Recession, What Recession?

1

Tamara Smythe-Winchester lay prone on her massage table feeling wonderfully relaxed. Above her two Korean girls massaged the finest scented oils into her so soft flesh. She sighed as one girl kneaded the backs of her thighs, whilst the other concentrated on her shoulders. Having a second masseuse was a relatively new acquisition, now Tamara couldn’t envisage how anybody could survive with only one.

She had been fabulously wealthy all her life, waited on hand and foot 24/7. Now her father had even more money. A top player in banking shares he had made a second fortune during the money lending boom. Added to that he had invested in property when prices had slumped, and so sat on a third fortune there. Ironically, and what caused much merriment at dinner parties, the government had poured more tax payers money into his pockets during the interim period. He was comfortably high up on any ‘Rich List’ one could care to quote.

Tamara was oblivious to all this. As far as she was concerned, if she wanted something she got it. Her credit cards had no limits; she owned two Ferraris, a Porsche and an Aston Martin. Her jewellery collection had an estimated value of three million pounds. Her wardrobe was the size of a small house and was filled with personally made design from the top fashion houses. Then there were her horses, thoroughbreds all. Had she wished to enter the world of racing she could have made millions yet kept them just for fun. Property wise, she had luxury pads in London and New York but spent most of her time at the family’s palatial mansion in Surrey.

And work, no there was no work for Tamara, the very thought of it bored her to tears. Though only nineteen she had recently left full time education as she had found it too restricting. She was a bright girl however, but if she required tuition on a specific subject a leading expert would be brought in to tutor privately.

As for the Korean girls, she had no idea what their real names were, she had ‘christened’ them ‘Wing’ and ‘Wong’, something which had amused her friends briefly but would remain their names for as long as they were in service to her. Happily for the Smythe-Winchester’s of this world the length of time was completely down to the discretion of the employer. Manual work was very scarce and those in any kind of employment were prepared to put up with anything to retain their positions. It was a year since the Conservative party had come back to power in 2009. The minimum wage had been scrapped, as had any claims for wrongful dismissal. The only thing which could keep one in employment was constantly pleasing the employer.

Pleasing an employer such as Tamara was a most difficult task however. She was not a particularly cruel Lady, at least she didn’t think so and neither did her friends or family. And after all what did the opinion of a mere servant mean, nothing. She had grown up surrounded by servants and took their efforts for granted. She had never so much as made a cup of tea for herself or washed a dish.

Wing and Wong certainly never complained, in fact they hardly spoke at all. They were forbidden from talking in their own language even when alone with each other. The only English they had really picked up were orders. And other than ‘yes my Lady’ they spoke very little of their adopted land’s tongue Tamara was hardly likely to chat with them after all, they were so far below her socially, they weren’t even on the radar.

Having had enough she sat up and snapped her fingers at Wing for a cigarette. The servant, who was in her late twenties carefully picked up a silver case, opened it and extended it to her Mistress. With elegant fingers Tamara took out a long all white cigarette. She placed it between her luscious lips and allowed the girl to bend and light it. She pulled slowly on her cigarette and casually exhaled smoke towards the masseuse, no thanks were given.

As Tamara lay back to enjoy her smoke she indicated to Wing to massage her feet. The oriental did so with much care and attention. She was very grateful for this job, it didn’t really pay much but at least it put a roof over her head and she was fed (albeit small portions or leftovers). Also she was fearful of incurring her teenage Mistress’s wrath, as beautiful as the blonde was she could be so frightening if anything angered her. Wing had come from a poverty stricken background and would endure anything not to return to such.

Tamara didn’t really understand what poverty was. When she heard about hunger and starvation she presumed it was the same as when she had been horse riding in the fresh air and found herself ‘ready for dinner’. Either way she really couldn’t care less, although often when in a swanky west end restaurant she was apt to sit close to a window. It amused her to view the homeless as she ate a sumptuous meal, and that they could only look at the food with hungry eyes was a hoot.

