible, might she be able to find new ones? What would she have to do, to be, to find them? ‘Just obey,’ Emma repeated, stroking Kate’s head, who felt a sudden reserve of calm and acceptance. The frantic feeling had gone. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she replied, letting go inside, gazing into Emma’s eyes. All the tension had gone, all the clenching, like a child who has finally been persuaded to share its toy.

Emma didn’t take her eyes from Kate. ‘Give her thirty, Tom. First the left cheek, then the right. Hard. It’s for her own good.’ Tom approached his former partner as she knelt over the ottoman, looking up at Emma, trembling. The bow of her apron dangled over her bottom. Emma took Kate’s hands in hers and smiled. He began smacking her, slowly at first, then more quickly. Kate let out a cry of pain and instinctively tried to pull her hands away, but Emma clasped them more tightly and held them down in front of her. ‘Shhh,’ she whispered tenderly. Kate caught her breath and let her jaw hang open with each stroke, but managed not to cry out again.

When he had finished, Emma whispered in her ear: ‘I want you to apologise to Tom for your rudeness now.’ Kate was filled with shame at her punishment, but more at her own behaviour, and felt genuinely contrite. She turned around to look at Tom. ‘I’m sorry for my rudeness, sir. Thank you for punishing me.’ She had not expected to say the last—it just slipped out. Tom looked astonished, but delighted. He squatted down, and stroked her hair. ‘You’re welcome, darling.’ Emma, too, beamed at her. ‘Good girl.’ Kate experienced a rush of happiness: for the first time in her life, she felt seen, honestly judged, and finally accepted and forgiven. The pain of her bottom, and her embarrassment at the situation, were as nothing to such a relief.

‘Now, there is one more thing you have to do. No more dinner tonight, since you spilled your food. I want you to go upstairs and get into your pyjamas. Then I want you to write one page of A4, by hand, addressed to Tom and myself, on why you were punished, why the punishment was appropriate, and what you’re going to do differently in future. You will leave it on his desk and then put yourself to bed.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ She did not move. ‘You’re dismissed.’ Kate gingerly pulled up her jeans, and went up to her room to write her essay. It did not take her long: she had been sullen, disrespectful, disobedient and argumentative, she scribbled. Her behaviour had been the result of pride, and Emma and Tom had punished her like that to remind her of it. In future she would try to remember how lucky she was to be kept on in the house, and to be less proud. After she had finished she stared in wonderment at what she had written. An hour or two earlier she could never have done so, would not have believed it possible.

Tom came in later to kiss her goodnight. ‘Thank you for the letter, darling. We are very pleased with it, and have high hopes for you. I think we three are all going to be very happy together.’ More tears glistened down her cheeks, but not for fear or shame. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Before he left, he added: ‘Emma has to leave at seven thirty tomorrow morning, please be up at seven to serve breakfast.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ She smiled. It would be hard to sleep.

(3)

When Emma arrived the following evening, Kate answered the door and offered to take her coat. There were butterflies in her stomach, and she couldn’t help but feel a renewed pang of anger and jealousy upon seeing her. She was in the middle of dinner preparation, but Emma had her fix a drink. Although the warm feelings of the previous night had subsided, Kate was still eager to please for Tom’s sake; she carefully put the drink on a tray to serve Emma, and stood back with her hands folded in front as she’d been told.

‘Thank you, Kate. I appreciate your attentiveness and your demeanour. That’s exactly what I want to keep seeing, well done. But you always look so slovenly. I want you to start dressing better. Do you have any other clothes besides jeans and t-shirts?’

Kate winced at the criticism. ‘Er, I have other things upstairs. There are some office clothes I haven’t worn in years.’

The women went up to the bedroom and looked through Kate’s wardrobe. Emma picked out a long navy dress with a simple pattern, some pale pink and off-white blouses, three or four dark skirts that came below the knee. ‘These are perfect. You’ll wear these from now on. You’ll need dark tights, and smart shoes too. And some lighter dresses to wear when summer comes around. Here, put this navy one on now.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ As Kate changed, Emma added, ‘You won’t be needing the casual clothes any more. I want you to fold them up neatly and put them in bags. You’ll be taking them to the charity shop tomorrow.’

Kate was horrified. What right did Emma have to say what she could own? ‘But Emma,’ she protested, ‘they’re much more comfortable. Can’t I keep them for socialising or relaxing?’

‘No, you can’t. You’re not going to be doing much socialising from now on, and I expect you to look smart for Tom, even when you’re not working. Also, I don’t like your tone. I don’t want to hear it again tonight, or ever. Do I make myself clear? Stand up straight. And don’t you dare address me again without respect.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Kate sighed, utterly defeated. Emma’s bossiness was driving her mad. If only she had some say over her things; but she no longer had any choice in the matter.

