Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 11.

by Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

I was embarrassingly standing in front of Signora, fidgeting as usual with the edge of my not so clean apron. It was early in the afternoon and I was already tired, disheveled and dirty after a morning of serious cleaning and tidying up. The house was messy after the party and although it was a Sunday - my alleged day off to go to the Church - it was my duty to bring it back to order.

The Signora, dressed in her flowery, just-above-the-knee dress and designer high-heeled sandals, looked fresh and elegant as ever. Then, of course, unlike me she didn’t spend her morning carrying piles upon piles of dirty dishes or crawling on all fours to clean the carpets from numerous wine spills and greasy spots left by guests . She walked across the room, leaving very visible footprints on the wet floor I’ve just finished mopping, took out a pack of Virginia slims from her light brown Birkin bag and lit a cigarette.  

“I had a swim and a light lunch with Mark and Rowena, in the hotel they are staying, probably you’ve heard about it, Molly, from your fellow maids, lots of them are working there,” she said and looked at me, obviously waiting for my reaction.  “It’s the Raffles’’.

Story: Maid in China

By Barefoot Servant

“Hey, do you want to go to China with me this summer?” The question caught Maddie Akers completely off-guard. It really probably shouldn’t have. Her friend Jenny Kim’s parents were from China after all, and they visited every summer.

“What? Are you serious?” Maddie shifted to a sitting position. She had been lying across Jenny’s bed. Jenny sat up too, cross-legged, mirroring Maddie’s movement.

“Yeah, totally, I’d love to,” Maddie squealed in excitement. Jenny grabbed her hands and squealed too.

A knock at the bedroom door interrupted the girls’ excitement. An accented voice followed. “Ladies, is everything okay? Can I get you something to drink, maybe a snack?” Maddie had visited Jenny’s house often enough to recognize the voice as belonging to Rosario, Jenny’s family’s Filipina maid.

“You want anything Maddie, maybe a lemonade?” Jenny asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Maddie nodded.

Jenny yelled toward the door, “Rosario, go make us some lemonade, okay.” It wasn’t a request.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 10.

by Camille Langry and Monica Graz

The man turned to the right, looking around the room, and I froze in complete and utter shock. It was Mark! I looked at Signora, who, after seeing my reaction, walked towards me, blocking Mark from my view.

“Follow me. Let’s talk briefly before you do something stupid,” she said quietly and walked towards the study. I followed her, too scared to check if Mark saw me.

She turned and faced me as we both entered the study. I was still in shock and my hands were trembling. My normal English came back as I said in a very anxious voice, “Why you lied to me, Signora? What am I going to do now? I don’t think that I can go out there again.” I had tears in my eyes as I finished speaking.

She gave me an angry look, but managed to compose herself and said in a low but commanding tone, “Listen to me carefully, Molly. I wasn’t lying to you when I said that Mark and his wife had to postpone their trip. That’s what was mentioned in the last e-mail they sent me. But as he explained just now, there was a false alarm and his wife had only a strong allergic reaction and a persistent bad cough that initially was diagnosed as a possible bronchitis-pneumonia. After a thorough check-up and a good dose of cortisone she was fully recovered and they just run to catch their plane never having the chance to alert me.”

Story: Lady Helen

by Jackie J

Chapter one

Patricia had worked for Lady Helen for some twelve months in the capacity of house maid carrying out her duties diligently working six days a week being at Lady Helens beck and call with no complaint. Wednesday was Patricia’s free day when she would leave the secluded manor house of her reclusive Mistress and visit her friend in the neighbouring village. It was Wednesday and after serving breakfast Patricia left the Manor, she would be returning no sooner than eight thirty in the evening, in time to serve supper.

Lady Helen, a traditionalist, was fastidious insisting on strict protocols within the household, whilst somewhat draconian, conditions that Patricia willingly accepted. Patricia understanding the demarcation, Patricia was the house maid and Lady Helen was the Mistress of the manor and she paid due deference to her Ladyship at all times.  Patricia, always smartly attired in her dated, old fashioned and cumbersome maid’s uniform, curtsied when addressing her Ladyship, never questioning her instructions, speaking only when spoken to and efficiently going about her duties. A sensible three year indenture clause, within the contract, giving security to both Mistress and maid, the indenture only to be revoked should both parties agree and a replacement maid be trained and in position to serve the Mistress of Hillside Manor.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 9.

By Camille Langtry and Monica Graz

I have been in a complete state of shock during the next two days.  All I could think of was the upcoming arrival to Singapore of Mark Fitzwilliam and his wife. The formal dinner at the Moretti residence he was supposed to attend this Saturday was fast approaching.

I had a moment of rest in my room before going back to my never ending chores. I was sitting on my tiny bed looking at the formal black uniform dress hanging on the opposite wall, the dress Signora gave me during our meeting two days ago, and I was trying to think how I was going to act as a Filipina maid in front of Mark and his new wife. Do I know her? Has she met me as Julia? Would they recognize me? God! I felt so miserable and uncomfortable. How could I let myself be so badly cornered? Or, deep down, as professor Caprio was telling me, was I really craving for that sort of exposure and humiliation?

At that moment Signora entered my room without knocking in her customary abrupt and busy fashion, carrying a package in her hands. I stood up immediately and greeted her with a formal curtsey. She has hardly ever visited my quarters so it must have been something really important.

Caption: Her Proper Station in Life

Maria walked a few paces behind her mistress, feeling the slight trail of her French perfume in the air. She couldn’t help but stare at her perfectly coiffed golden mane, her manicured hands, her designer leather jacket, her stiletto high heels that forced her hips to sway sexily with each step. To an outside observer, the contrast between them couldn’t be greater: the mistress was young, rich and beautiful; the maid was a much older woman in her 50s – old enough to be her mistress’s mother. One was picture perfect; the other was plain looking, her skin showing unmistakable signs of age and hard menial work. One was dressed to the nines; the other was wearing a traditional maid’s uniform that announced to the world loud and clear that she was nothing than a simple domestic.

Yet, the looks were deceiving. For starters, the women were about same age. Furthermore, until about a year ago, the mistress was working for the maid.

Story: Molly in Singapore. Part 8.3.

by Lady Charlotte

Three Questions
3. Question Three

‘Tell me, Julia,’ said Signora Moretti, ‘back when you were the youngest ever Professor of History at Cambridge, what did Mark Fitzwilliam mean to you?’

I tottered at the question, clutching at the desk. Perhaps it was my exhaustion. The Signora, who had rescinded her instructions that I join the university cleaning team the moment I had begun going to church, had reassigned me to it for the whole of the past week. I stood before her in my hideous yellow housekeeping uniform, my long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and threaded through the gap in my baseball cap. Naturally, I was standing.

‘Well?’

I blinked back tears.

‘Address your comments to Professor Carpio.’ She indicated the stout and bespectacled Filipino sitting behind the desk in front of me. It was his office in which I was standing, having been summoned there from mopping the main hall of the Psychology Department. The Signora had introduced him to me as the psychologist who had been translating my Tagalog for her. I remembered what else she had told me about him – that he was fascinated professionally by my case. And now, here I was, standing before him: an exhausted, dirt-smeared cleaner.