One of her favourite games on such a night was to give a hand out to a down and out. She would have her chauffer drive around until they found a particularly desperate looking case huddled up in an old blanket near a late night shop. She would then send the chauffer to give the beggar a tenner whilst she sat in the back of the rolls watching with her friends. The giggles would start when they saw the look of gratitude and wonderment in the wretch’s face. The real fun though was when the driver was back behind the wheel. The tramp would invariably go hotfoot into the shop for something to eat. The look on his face when he had been told the note was a forgery was priceless. The girls would laugh themselves silly as the man showed the forlorn he felt. Sometimes, just for good measure, Tamara would light a cigarette with a real fifty pound note before ordering the chauffer to drive off.

As Wing rubbed her feet Wong knelt by the couch holding an ashtray. Tamara relaxed and surveyed the pair of servile Koreans. She would have some fun at their expense when she was bored. Wing had been with her a while and amongst other things had felt her riding crop on a few occasions. She had cried alright but had never complained, her Mistress had her just where she wanted her. Wong was the new girl, apart from one clip round the ear she hadn’t been beaten yet. Tamara blew a thick stream of smoke down into her face before stubbing the cigarette out in the held ashtray. Following a dismissive wave of the hand from her Mistress, Wong withdrew to empty and clean the receptacle.

‘Is my riding habit out and ready?’ Tamara asked Wing.

‘Yes my Lady,’ she replied humbly.

‘Very well, I shall be getting dressed now.’ With which the resplendent teenager hopped off of the massage table and walked naked into her dressing room.

Wing and Wong followed quickly and within seconds had eased their Mistress into her underwear. Wing knelt to place on her sports socks but to her surprise Tamara thrust her foot against her shoulder forcing her to topple over backwards. ‘You imbecile!’ chided Tamara ‘clean my feet first I’ve just walked in here barefoot!’

Wing scrambled to her feet and apologising profusely she took a box of wipes and quickly wiped the soles of her employer. That done she put the socks on, a little nervously this time as she had been shaken. As she did this Wong carefully brushed her shiny blonde hair into a ponytail.

Both servants then proceeded to help their Mistress on with her here silk blouse and jodhpurs before kneeling to put on a riding boot each. Tamara looked down her slightly upturned nose at the two women grovelling and struggling at her feet. She smiled at the power she knew she had over them, and would gladly point out any fault in their work. However they successfully adorned her gorgeous legs and feet so she merely stood up to allow Wing to assist her into her royal blue riding jacket.

Wong then respectfully offered her, her gloves and riding crop; she took these but dropped one of the leather gloves. As Wong bent to pick it up she offered a target Tamara couldn’t resist. ‘Thwaaack!’ she brought her crop down on the Korean’s bum at full pelt. The servant gave a little squeal but managed to quickly hand the glove to her tormentress. Tamara smiled cruelly and purposely tossed the glove back onto the floor. Knowing her place Wong again bent to pick up the item, again her Mistress struck her with the crop.

Stifling tears Wong handed the glove over again. Again the arrogant teenager threw it to the floor and the same drama unfolded. All the while Wing stood holding her betters’ riding helmet with her head bowed, powerless to do or say anything on behalf of her colleague.

Finally Tamara had had enough sport for the time being and took her glove from one and her hat from the other. As she swaggered out of the room Tamara informed them, ‘I want my rooms spotless by the time I return!’

Left alone; Wong broke down in tears and Wang put her arms around her. However she remained silent as she was ever fearful of breaking the ‘no Korean’ rule.

2

Downstairs in the lounge area Taylor was making a final inspection of the housemaid’s daily cleaning. He had been in service to the Smythe-Winchesters for 25 years, as Butler for the last 15. Coming from a poor background he had been proud of reaching such a position but as he approached his 50th birthday he was beginning to fret.

Having been low paid he had no savings to speak of and no real pension to look forward to. This hadn’t mattered as he was a hard, respectful worker and presumed he would always have a roof over his head with his employers. However two things now caused him to doubt this. Firstly the change in employment law and secondly the maturing of Lady Tamara.

She had always been most difficult to please, but since she had returned home to live from school she had more power over the servants. It had been made clear that she was entitled to dismiss any of them, including himself, without consulting her parents. She had first exercised this new found power a couple of months earlier. She had been showing a friend, Madeleine, around the house. Surprisingly Madeleine decided she would like to see the kitchen so the pair had waltzed in unannounced. Here they came across the scullery maid Sally. She had been busy cleaning out the huge walk-in oven and was very dirty and tatty from her labours. The two friends burst out laughing at the sight as the servant curtsied before them. Although Sally had worked in the house for three years she had never before seen her young Mistress nor vice versa.