‘I’m going to buy you some more aprons as well. Plain, sensible ones. You can’t be doing housework in that pretty thing Tom’s mother got you. It was soaked last night, and the ottoman got all wet from you kneeling over it. You’ll work in one and serve in another. Every day you’ll put a clean one on, and make sure the others are washed and freshly ironed. I want you looking presentable all the time, not a loafer as you’ve been up till now. Tom may not care, though I suspect he does—but I certainly do. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Now, let’s see how that dress is on you. You can wear it, but it’s a bit tight, isn’t it?’ Kate had to agree. ‘All that sitting around can’t have done much for your figure. You’ll need to lose a little weight. I’m going to put you on a diet and an exercise regime. You can run laps around the block every evening. I’ll give you more each week. I suppose you’ll have to keep a pair of trainers and some of your casual clothes for that.’

The dinner service went just as Emma had ordered the night before: Kate cooked, served, and stood in silence by the credenza until the meal was over, except to pick up a dropped fork and fetch Tom more water from the kitchen, which she now did promptly and with a smile, as if she were a well-trained waitress. Dinner was a simple dish—beans and rice—but Tom complimented his old fiancée on her cooking as they ate. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘It’s also so nice to see you dressing like a woman. You know, I hate to say it but I’d almost forgotten how pretty you could be. Was it Emma’s idea?’

‘Yes, sir. Emma asked me to take the jeans for donation tomorrow.’

‘Good riddance!’ He beamed at his new girlfriend, who smiled and cocked her head to one side, as if to say, ‘See what I can do?’

After dinner Tom said, ‘You can clear up now, Kate.’ She got straight to work. There was something satisfying about the order of it, about knowing exactly what she had to do and carrying it out in a capable and efficient manner. She glowed with the satisfaction of making Tom’s life easier and happier, and even though she wasn’t bringing in money, she was at least saving him the expense of a cleaner. It was enough for her to put up with Emma’s strictures, not to mention the humiliation of living with her in the first place.

The following days went on in mostly the same way. Emma would often leave a list of chores on the fridge before she left, and Kate would cross each off as she did it: bed-making, laundry, ironing, shopping and errands, gardening, and all manner of cleaning in the house and in the front outside. She wore her old, neat skirts and dresses, which fitted her better every week, thanks to her diet and exercise, and Emma soon brought home a parcel of four aprons for the domestic work, not fancy like the old one but with plain stripes in various colours. The idea of changing aprons depending on the work took some getting used to; Emma got quite cross the first time she appeared at the table in a striped one by mistake. The second time she had Kate remove all her clothes and serve them in the nude until bedtime. It was January, and she shivered uncontrollably as she stood to attention by the credenza. Kate did not forget again—to Tom’s disappointment.

In addition to giving her a daily list of chores, Emma banned her from using the television—she took the remote to work in her handbag each day—and limited her to an hour of computer time each day. ‘But why can’t I watch television or use the internet when I’ve finished my work?’ Kate asked at first. ‘I’ll be bored.’

‘I’ve told you before, I don’t like that whining tone and won’t put up with it. But I’ll tell you why. I want you to improve yourself when you are not working.’ She gestured to the richly stocked bookshelf in the hallway. ‘You should read a book. Look, there are novels, collections of poems, volumes on history and science. Tom and I are always reading and talking about what we’ve read. It gives us great pleasure and stimulation. It makes life much richer.’

‘But I won’t understand those books,’ said Kate sullenly.

‘Yes you will. You’re not stupid—Tom would never have wanted to marry you if you were. You just waste your mind on rubbish. Not any more. Contrary to what you might think, Kate, I don’t look down on you, and I don’t want a mindless drudge doing my housework. There is no pleasure in being served by an idiot. I want you to realise your potential; I want you to be charming, well-read, knowledgeable, and then to still serve me and Tom after that.’

‘But why would you want me to read all these books just to be your servant?’

‘Gosh, Kate, there’s no shame in being a servant. Many of our employees at the hotel are effectively servants, though they call it being a waiter or a porter or a room attendant, or even a secretary. Doing these things is helping people, taking a weight off their mind, making them happier. It is a noble profession—don’t make that face, Kate, I’m not being facetious! It’s a real contribution to society, more than many high-flying jobs. To be perfectly frank it’s probably more of a contribution than Tom makes, despite his salary. It takes dedication to do it well. It also takes humility. You can’t do a good job if you go around thinking that you’re better than other people. And you’ve been thinking that for too long. That’s why I’m here. You’re still making excuses even now. It’s got to stop.’

Tom came down the stairs into the hallway. ‘I’ve been telling her that she should treat her new position with respect,’ said Emma, ‘and also that she should treat herself with respect. I want her to read books with us.’

‘Oh, that’s a terrific idea. In fact, let’s make it part of her service. It’s not all cooking and cleaning, Kate. I want you to read all the books on this shelf. We’ll start with those. Consider it an order. Are we clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good girl. Let’s try three per week. You should have plenty of time to read after you’ve finished your work. And then we can discuss them later. It would be nice to have things to talk about again. Maybe we can go to a gallery or a concert together as well some time.’ He kissed her on the forehead, then Emma on the mouth, and left for work.

