Never Turn Back (13 page)

“You read his
private
journal?”

“You have to know what kind of man you’re working for, Meri. It was just lying there…” Antoinette had a justification for everything.
I’m happy I don’t keep a journal.

“Antoinette, it seems we both have secrets to hide from our employer.” Meri smiled for the first time that evening.

“I suppose we do.” Antoinette looked worried for the first time that evening.

§

Regardless of Topias’ many and determined “private lessons,” Meri never experienced an orgasm. His hands, battered from the wheels of his chair, were burlap rubbing against the tender, private areas of her body normally protected by clothing. Her position sitting in his atrophied lap was awkward. The chair poked and prodded her legs, arms, and back. He remained clothed, protected, while she remained naked and vulnerable.

With each session ending in failure, his frustration with Meri grew.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you incapable of sexual pleasure?”

Meri shrugged. “I’m trying.”

“You do not need to try. I will bring you to an orgasm. I control your body, Meri.”

Oh no you don’t!

At times he would even push her off his lap in frustration. Often she would catch herself and stand; sometimes she would fall to the floor. Each time she hated him a little more. He only seemed more determined to pull her back in his lap to prove his sexual skills. While his fingers did their work, she fantasized about finding another job.

Almost two years into her job, an unusual errand took her past a familiar section of Paris: the fashion district. In preparation for a visit from Monsieur Nurmi’s sister, who was coming from Finland, he sent Meri to purchase “something uniquely Parisian for her to wear.”

The last time she had roamed these streets she was new to Paris and eagerly searching for work in the shops she now entered as a customer.
Can it be over ten years since I came here? So much has changed! Most of these shops are closed and the remaining ones seem less…ah…vibrant. They seem to be hanging on for dear life.

While Meri did not understand the reasons behind the eventual economic depression in France, she expected it. “It is only a matter of time,” she heard people say. They were right. She stood staring at the proof. The collapse of this once bustling mecca of fashion genius skewered Meri’s heart.
If I couldn’t find a job back then, I’ll never find a job here now
, she thought as she pushed open the door to one of the remaining fashion houses.

A distinguished gentleman greeted her. “
Bonjour,
Mademoiselle. Are you looking for anything specific?”

Meri did not answer promptly. Something about this man struck her as familiar. She had seen him before.
Of course! He’s the only one who looked at my dress. Rather than offering me a job in his fashion house, he offered me a job in his household.

“
Pardon?
Mademoiselle?”

“
Oui
.
Pardon
. I’m looking for a hat or a scarf for a woman about forty or fifty years old.”

“Can you tell me more about her? Coloring? Height? What kind of occasion does she need the item for?”

Meri blushed. “
Non.
My employer sent me to buy something ‘uniquely Parisian’ for his Finnish sister.” She shrugged. “I thought a hat or a scarf would be nice.”

He smiled. “Your employer knows precious little about fashion and less about women.”

“I agree with you.” Meri smiled back at him. The unique aroma of new fabric and the kaleidoscope of colorful fashions overwhelmed Meri’s senses. Her heart filled with joy and a deep aching loss at the same time.

“Finnish?” His gaze lingered on Meri for longer than felt comfortable. He finally said, “Are you Finnish, too?”

Meri blushed and nodded ever so slightly.

“Have we met before? You seem familiar to me.” He rubbed the side of his face, a face that was still handsome but wearier from the passing years.

“Right again, Monsieur. I came to you many years ago looking for a job in the fashion district. I had just come to Paris and I barely spoke French.”

“I remember. You were the girl with the fine lace dress, right?” His smile broadened.

Meri nodded a proud nod.
He remembers!

“May I ask? Did you find work as a seamstress?”

“
Non.
I took work in a hotel and, now, as a personal assistant to a wealthy man.” Meri fiddled with the buttons on her coat.

“I see. I’m sorry. Work in the fashion district is hard to get—especially these days.”

Meri nodded again—defeat infused her nod this time.

“Well, let’s see if we can find something to delight both your employer and his sister.”

As they perused the shop, selecting then rejecting various “perfectly Parisian” items, Meri knew she could not ask about job in his shop but wondered how she might ask him for a job in his household
. If he remembers me after all this time, he’ll be a better employer than Monsieur Nurmi. At least he seems to like and respect me. It’s worth a try…
“Your child must be all grown up by now,” Meri said as a way to test the waters.