‘Look at the state of you girl!’ Tamara had chided as Madeleine continued to laugh.

‘I-I be very sorry me Lady,’ answered the frightened maid in her rural dialect.

Due to her upbringing, Tamara spoke in a perfect cut-glass accent. Country and working class accents amused rather than annoy her but she was keen to impress her friend, ‘speak correctly when addressing your betters!’

Sally was now flustered, ‘ I-I-I ever so sorry me Lady, I be gettin’ out your way.’

Tamara had surveyed the girl and spoke, ‘you’re an absolute mess girl. You’re dirty, untidy and you haven’t the first notion of how to speak. You’re fired!!’

Sally had begun to cry which her Mistress quite enjoyed so she added, ‘finish cleaning this oven, pack your things and get out. And don’t expect a reference!’ With that the two beauties left the kitchen laughing.

Tamara had enjoyed the experience so much she had idly threatened a couple of other servants with dismissal since. In one case an under gardener had actually knelt and begged her for forgiveness. The servants had heard that Sally, without references, had already slipped into a life of poverty. Pride was far to an expensive luxury for servants to even consider nowadays.

As Tamara strolled into the lounge, Taylor stood to attention, bowed and said ‘good morning my Lady.’

His Mistress didn’t respond but sat on a luxurious leather armchair.

With a snap of her fingers she instructed him, ‘tea!’ He obeyed in an instant, almost jogging to the kitchen where he instructed a kitchen maid to make tea as quickly as possible. As soon as she was done he placed a porcelain cup with the silver teapot on a silver tray. He added a silver milk jug and sugar bowl and proceeded back to the lounge. Deftly placing the tray beside Tamara he poured her beverage as she liked it stirring in the sugar quietly so as not to disturb her.

His Mistress ignored him as she read her mail so he stepped away from her and stood to attention by the wall. Presently she took a sip but made no comment; instead she snapped her fingers and without looking up pointed to her cigarette case. Taylor moved like lightening to pick up the case, open it and offer the content. In her own time Tamara took a cigarette into her elegant fingers before placing it between her delectable lips. Taylor bowed to light it for her, allowing her to pull sexily on it before exhaling a long stream of thick smoke through her perfect lips. She calmly raised her little finger as a sign of dismissal and he resumed his place by the wall.

As he stood to attention Taylor couldn’t help but gingerly lift an eye towards the sheer pulchritude of his Mistress. She looked so like her mother Helen had done when he was first employed by the family. He had been an errand boy then and took great joy in running down to the shop to fetch whatever took the new Lady Smythe-Winchester’s fancy. Five years his junior, she would tease him mercilessly by sending him for one item at a time, a magazine, a chocolate bar or a packet of cigarettes. Despite her great wealth she would often forget to give him the money. This he didn’t mind as spending his meagre wages on her hadn’t mattered for he was head over heels in love with her.

It was of course a secret love but one which meant he never married himself. At 45 Lady Helen was still a beautiful woman but as far as she was concerned Taylor was merely a servant, utterly beneath her. Her only daughter Tamara thought even less of him; whereas her mother had only ever experienced a life of wealth she knew only enormous wealth. She had always had a multitude of servants to call upon to obey her every whim. She barely considered them human, just chattel to fetch, carry and do her bidding. In truth she was cruel, but so, so gorgeous.

Having read her final letter she picked up her cell phone and rang a number. ‘Hi Melanie, how are you?’ she spoke into the phone, a conversation ensued which Taylor could only hear one end of.

‘Yes did you hear about Chris and Liz moving to Bermuda?’

‘Next month.’

‘Yes, yes, but the best of it, you know that butler of theirs? The one who mixes the cool cocktails.’

‘Is it? I never caught his name. Well they’re not taking him!’

‘Well I guess so, not only that, he’ll be in that funny state they get in when they’re out of work.’

‘Mmm,  mmm, ha ha why not?’