*

Kate now did most of the cooking, but Emma enjoyed it too now and then, and was an excellent baker. One evening she announced that she’d invested in some expensive equipment from America, including a mixer and a food-processor. She stood surveying the rather cramped kitchen as Kate chopped vegetables, wondering where she could put the new gear. ‘We need some more storage space in here. I think we’ve got no choice but to get rid of the dishwasher. Kate, please arrange a removal service tomorrow. I’m afraid you’ll have to do all the dishes by hand from now on.’

What could she say? ‘Yes, ma’am.’ But it wasn’t without a grunt of displeasure.

In the evenings they included Kate more and more in their conversations—not during the meal, when they still liked to have attentive silence from her, but while she was cooking and cleaning up. She found she could start talking about the books she’d read, and they gave her other suggestions for reading. She learned a great deal every day, and occasionally would argue the finer points of politics or even philosophy with Tom or Emma.

Tom took little interest in the chores, but Emma continued to keep an eye on her performance. She kept finding things to nitpick, though fewer than before, and she balanced the criticism with praise and warm remarks for a job well done, as did Tom, when he noticed. Now and then, Kate would be reprimanded or even punished for a poor job. She was sent to town to buy a replacement after burning one of Tom’s shirts with the iron, and made to finish a half-cleaned bedroom floor with an old toothbrush, which took almost three hours. A badly-cooked vegetable dish was tipped onto the kitchen floor and Kate was made to lick it up. For talking back, even mildly, she was slapped and sent to the corner for an hour, hands on head. Kate learned to complain less and less, and accepted her correction with increasing grace. One evening when they were in the kitchen, Emma noticed Kate throwing away some old tomatoes. ‘Kate, why are you throwing them out?’

‘Oh. . . They’re mouldy.’

‘Yes, but isn’t there a caddy for food waste?’

‘Er… yes, ma’am, I think there is, but I’ve never used it.’

‘So all this time you’ve just been throwing good compost in the bin?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘When is the collection taken?’

‘Tomorrow, ma’am.’

‘Good. Get the caddy out.’

‘Well, it’s a bit late now.’

‘Do as you’re told, Kate, and don’t talk back. You’re going to open the bin and get all the food out that should be in the caddy.’

Kate looked at the bulging rubbish bag and wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s disgusting! It will all be mouldy at the bottom!’

A hard slap came across her face. ‘I told you not to talk back. Do we need to have another lesson in obedience? I can call Tom in if you like.’

‘No, ma’am,’ Kate replied, immediately chastened. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll do it right away.’ She put the caddy on the floor, knelt down, rolled up her sleeves, and began picking through the rubbish, taking out stray bits of vegetable, mouldy ends of bread, eggshells, chicken bones, as Emma watched with a smile. The smell was nauseating. ‘I think that’s everything,’ she gasped hopefully.

‘Hmm. What about the tea-bags and coffee grounds? And I see a bit of butter in there. I want everything out that should be in the caddy. Everything.’

Kate sighed inwardly—it would take ages to get the tea and coffee out of the bag. But it was not for her to question. All she could do was reply ‘Yes, ma’am’, and get on with the job. Twenty minutes later, Kate’s bare arms were caked in filth, and Emma was satisfied. ‘Actually, I don’t want the caddy out here taking up space and smelling up the kitchen. So you’ll do this chore once a week, the day before collection. You’ll do it during the day while we’re at work, as it is quite smelly. In fact, you’ll do it in the garden. And when you’re finished you’ll scrub out the large bin and the caddy. I want it done every week, and I will be checking. But Christ, take a shower now before finishing dinner. Chop-chop!’

Another day, after Kate chipped a mug and then pretended it hadn’t been her, Emma marched her straight to the bathroom, took out a large bar of soap and washed her mouth out, rubbing it into Kate’s gums and along her tongue until she retched. She was then put in the corner again, clutching the soap between her teeth, while Tom and Emma cuddled, kissed and watched television. Eventually Tom went up behind her, took out the soap, and told Kate he was very displeased that she had lied. She apologised humbly and sincerely. ‘The next time it happens, you’re out of here. I will not tolerate lying and disrespect in any form, even if it seems minor to you. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you for being patient with me.’ Kate spoke with a small voice; it took all of her courage to look him in the eyes. She was given another essay to write and put to bed without dinner. She cried herself to sleep, upset with her own actions rather than with her punishment. And she never lied again.

The next morning all was forgiven. But Emma announced over breakfast that the ironing, and certain other tasks, were still not up to scratch. ‘How can I improve?’ Kate asked innocently as she cleared the table. Emma replied that she would give it some thought. That evening she declared that she’d pulled some strings at the hotel, and that Kate would spend the weekend as an intern, training in the kitchen, the bedrooms and the laundry room. The thought filled Kate with horror. ‘Emma, ma’am, please don’t make me do that! I’ll get better, I promise. I don’t need to be trained. Please.’