“
Pardon
? My child?” He shook his head.

“Oh. Sorry. I remember you offered me work in your household because your wife needed help with the baby she was carrying. Please forgive me for being so forward.” She picked up and admired a silk scarf. “I think this will be fine.”

“An excellent selection for this unknown woman!” He whisked the scarf from her, walked behind the counter, and began looking for a suitable box and wrapping paper. As he gift-wrapped the scarf, he said, “My wife lost the baby. We have no children.”

“I’m sorry for asking about such a private matter. Please forgive me.” Meri turned away and pretended to look at hats.
I’m such a fool! Now I’ve lost any chance at a job with this kind man—the one man I’ve met in all of Paris who recognized something special in me.
She watched him adeptly wrap the scarf. This man stood heads and shoulders above her. If he was aging, no signs of it showed in his erect but easy posture. He put on wire-rimmed spectacles for close work, but they only accentuated his blue eyes and the little bump on his otherwise straight nose. When he smiled, which was often, two deep dimples appeared in his cheeks—the left one just slightly lower than the right. His chin was strong and had a slight cleft, making him appear movie-star handsome.
He has smooth skin on his hands, too.

“No apology is necessary. My wife. She…she is not the mothering kind. Perhaps things turned out for the best.”

“Perhaps.”
What else can I say?

“
Voila!
I hope these Finns think you have fine taste. I certainly think you do.” He handed her the neatly wrapped package.

As Meri paid him, she took a deep breath and said, “If you hear of any jobs…domestic jobs…perhaps you could keep me in mind? Being a personal assistant doesn’t suit me, even though my employer is happy with my work.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“Remind me of your name.”

“I’m Meri Vaarsara.”

“And I’m Michel Dorval.” They shook hands.

“Meri Vaarsara, your timing is excellent.”

“Oh?”

“Our maid of eight years just left us to return to Sweden where the economy seems impervious to the American Crash. I told her I could not afford to give her a raise this year. She decided not getting a raise for the first time in six years was a sign of worse things to come, so she left. My wife simply cannot manage our house in Paris and our house in the country without help. We have one maid but she needs two.”

“Monsieur Dorval, I worked for six years at the Hôtel Raphael, one year as a maid and five years in the kitchen. I’m sure I can be of assistance to your wife.”

“My wife is, shall I say, demanding. She is German and runs a strict household. Can you work under a woman who is very exacting?”

“I would love to work for a woman.”

Meri planned on telling Antoinette about her departure first. She thought telling a friendly person in the household would be easy. She dreaded making her announcement to Monsieur Nurmi. Meri wondered if simply leaving him a letter would be best.

She chose Sunday afternoon to announce her departure when the household was generally quiet and relaxed.
Perhaps the peace in the house will dull the reaction to my news
. She was wrong.

“You’re leaving your job as a personal assistant to be a
maid
? Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how hard my life is? I would kill for your job!” Antoinette paced the kitchen floor, her hands flailing around as if batting her words in the air.

“Remember, part of my job is sitting on the man’s lap.” Meri stood still, arms crossed as she watched Antoinette‘s agitation grow.

“Poor innocent Meri. Do you believe you’re the only one who he calls into his private study?” She stopped only long enough to stare at Meri, and then she resumed her pacing. “Who do you think will now be called in more frequently?” Antoinette started to breathe heavily, as if hyperventilating.

“I had no idea.” Her hands flew to her chest so quickly they made an audible
thump
.

“Of course you didn’t, you silly fool. You’re so concerned about yourself and your pride. You don’t consider what’s happening around you.” Antoinette started pushing chairs into the table.
Slam! Bang! Crash!

“Calm down, Antoinette! I’m sorry you’re in this situation. Surely he’ll find another assistant.
Mon Dieu
! What am I saying? I don’t wish any woman to endure his abuse!”

“Well, I’ll be left to deal with him after you leave, which will be soon. Mark my words.”

“Perhaps I can find you work in another househo—”

“Meri, don’t soothe your guilt with empty offers. Leave. I want to be alone and you have another matter to deal with.” Antoinette began to catch her breath. She propped herself up on the back of one of the chairs she had just assaulted.

Meri raised an eyebrow as she questioned the woman silently.