Tamara flicked her incredible eyes towards Taylor for an instant, casually letting smoke escape between her lips. ‘Just get rid of him I suppose,’

Taylor’s heart skipped a beat was she discussing him and his impending dismissal? It wasn’t as if he could ask, it simply wasn’t his place to do so. Also the subject switched to a party they had attended a few nights earlier. Tamara was laughing, a beautiful rich girl without a care in the world. In his panic he failed to notice her stubbing out her cigarette into the crystal ashtray. She however noticed he hadn’t removed it and spoke harshly, ‘You!! Clean this immediately!’

He hurried over, submissively saying, ‘yes my Lady, sorry my Lady,’ though by now she had returned to her conversation with Melanie while he removed the offending ashtray.

When she had finished her call Tamara stood and walked out of the room, Taylor bowed his head in deference as she passed him. When she was gone he tidied up her mail and took her tea things back to the kitchen.

As Tamara approached the great front door Azumah opened it for her with a bow. He was a fourteen year old, originally from Mozambique on work experience from school. From eight in the morning until late at night his duty was to stand there opening and closing the door for the family and guests. If the authorities had known there would have been an outcry, but he had been advised by his parents to say nothing as the report he would receive from the Smythe-Winchesters would have a devastating effect on his employment prospects.

Tamara looked at him with disdain, for one of the few times in her life she hadn’t got what she had wanted. She’d seen a movie set in the plantation days where the ruling families would have a young boy as a ‘house pet’ perform this task. When she had told her father that is what she wanted he had explained to her gently that the laws of the land wouldn’t allow such a thing. She had flown into a rage, what kind of antiquated laws could stop her having anything she desired? She decided to level her disappointment on Amuzah, and had already written a damning report on him for when his stint was over. It would probably be enough to ensure he would struggle to find gainful employment on leaving school but was little compensation to her.

On leaving the main building she descended the marble steps towards one of her more satisfied whims. On a holiday to Shanghai she had loved the notion of travelling by rickshaw. Having informed her father he had brought rickshaw and ‘boy’ over to work at the mansion. The ‘boy’ who was over sixty stood outside the mansion’s entrance from dawn ‘til dusk strapped to the large mode of transport. When anyone wished to make a trip within the grounds they would usually use him. The stables were about half a mile from the main house, somewhat awkward by car and unthinkable to walk so here was the perfect solution.

Tamara stepped gracefully into the comfortable carriage and haughtily informed the boy, ‘Stables!’ and off he trotted.

3

Terry had only been working at the stables for three weeks and though he was unaccustomed to the work he was glad of a job. A toolmaker by trade he had been made redundant a year earlier and had had a hard time of it. He’d been a first class craftsman and a good shop steward too. But under the current climate employers weren’t keen on an intelligent, genuine union man. At thirty he had two children to support from his estranged marriage. The pay from the Smythe-Winchesters was low but by cutting out any luxury items he could at least see his girls alright, even if the hours he worked meant he hardly got the chance to see them. All he got from the job for himself was the room in a converted stable and two meals a day.

Today was proving particularly hard work. His fellow ‘lad’ had been dismissed on Monday for swearing after a horse had kicked him in the shin. Unfortunately Tamara had been around at the time and deemed this gross misconduct. Now the leading hand Brian was laid low with a fever, which left Terry to do all the work by himself. He’d been at it since daybreak, feeding the horses and tidying the yard and as midday approached he was feeling quite tired. He was just going to take a couple of minutes sit down when Tamara’s rickshaw approached.

As she walked up to him he offered her a ‘good morning my Lady.’

She looked at him as if he was something she might have stepped in had the yard not been cleaned so thoroughly. ‘What’s this!’ she boomed, ‘why is my horse not out and ready!?’  ‘Where the fuck’s Watson!?’

Terry stuttered, ‘H-he’s in his room poorly My Lady. I’m sorry I didn’t know when you’d be riding my Lady.’

‘Poorly! Fetch him here this instant!’

Terry ran off into Brian Watson’s room and warned him to shake a leg. Within seconds the two of them returned, the older man looking dreadfully pale and sweating hurriedly putting a dressing gown over his pyjamas. ‘I’m sorry my Lady, may I be of service my Lady?’ he enquired obsequiously.

‘What’s the matter with you? This isn’t a holiday camp you know!’

Watson, who had never missed a day’s work in the eleven years he had worked here, lowered his eyes to the ground, ‘I’m sorry my Lady I seem to have a fever, I’ve got such a high temperature.’