Emma did not like being argued with. ‘It’s not up for discussion, Kate. I can’t believe that you would be so ungrateful. It’s highly competitive for young people to get these sorts of apprenticeships at a prestigious hotel like mine, and you’re getting a taste of it for free. I’m not pleased with your attitude, but I’m not going to argue about it. You will report to the head housekeeper there at 7 am on Saturday morning. Is that clear?’

Kate stared at the floor. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

Emma put her finger beneath Kate’s chin, and raised her face to her own. ‘You will do as you’re told, and you will be glad for the opportunity to improve your service. I expect a full report on your experience, let’s say five pages, on the table before breakfast on Monday morning. Right?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Tom thought it an excellent idea: ‘It will really enhance your skill-set. Learn some cooking tips from the pros. And it would be nice to have my shirts ironed properly for once. I can never do it myself. Plus we can have the weekend to ourselves, Emma.’

Kate groggily caught the first bus on Saturday morning, and managed to report, rather gruffly, by five past seven, to the housekeeper’s annoyance. The work was much harder than at home; she sweated into her uniform all day, and the next. But she had to admit it was rewarding—she learned different ways to dress a bed, little things to look out for when cleaning the rooms, lots of new ideas for cooking, and tricks for the prep and the presentation. And she was finally shown how to iron properly. The staff were all patient with her, and complimented her as she learned. It was so nice to be around other people again, and none of them looked down on her, even when she revealed her previous incompetence; why had she been so nervous and embarrassed to give it a go? Why had she been so resistant to admit she could learn? At the end of Sunday she knocked on the housekeeper’s door, and stood to attention before her desk. ‘I just wanted to say, thank you very much for the opportunity this weekend. This has been so helpful to me.’

The housekeeper was taken aback by this change of tone. ‘Well, you’re very welcome, Kate. Ms Dow was very complimentary about you when she called to arrange it. She said you would be a fast learner, and you are.’ She picked up a sealed envelope lying on the desk. ‘Here, you can give this to her when you see her. And if you should need a job in the future, we’d be happy to take you on.’

Kate got home after dinner time, and reported to Emma, who seemed pleased by the contents of the envelope, nodding her head. ‘Thank you, Kate. I’m sure you’re very tired, so there’s no more work tonight, but please get your report done by the morning. And next time, less of the attitude. You’re dismissed.’

The next weekend Tom’s sister Laura visited from out of town. It was the first time Kate had seen her since the engagement had been broken off. When she opened the door, Laura looked her up and down with an amused expression: ‘Tom told me about your new status, but I have to admit I never expected this.’ Kate took her jacket and bag. Emma ordered a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. When Kate replied ‘Yes, ma’am,’ as she was by now so used to doing that it was second nature, Laura burst out laughing. ‘’Yes, ma’am’—really?’

As Kate bustled off to the kitchen, Emma smiled. ‘It’s a simple mark of respect.’

‘Well, she certainly needed to be taught some manners. You seem to have transformed her. But really! Next you’ll have her curtseying.’

Emma, not normally given to displays of emotion, let out a sudden squeal of delight and clapped her hands together. ‘Curtseying! Yes! What a wonderful idea.’ Laura rolled her eyes.

‘It would be a bit odd, to say the least,’ said Tom.

Kate came in with the tea and biscuits on a tray, having put on her floral apron. ‘Oh! She has a pretty little pinny just for serving tea!’ laughed Laura. ‘What have you done with her?’ Kate went bright red, but poured the tea nonetheless.

‘Kate dear, Laura has just made a marvellous suggestion. Her idea was that you ought to curtsey for us. Do you know how to do that?’

Not for the first time, Kate was dumbfounded. She looked at Tom, who shrugged, and then at Laura, who grinned and added, in an oleaginous tone, ‘Oh, go on dear. You’re already dressed up like a 1950s housewife serving Tom and Emma and saying ‘Yes, ma’am’. You already have to do as you’re told or Tom will send you packing. A little gesture of respect would be a fitting addition, don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t!’

‘Now, Kate,’ said Emma, suddenly turning stern. ‘That’s no way to speak to Laura. Stand up straight now. I think you should apologise at once.’

That bitch! Kate felt her old stubbornness surging back. But Laura was right—she had no choice. ‘I’m sorry, Laura, I should have been more polite.’

‘‘I’m sorry, ma’am’’, Laura corrected her. ‘And now you can curtsey for me.’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’ Kate had never curtseyed before. How did one do it again? She bent her knees forward, staring down at her feet. But Laura, who was a dance instructor, knew how it was done. ‘Put one foot behind the other; hold your skirt and bend at the knees, but keep your upper body straight.’ Kate tried again. ‘That’s much better. But don’t look at your feet. Keep your eyes on me. Yes, like that.’ Kate practised a few times. She laughed; it was such a silly thing, an old relic, embarrassing, inelegant.