“Monsieur Nurmi?” Antoinette replied with both sarcasm and disgust in her voice. She turned and left the kitchen. Meri never saw her again.

Meri’s encounter with Antoinette unnerved her. She had expected shock followed by a remorseful and friendly parting from her coworker and confidante. Meri thought they were something close to friends—compatriots at the very least. In an odd way, they had more in common than she ever guessed.
Sneaky Antoinette
, Meri thought
, she must have been so relieved when I told her about his “private lessons” with me.
Yet she never shared her story. I can’t trust most men. Now I must keep my guard up with women as well. Is there anyone I can truly trust?

Fearing the worst, Meri knocked on the library door.

“Enter.” Monsieur Nurmi’s voice seemed relaxed…for him.

“Monsieur, I’m sorry to disturb you but I need to speak with you.” Meri stood in the open doorway rather than walk in as she usually did.

He turned his wheelchair to face her when he heard her voice. “Ah, my dear, what a pleasant surprise. On your day off, too.”

His crooked, lecherous smile was difficult to stomach, so she averted her eyes to her shoes.

“Meri, look at me when we speak in private.”

“
Oui,
Monsieur.” She lifted her eyes to meet his blue, often cruel, eyes. Two years of working for him changed her disposition toward him. When she first met him, he looked old, deformed, and ugly. Now she knew he was not as old and not really deformed. His facial features were actually pleasant under the nearly perpetual scowl and the resulting wrinkles.
Why must you push people away? You don’t need to prey on those around you to make yourself feel tall. Your guilt and anger has turned you into an intolerable person.

“Come here and close the door. What is the matter with you? You are not behaving like yourself at all.” He drummed his fingers on the book on his lap.

“I…I’ve enjoyed being a personal assistant. Learning professional skills and dealing with professionals from various businesses has been very educational and rewarding. It’s time, however, that I move on. I’m…I’m leaving for another job, Monsieur.” Meri decided on the direct approach softened by gratitude.

At first Monsieur Nurmi sat so still Meri wondered if he stopped breathing. He finally spoke, his eyes narrowed to predatory slits and his voice barely audible but definitive. “
Mademoiselle
Vaarsara, no one leaves my employment. I release them. Understood?”

Meri nodded. She waited for him to say something more but he only turned his wheelchair around.
What should I do now? Can he keep me as his employee by force?
Meri recalled her confusion and fear the first time she stood in this library.
What can I do? Wait, there is one thing I can try. It’s risky but he’s left me with no other choice.

Meri lowered her head and stared at her shoes. “You’re repulsive. Every time you touch me, I get a little sicker. I refuse to continue on as your sexual play-thing so you can feel like a man.” Her strong and steady voice belied the fear welling up inside her.

Crash!

Meri jumped and yelped like a dog being abused.

Monsieur Nurmi threw the book from his lap and onto the floor. In a much louder, commanding voice, he said, “You ungrateful bitch. I showed you kindness and this is how you repay me? You aren’t so appealing and enjoyable as you might think. Women like you are very common. You are nothing special, Meri Vaarsara, and the sooner you realize your place in life, the better off you will be.” He stopped for a moment. Meri thought he had finished his castigation. She was wrong. “At any rate, your place is not in
this
household. Living off of my good graces is over. Get out of my house
today
.”

“But, Monsieur, where will I sleep tonight? What about my wages for last week?” Meri surprised herself with her bold, practical questions.

“Do you think I care where you sleep tonight? You are no longer my employee. As for your wages,
I’ll
honor my obligations to you. Leave me an address. I will send them. Now go before I change my mind about your wages.”

Meri nodded curtly. He did not see Meri’s grin, nor could he possibly know how much she wanted to call him Topias one last time.

Meri packed her belongings and left the beautiful suite she called home for two years. She would miss her opulent accommodations.
What will my new home be like?
Just as nice or better I bet. The Dorvals must be wealthy people.

Meri walked to Siri’s apartment and spent the night with her. The next morning she walked to the Dorval residence at 56 Avenue D’éna to begin work as a maid.

§

Monsieur Dorval welcomed Meri; his wife inspected her.

“So this is the girl you blathered on about.” Greta Dorval frowned as she carefully scrutinized Meri. “You know I prefer the Swedes to the Finns, Michel.” She crossed her arms and tapped her delicate foot.