Tamara looked at the man who was indeed sweating profusely, ‘well I don’t want you near my horses like that, they may contract something. Get dressed and you can go and move the dung heap.’

Watson looked confused, ‘forgive me my Lady but where should I move it to?’ The dung heap was huge and even moving it a few yards would be a long hard day’s work by anyone’s standards.

‘I don’t care,’ replied his Mistress haughtily, ‘twenty five yards in any direction, just move it!’ It was apparent the heap didn’t actually need moving, but Tamara detested the thought of an idle servant.

Watson pulled at his forelock and said, ‘yes my Lady,’ before rushing to get dressed.

As he approached the door to his stable she called after him, ‘and I’ll be docking you a days pay for this!’

He replied, ‘yes my Lady, thank you my Lady,’ before going in to change for a gruelling days work.

As Tamara rounded on Terry he had to bite his tongue and stop himself from glaring at her. What a cruel bitch he thought to himself, but he just couldn’t afford to lose this job. So in fact it was her who spoke, ‘so why is my horse not ready, boy!?’

Terry managed to reply, ‘I’m sorry my Lady, please let me do it at once.’

‘Very well, but move yourself!’

‘Err, which horse my Lady?’

‘Black Prince, you imbecile.’

With a ‘yes my Lady,’ Terry ran to saddle the black Arabian. This stable was larger, better built and even more comfortable than his own. As he came out of the stable he passed Watson who still looked awful but was now clothed with a shovel in hand. He couldn’t look at him so led the huge horse to an impatient Tamara. She took the reigns from him, snapped her fingers and pointed to the ground.

Terry looked up at her somewhat mystified, ‘my Lady?’

Tamara curled back her exquisite top lip and pronounced, ‘on the floor for me to mount!’

Nervously Terry knelt by the horse and pressed his elbows to the ground. He felt his employer’s booted foot on his back and then she was aboard. As she was petite it hadn’t been at all painful physically, yet he found it so humiliating. As she rode off without a word he picked himself up and brushed himself down in an attempt to regain some dignity.

He went and closed up the door of ‘Black Prince’s’ stable, consoling himself with the thought that Saturday would be his first half day off. At last he would be able to see his children. With this in mind he reminded himself that he must put up with anything in order to retain his job. Sweeping the ground once more he came to a clearing which enabled him to view Brian. The older man was grafting away, moving the horse manure twenty five yards, shovelful by shovelful. Terry could have wept for the man, but what good would that have done. They were both victims in a world which was stacked against the poor.

Ideally he would have liked to have gone and helped, but that was out of the question. If his Mistress came back and caught him, or even smelt the manure on him, all hell would break loose. He had to face the fact that he lived in fear of the whim of a teenage girl.

In time, Tamara’s friend Madeleine turned up at the stables. Terry hadn’t seen her before, but her sleek appearance and bearing gave her away as a friend of his Mistress. Therefore when she approached he touched his index finger to his forehead and uttered ‘good afternoon ma’am.’

The stunning tall brunette ignored him and strolled past. Without bothering to look in his direction she asked in a cultured and authoritive voice, ‘how long has Tamara been gone!?’

‘Over an hour ma’am.’

Madeleine gave a ‘hmmm,’ and sauntered over to a large, leather armchair. This chair wouldn’t have looked out of place in the finest of lounges. It was only brought outside when the weather was fine, in fact it was one of Terry’s duties to move it indoors at the slightest threat of rain. This was a bit of a bain as it was very heavy and it had been impressed upon him that it was not for the likes of him to sit in it.

Madeleine sat down gracefully and crossed her long shapely legs. She wasn’t dressed for riding but maintained a country look with brown slacks and a silk white blouse. From her tiny Versace bag she produced her cell phone and gold cigarette case. She placed a long white cigarette between her glossed lips and opened her phone. After a couple of seconds she raised her eyes towards Terry with a slightly incredulous look. She didn’t realise he was new and was accustomed to automatic service from domestics.

Terry realised he had been at fault and rushed over to light the cigarette for his employers friend. She accepted the ignition whilst giving him a look that suggested he was some kind of a simpleton for keeping her waiting. However she didn’t comment, rather she casually blew a long stream of smoke through her fetching lips and pressed a few buttons on her mobile.