‘I like it,’ Emma pronounced. ‘You’ll do it. I don’t care if it embarrasses you. You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t, but it will entertain me either way.’

Kate groaned, audibly. ‘She’s not as well trained as she seems,’ commented Laura ruefully.

‘Not yet,’ said Emma primly. ‘We’re getting there.’ Kate continued to blush at being rebuked in public. ‘Kate, you’ll curtsey to me when you enter a room to receive orders, and again when you’ve been given them and dismissed.’ Kate did not reply, still angry at the latest indignity. Tom had to prompt her: ‘Do you understand what you’ve been told?’

‘Yes, sir.’ It was for him, she had to keep reminding herself. Surely he’d take her back any day now.

‘Good. Now go take Laura’s things to the guest bedroom and unpack them for her. You’ll sleep on the sofa tonight. If anything of hers needs ironing, get that done. Make sure the en-suite is spotless. Then get started on dinner.’ Under Emma’s influence, his own tone with Kate had become considerably less apologetic, more authoritative.

‘Yes, sir.’ Kate hesitated, and then bobbed her first real curtsey. Emma clapped for joy as Kate went upstairs with Laura’s bag.

(4)

A couple of months passed. The curtseying did become more natural, as Emma had said, until finally it was as instinctive as ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’. And it was becoming almost impossible to convey any reluctance or resentment when adhering to such etiquette; it was almost as if the gestures, the language, the required obedience made sullenness itself seem disgraceful. One night, after she had served after-dinner drinks and eaten her own dinner, Kate came back into the living room, bobbed and waited at attention for final orders.

‘We’ve got a little treat for you tonight,’ said Tom. ‘We’ve both been very pleased with your service for the past few weeks. You’re practically a professional now. You make us feel very loved and special every evening. Emma’s got no complaints with the housework now, have you darling?’

‘No, I don’t. You’ve been superb. So competent, so hard-working and so respectful. It’s been wonderful. Thank you so much, Kate. I mean it.’

Kate cringed silently, and beamed with pride, simultaneously. ‘Thank you very much, sir, ma’am. I’m so glad that you’re happy with my service.’

‘So as I said, we have a treat for you. We’re going to invite you into the bedroom with us.’

‘You want to have a threesome?’ Kate blurted out. It had been several months since Tom had made love to her, and she longed for his caresses. Although she regularly masturbated during the day when the others were out, it was hardly the same, and sometimes it even made her feel irritable afterwards.

‘No, dear, we’re not going that far,’ said Emma. ‘I have no inclinations in that direction whatsoever. And I’m not prepared to share Tom with you in that way.’

‘We thought you might like to watch.’

She gasped. ‘Watch? I don’t know. It still makes me so jealous to see you together.’

‘I gather that people in the world of polyamory,’ Emma commented, ‘have the term compersion. It means the joy experienced by sharing one’s partner with a lover. By giving the person you love most a pleasure that you can no longer give him yourself. I want you to try to feel that. I really do. Think of it as another stage along the way of your… journey of the past months. You’ve come so far already—just look at you! We can hardly recognise the surly, awkward, incompetent, slovenly, selfish, and frankly rude woman you were when I first met you. Now you would be an asset in anyone’s home.’

Tom interjected: ‘You’re actually happy, Kate. You spend your days working and learning. It’s as if all your suffering has just gone. I can barely remember you being happy before Emma arrived. You were just aimless. Every day I felt contempt for what you were doing, or rather not doing, with your life. It was toxic. It made me miserable.’

At this Kate welled up; her face reddened, and she put her hands to her eyes. ‘Come and kneel by me, dear,’ said Emma. Kate obeyed, and rested her head in Emma’s lap as she shook with sobs. Emma stroked her hair again, and told her that everything was all right now. Kate remembered her old life—how bored she had been, how bad-tempered, how thoughtless, how unfulfilled. No wonder Tom had found another woman. It made her ashamed to think of it, but also joyful, and thankful, that things had improved, and so she was unsure if she was crying from anguish or relief, or both. What if she had walked out the door that first night? Where would she be now? Not the contented and confident woman she was now, that much seemed certain. And it was not Tom that brought about such wonders in her; it was Emma. How could she feel angry or resentful at her now?

‘Tom’s right. You aren’t suffering any more. Except your love for him. And you know, he still loves you too. I know he kisses you sometimes. I don’t mind at all. But now I want you to let him go. To give him to me. Not just to accept this, but to want it. Because it’s the right thing now.’ Kate nodded, and sniffled. ‘Come on,’ added Emma with a smile; ‘let’s go upstairs.’

In the bedroom Tom and Emma changed into their night things and snuggled up together, kissing and pecking each other. ‘What should I do, sir?’ asked Kate.

‘Come and kneel by the side of the bed,’ said Tom. She did as she was told.