Terry stood awkwardly by her side not knowing quite what to do as her call was accepted. This took the tension away from him as she sat back and smilingly spoke through the phone ‘Hi Vicky it’s me’.

She took a calming drag on her cigarette as ‘Vicky’ spoke and returned with a ‘no, just fancied a chat, I’m waiting for Tams and theirs no-one hear to talk to.’ She chatted away for a while before turning to Terry and curtly ordering, ‘fetch me a coke!’ he hurried off to the little bar area where he washed his hands and poured a glass of coca cola. He placed it on a tray and carried it towards the young beauty who was still chatting away.

In her own time she finished the call and closed her phone. She took the drink from the tray without comment and took a refreshing mouthful. She then took a final pull on her cigarette before tossing the end to the ground and grinding it out with her Jimmy Choo ankle boot.

Taking another sip of her coke she glanced momentarily at Terry and then down at the discarded cigarette. Getting the message he dropped to one knee and picked up the waste butt beside her boot. It being a very still day he also managed to gather up some ash before withdrawing to the bar area to dispose of the litter.

As he re-emerged his employer came trotting back on the mighty stallion ‘Hello darling,’ she enthused at her friend as she slowed to walking pace.

‘Hi Tams, had a good ride?’

As she brought the beast to attention, Terry had the good sense to kneel beside the horse, offering his back for dismount. ‘Ok, didn’t realise it was going to be so hot though,’ she answered as she used the servant as a stepping stone. He took the reigns from her and a dismissive wave was taken as instruction to rehouse the sweating horse.

He came out in time to take Tamara’s hat, crop and gloves, which she handed to him whilst asking Madeleine, ‘where did you park your car?’

‘By the main house, I walked from there,’ she stood and as the two kissed she handed her empty glass to Terry.

‘Silly girl, you should have sent one of the servants for the rickshaw, that’s what its there for.’

Quietly Terry withdrew to replace the glass and store his employer’s accessories. When he returned the brunette was offering the blonde a cigarette and taking another one for herself. He lit them both and as expected received no thanks, not even a look in his direction. All he got from Tamara was a curt, ‘jacket!’ and so he carefully eased the expensive garb from her svelte shoulders. ‘Hang it up and fetch a cloth, my boots are dusty!’

He quickly obeyed, though as he left them he heard the brunette declare, ‘he’s a bit slow isn’t he?’

‘Yes’ agreed Tamara, ‘we’re still breaking him in.’

This worried Terry a bit, criticism could result in dismissal and that was unthinkable. Determined to impress his Mistress he ran to her side and offered her the cloth. She looked at him and exhaled a lungful of smoke into his face, ‘I’m hardly going to clean them myself you dolt!!’

Realising what this meant Terry swallowed any remaining pride and knelt before her. So this is what it had come to, while two teenage girls stood chatting he was on his knees cleaning the boots of one of them. To add to his humiliation he was aware of cigarette ash being flicked onto him. This was not an act of spite, it just so happened he was where they naturally disposed of their ash. To have avoided him would take a modicum of effort, and that just wouldn’t do.

They were debating whether or not to fly over to Paris for the evening. Tamara had a private jet at her disposal and went abroad at least once a week.

As Terry brought the boots to a shine Tamara lifted one to extinguish her used cigarette. She was suggesting to Madeleine that they should return to the house. A quick glance at her boots satisfied her that they were clean enough for the journey home. Although Terry was still shining away she simply walked away with her friend towards the waiting rickshaw.

Without turning round she called out to Terry, ‘fetch my things over to the house!’ and with that the girls were gone. As quick as he could the humiliated stable lad cleared up the cigarette ends and went to fetch his employer’s jacket and accessories before beginning the walk to the house.

The girls had arrived at the main house in double quick time and alighted the rickshaw to walk past the panting ‘boy’. As they climbed the stairs to the front door a middle aged house maid was scrubbing the steps. She had worked for the Smythe-Winchesters for five years but Tamara was unaware of her name. She and Madeleine arrogantly walked through her work and through the great door as Azumah opened it for them. As the door closed the maid re-scrubbed the part which had been spoiled before wiping the sweat from her brow.

4.

At last Saturday arrived and with it Terry’s monthly half day holiday. He had worked hard in the morning before showering and changing into his best clothes. Finally he was going to see his children, his reason not only for living but for putting up with the utmost degradation. Brian was still not fully recovered but he had been set the task of setting up a showjumping area for the next day.

Terry only wore a shirt and trousers as it was the hottest day of the year thus far. He was just about to leave for the bus when a houseboy came running up to him. ‘Terry,’ said the young man breathing hard, ‘you’ve been summoned to the pool right away.’

‘Bollocks,’ muttered Terry under his breath, ‘Ok Pete I’ll be right over.’ He checked his watch and realised he’d probably have to get the later bus now. He cheered up though as he walked towards the swimming pool when he thought maybe they were going to offer him a lift to his ex-wife’s house.

The pool area was only a quarter of a mile away from the stables so he was soon there. On arriving he saw Tamara and her mother, Helen laying by the pool on highly expensive sun loungers. The pool was Olympic sized and the marble surrounds were superb in appearance.

Wing and Wong were at their Mistress’s feet giving her a pedicure. Lady Smythe-Winchester snr had her own maid performing the same task for her. Taylor and a couple of footmen were on hand to serve drinks and suchlike. Behind the Ladies of leisure Azumah had been given a break from door duties. Instead he stood with a huge feather fan, pumping it up and down in an effort to cool his ‘betters’.

Terry approached them nervously standing with his head bowed. It was Helen who spoke first, ‘my daughter informs me you are somewhat slow, why is this?’

‘I-I don’t really know my Lady.’ It wasn’t only the content of the question which unnerved him but the sheer pulchritude of the mature blonde in front of him. She was dressed in a designer one piece bathing costume, and had the figure of a woman half her age.

She clicked her freshly manicured fingers at Taylor for a cigarette, receiving a light from him she casually blew a long stream of smoke towards Terry and expanded her question; ‘What I wish to know is are you slow and a little stupid, or are you insolent and disrespectful of your betters?’

Terry gulped at his Adams apple, he certainly wasn’t stupid, he had the highest levels of qualification in engineering. Also he had once received a standing ovation at Oxford University after speaking on modern trade unionism. However he knew the only answer which may give him a hope of retaining his job; ‘slow and stupid my Lady.’

Helen smiled condescendedly, ‘Well I suggest you buck your ideas up boy. There is a show here tomorrow, and if any of the invited Ladies have any criticism of you, you’ll be out on your ear. Do you understand me!?’

‘Yes my Lady, thank you my Lady.’

‘Anyway, it was my daughter, who sent for you,’ she informed him resting her head back and indicating with a wiggle of her fingers that Azumah was to fan harder.

Terry turned nervously to Tamara who was wearing a golden two piece bikini. There was no other way of describing her, she looked like a Goddess. Before speaking she allowed Taylor to light her cigarette then examined the toes on her right foot. Satisfied she pushed Wing away with the same foot. She looked up at the stable boy allowing smoke to escape through her impeccable lips. ‘Turn around and tell me what you can see!’ she ordered.

Terry looked in the direction of the stables and with a frightened little voice enquired ‘my Lady?’

‘The fool, Watson, he’s moved the dung heap into the view line from here.’

Terry looked again, and indeed if one was to look hard enough, and had knowledge of what it might have been, one could just about see the heap. ‘Yes my Lady, I see it.’

Tamara casually flicked ash into the crystal ashtray beside her, ‘well I can’t be expected to lay here looking at that, can I!?’

‘No my Lady, of course not my Lady,’ he agreed very submissively.

His Mistress now examined her left foot and nudged Wong away in a matter-of-fact way; both Koreans now knelt at the foot of her lounger with their heads bowed. She took a deep inhale on her cigarette and exhaled slowly and provocatively towards Terry; ‘go and move it, now!’

Terry was crestfallen, ‘but my Lady, if it pleases you my Lady it is my half day off.’

Tamara casually shrugged her gorgeous right shoulder half an inch and smiled cruelly; ‘cancelled.’

Terry’s head dropped both in dismay and humility, he just noticed Tamara give him a languid, dismissive wave of her hand. He bowed and withdrew to move the dung heap.

The End