‘I want you to ask me to take him.’

‘Please, ma’am, would you make love to Tom? I don’t deserve him.’ As she spoke, the last ounce of her resentment and jealousy gave way, and by the time she finished, she actually believed what she was saying. It was true.

‘Thank you, dear. I’m glad you agree. But what do you deserve?’

‘May I touch myself, please, ma’am?’

‘Yes. You do deserve that pleasure.’

Tom began to devour Emma, and it was not long before he was rocking back and forth on her, clutching her breasts. She moaned with pleasure, and Kate did too. All three came within seconds of each other. Kate slumped onto the floor, panting.

Afterwards there was an awkward silence, as there hadn’t been for a long time among them. ‘Are we going to do this every night?’ asked Kate. She was drained, and no longer felt quite so submissive.

‘I’m afraid not. That was the last orgasm you’ll have for a while, in fact.’

‘What do you mean? Have I done something wrong?’

‘Not at all, my dear Kate.’ Emma kissed her on the head. Then she drew out something from the bedroom drawer. ‘You’ve done very well. But we have one last thing to deny you. One last thing to make you ours.’ Though she thought nothing could still surprise or humiliate her, Kate gasped when she saw what it was. She’d never seen one before, but still recognised it as a chastity belt. The locked belt went around her waist, and a wide, sturdy metal strip came down over her parts, with small holes through which to pee. At least her bottom was left free.

‘You’ll have to keep it clean every day. But this will help you to keep your mind on your work and your reading. No more touching yourself when we’re out. There. Now you’ve given Tom to me, and yourself to us. I’m glad to have given you a treat tonight, but no more watching. In fact, I want you to stay out of the bedroom except to dust it and clean the sheets. And I’d like you to leave out a condom by the bedside every day. You’ll be responsible for buying them from now on.’

Kate gazed at Emma in wonder. How did she have so much power over her? ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she answered softly.

After that evening, a sense of deep contentment and love came over Kate, permeating every task to which she put her hands, every word that her lips bequeathed to her masters. Freed from the tyranny of sexual desire, each dish she cooked, each bathroom tile she scrubbed, each shoe she polished, each eggshell she fished out of the rubbish for the caddy, seemed an act of love; these tasks felt no longer like chores to be done quickly, but like privileges she had been generously granted. If she had been polite and deferential before, she was even more so now. There was never any need for punishment, or reprimands, or even sternness: Emma and Tom thanked and praised her for her service every day, and both felt very lucky to have her. And there were no more wasted hours—Kate had all but given up the computer, and spent all her time either working, serving, engrossed in a book, or deep in conversation with Tom and Emma. When an old friend came to town, she asked if she could see him, but Emma refused. There was work in the garden to be done. Kate felt no resentment at all.

Emma had moved the last of her things in. Kate was sent to her old flat to give it a thorough clean and arrange for its transfer to the new tenants. But she did not get out every day, except for her exercise. Occasionally she was permitted ‘dates’ with Tom: they would go to a gallery, where Tom would tell her the history behind Van Gogh’s chair or Joseph Wright’s bird pump, or to a film, where they held hands and kissed with tongues, and she was barely able to concentrate on the story, or to dinner, where Tom would order for her. One evening, he surprised her with an expensive glass of wine, a rare treat she was not allowed at home, and in her delight she exclaimed, ‘Thank you very much, sir!’ The waitress gave her a funny look, and for the rest of the meal spoke only to Tom.

Sometimes she went out with Emma, carrying her mistress’s bag—shopping, or lunch, or just for a walk. She’d never had so close a friend. One day, sitting in the park, she told Emma she loved her. Emma kissed her on the cheek. ‘I love you too, Kate. And Tom’s never been so proud of you.’ Kate wept with happiness.

And she felt a new longing to share her service with others, to show the world her new self. A week later she asked Emma if she might like to invite friends for dinner.

‘That’s a nice thought, Kate. We almost never have guests, but there’s no reason for it, and yes, it would be a hoot. Would you really be willing to cook for everyone, and serve?’

‘Yes, ma’am, it would give me great pleasure.’

They invited three guests each; Kate had to put the extender in the table, and cooking for eight was harder than she’d anticipated, especially as she’d planned a full three-course meal of wild salmon, roast pork in a spiced fruit sauce, and finally a tricky millefeuille dessert with raspberries. But she felt up to the job now, especially after her weekend at the Belleview. As each guest arrived she would rush to answer the door, welcome them in, take their coats, bring them drinks, and slip back into the kitchen so that the group could relax. Three of the guests were old friends, two of whom she had known well when she was together with Tom. Like his sister, they seemed accepting, though curious, of her new role in the house. Two others were from the Belleview, and they both mentioned what good things they’d heard from the head housekeeper. ‘When can we give you a job?’

‘She has a job, I’m afraid, right here with us! She’s not for sale.’

The final guest to arrive was a man she had also met before. His name was Peter, and he worked in HR at Tom’s office. It was he who had fired her for her lazy work habits all those years ago.

‘Kate! Now that’s a surprise. It’s nice to see you.’

‘Er… yes, hello, come in, please.’ She remembered her old ways, and blushed in shame. She would show him how far she’d come since then. He came into the front room as she handed round some nibbles. They all marvelled at the spotlessness of Tom’s home, and were, as one could imagine, extremely inquisitive about Kate’s part in it all.

‘So Emma, is this some sort of ménage à trois?’

Emma pursed her lips in a wry smile. ‘Not exactly. There’s only deux of us and Kate takes care of all the ménage, bless her.’

‘So she’s just your housekeeper? You never have sex with her?’ They all laughed. Emma did not tell them that they kept her in chastity, for which Kate, who remained silent, was extremely grateful.

When dinner was ready they all filed into the dining room. Kate held out each guest’s seat as they sat down, and topped up their glasses. The courses were cooked to perfection, and after she served each one she went to stand in silence in her usual place. She enjoyed listening to the lively conversation, from which she continued to learn new things and new ideas. But unlike most evenings, the eight diners kept her quite busy with extra requests. As she cleared each course they offered to help, but she politely refused. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Ennis, but I’m fine on my own.’ When dessert was served Emma raised her glass and proposed a toast to Kate. ‘Kate, thank you so much for all your hard work tonight, and every night. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Tom, ‘Well done, Kate.’ They drank enthusiastically to her health, and Kate made a deep, theatrical curtsey, her blushes hardly visible in the candlelight. She had to restrain herself from crying again.

After dinner she served drinks in the living room, changed into a working apron and got down to cleaning the kitchen, which was a huge job this time. Peter came in for some more nibbles as she worked. ‘You were a rotten secretary, you know.’ He was a little drunk, but he said it with a smile.

Kate looked up. ‘I know, sir.’

‘But you make a first-rate housekeeper, cook, waitress, whatever the hell this is. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, not at all. I have no idea what happened to you. But it’s just extraordinary what you’re doing. Really well done. You could be a professional.’

‘Thank you, sir, that means a lot to me.’ She felt vindicated at last in his eyes, and the painful memories melted away.

The day after the party Kate wondered if she could indulge her desire to serve others more regularly. She had another idea. ‘Ma’am, may I ask you a favour?’

‘Yes, dear, what is it?’

‘I wondered if I could spend Sundays out of the house, volunteering somewhere? It would give me a chance to be useful to others, and give you and Tom some time alone.’

Emma put her hand on Kate’s shoulder. ‘That’s an excellent idea. Excellent. Yes, it would be ideal for us. Where would you volunteer?’

‘There’s a care home about five minutes’ walk from here, ma’am. I could ring to ask if they have space for another pair of hands.’

Emma agreed readily, as did Tom. Kate phoned at once, and was invited for an interview the next day. She had never been to a care home before, and had little idea what to expect. Inside the atmosphere was less grim than she imagined. At the reception she was met by the manager, who invited her into her office. Kate had brought her CV. ‘As you can see, I haven’t had a paying job for a long time. I’ve just been a housewife, really. That’s why I wanted to start doing something useful outside the house.’

‘It looks like you have some good administrative and secretarial skills. I wish I could offer you work that would put these to better use. But I’m afraid we only have more menial things to do—it would be a great help if you could contribute to housekeeping, for instance, or in the kitchen. But that would probably not be up your street.’

‘Actually, I’d be delighted to do either of those. It gives me great satisfaction to help others, even in that sort of way.’

The manager looked impressed. ‘Well, if you can provide two references, you could start this weekend. As it happens we’re a bit understaffed on Sundays, so as I said it would really be a tremendous help.’

‘Yes, ma’am, I can get you those. I’ll bring them on Sunday.’

The manager looked up with surprise at the word ‘ma’am’—it had been a long time since anyone had called her that. She pushed her glasses up her nose with pride. ‘Nine o’clock we start. I’ll see you then. Thank you again for agreeing to volunteer. Not so many want to these days, especially for those jobs.’

On Sunday, after serving Tom and Emma breakfast, Kate left for the care home; she had a reference from Emma, and another from Peter, who after seeing her the week before readily consented to recommending her for voluntary work. Upon arrival she was shown to the staff quarters and given a shabby, second-hand green tunic and a pair of black trousers, into which she changed in the bathroom. The head housekeeper introduced her to the other staff and gave her a tour of the building. On the first day she assisted the junior staff cleaning the wards and the toilets, making the beds. The next Sunday she was given a stint serving visitors in the canteen, tidying up and washing dishes. It was now almost the only contact she had with people outside the house, and she was grateful for the opportunity to help, but also to talk and listen; she loved hearing the residents’ stories as she dusted the rooms, or wiped down the tables in the kitchen, or cleaned out their bedpans. Everyone was so glad for her to be there, and treated her with great warmth as she did the most menial tasks. ‘And I must say,’ they would declare, ‘it’s so nice to be spoken to with respect. Most people of your age these days, they have no manners!’

Weeks later, she came home from a particularly tiring shift. As she let herself in, Emma rushed up to her and gave her a big hug. ‘The most wonderful thing has happened, Kate!’

‘What is it, ma’am?’

‘Tom has proposed!’ Emma held out her hand, and on it was Kate’s old engagement ring. ‘I said yes!’

(5)

Perhaps it was compersion. At first Kate was overjoyed at the news; Tom had found the right life partner. But would they still have need of her? Her old fears of abandonment began to surface again. That evening after dinner she begged them to let her stay on.

‘But of course! Don’t worry, Kate, you’re not going anywhere. We need you too much. As a matter of fact, the first thing you’ll do is take care of the wedding arrangements; it can be such a bore. Under my supervision, of course. Now, you’d better start clearing up; you can’t start lazing around just because of your other job.’

The next day before dinner she asked if she could speak to Tom alone. He came into her room, and she knelt down at his feet. ‘Sir, there’s something I want to give you.’

‘What is it, my darling?’

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box. ‘It’s my mother’s wedding ring. I had been saving it for us. But now I want you to have it, sir.’

‘It’s beautiful. Thank you so much. It’s such a kind and thoughtful gesture.’ He was overcome with compassion for her, and kissed her deeply.

After dinner, as Kate was settling down for bed, Emma came in and sat down next to her, holding a parcel. ‘Kate, I can imagine how difficult all this is for you, and I want you to know… well, Tom told me about your gift, though he won’t show it to me till the big day. I want you to know that I was deeply moved. I cried, actually.’ Her voice was quiet. ‘I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in the world than your service. And I don’t feel in the least guilty, as I thought I would at first. In fact I’m proud to have inspired such devotion in you. I love you, thank you.’ They hugged, like old friends. ‘And I have something for you in return.’

Kate unwrapped it. ‘It was my mother’s apron. I haven’t told you about my parents. She worked as a housekeeper much of her life, in a hotel like mine. She was so proud of me. But she told me never to forget where I came from. So she gave me this. Not to wear, I think. Just as a keepsake. It’s a bit too formal.’ She laughed. Indeed, it was like something from an old film—white and pretty, with lace around the edge.

‘It’s beautiful, ma’am, thank you.’

‘You’ll come to our wedding, of course. I was going to ask you to be a bridesmaid. But actually I think you’d be happier if you were working. Am I right?’

‘Yes, ma’am, I think so.’

‘We’ll have the reception here. I want you to help prepare the food, serve the guests, clean up afterwards. You can get a caterer and a couple of agency girls to help you, of course. But you’ll be in charge. And I want you to wear this.’

‘I will, ma’am. It will be my pleasure.’

For the next few months leading up to the summer, Kate’s daily chores, which she continued to do with diligence, humility and an exacting eye, were supplemented by the admin of organising the wedding, which she was only too happy to take off Emma’s busy hands. She found a church that would allow them a secular service, arranged the catering, sourced the best places to buy alcohol and flowers. She made the invitations, which she wrote out by hand as neatly as she could. She went with Emma to look at dresses, and stood patiently with her arms full as her mistress tried on different styles, before carrying all the shopping home.

On the day itself Kate sat in the front row at the church, beaming from ear to ear as the couple recited their vows. She gave a reading from a poem she’d found in one of Emma’s books. Then they returned to the house, and Kate went to get changed before the party. Emma had left uniforms for her and the other two girls who’d come to help, smart black dresses with white trim. She’d never put on anything of the kind, even when working at the hotel. But it felt natural, stiff against her skin, but neat and well-shaped, like a manifestation of her inner self, an exhibition of her obedience. The other girls had simple white aprons, but Kate wore the one Emma had given her. It fit her beautifully.

She looked over at the waitresses. ‘No, don’t tie it in front, Emily, tie it behind, it looks more professional that way. Let me help you.’ She fussed at them as they started working; it was as if her own confidence and self-respect made her more dominant, more like Emma, with the other staff, who seemed rather green and timid to her. ‘Come on, Chloe. Take some pride in what you’re doing. This is an important occasion and you’re not here to chat and laze about.’

When she’d gotten changed herself, and smoothed down her skirt, she strode out into the garden and saw their friends and family as they arrived. Many of them she knew, or had at least met, and before long they were milling about on the grass sipping wine or juice, and nibbling the canapés she’d helped make. Tom’s mother approached her. ‘Oh, I do like your uniform, darling. You look just the part.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘I can see you’re finally where you belong. I knew the engagement wasn’t right. But you seem to be making my son happy, at last, so, good for you. Now, no slacking tonight. I’ll be watching you. It’s his special day, and I expect to see you hard at work.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Kate with a smile. She picked up a tray of champagne flutes and began circulating. She had never been more proud in her life.

THE END

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