Michel Dorval nodded and shrugged his shoulders, smiling deferentially at his wife. Meri noticed how Monsieur Dorval’s demeanor changed in front of his wife. He was no longer the affable, confident businessman; he acted more like a little boy trying to be a big boy who was not quite sure of himself.

“I’m not sure she will do.” The woman dressed all in gray turned her back to her husband and started walking away.

“Greta, Darling. Please. Meri is a fine candidate for the position. She is here now. At least talk with her. You said you needed someone immediately.”

She stopped and sighed audibly. Without turning to face either of them, she said, “Very well,” as she exited the room.

Meri cleared her throat, getting Monsieur Dorval attention. “What shall I do?”

He shrugged an apology, something she would see him do for a long time to come, and escorted her to a large sitting room where his wife sat thumbing through a magazine.

“I must go to my shop, so I’ll leave you in Madame’s capable hands. I trust I will see you both tonight.” He smiled, patted Meri on the shoulder, and abruptly left the room.

Meri stood without speaking, feeling as if she was a goat in a bear’s cave.

Madame Dorval told Meri, in exacting detail, what would be expected of her as a maid working for
her.

Is she trying to scare me?

Her main duties included cleaning, laundry, shopping for household items, and tending to their one-year-old Great Pyrenees, Soldat. She also discussed living quarters in the basement, so Meri knew she would be living with them as part of the job.

Greta Dorval reminded Meri of her mother, not in appearance, but in disposition. Her new employer was petite compared to her husky mother.
I don’t think she’s a weak woman, though.
Meri imagined sinewy, lean muscles under her dress sleeves and skirt. Both women had pale complexions, but Meri remembered her Mamma’s hair always being a dull gray while Madame’s hair shone dark, making her appear even more ghostly. All of her edges were sharp—boney, even—giving her a severe appearance, which matched her personality. Everything about Meri’s mother she recalled as round, soft—except her general temperament and particularly aggravated disposition toward her. Madame spoke French in a staccato, tinny voice, infused with a German accent.
Was she uncomfortable with French or didn’t she like to speak to the help?
Madame
Dorval spoke economically. “Hello.” “Dismissed.” “Come here.” “Take the dog.” She had no time or tolerance for social graces or kindnesses with her staff just as Mamma had no time for kindnesses for her.

“She doesn’t seem like a very nice person. Not much better than Monsieur Nurmi.” Siri shot a concerned glance to Meri as they had their usual Sunday breakfast of croissants and coffee at their favorite café.

“At least she’s a woman and so much like my Mamma that she doesn’t scare me. Working for a woman is a welcome change, too. I don’t have to worry about
her
taking advantage of me.”

“What about Monsieur Dorval?” Siri cocked her head.

“Monsieur Dorval?
Non
! He’s a kind and decent man.” Meri watched the coffee steam rise from her cup. She lifted her head and smiled at Siri. “Plus, I think he’s afraid of his wife.”

Siri giggled.

“I’m not worried. They’re rich. They have two houses. One in Paris and one in Burville-sur-Mer on the Seine. I can be a mouse and stay out of her way. And perhaps she’ll come to like me when she sees I’m such a good worker.”

“I hope so, Meri. I hope so.”

“They have a dog. His name is Soldat. He’s big and white and shaggy. I’ve always liked dogs. One of my jobs is taking care of him.”

“Ha! The rich! They have a dog and hire someone to care for it. Why have a pet if you ignore it?”

Meri shrugged. “I don’t ask questions. I’m just happy this dog and I will become friends. Dogs are better companions than people.”

Siri put her coffee cup down with a
clunk.
“What?”

Meri smiled. “Well, most people.”

“All right. I hope you like me at least as much as a dog!”

Meri laughed. “Time will tell!”

“Look at you! I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time,” Siri said.

Meri raised her coffee cup and motioned for Siri to do the same. They clinked cups and said in unison, “
Skål!
”

“What are we drinking to?”

“To big fluffy white dogs and rich employers with dresses not pants.”

“All right.” Siri nodded in an exaggerated formal way.

Meri’s face clouded over. “I’m unsure of my new work schedule. Our time together…”

“
Oui.
With every change, we have to be flexible. I understand. We’ll work it out.” She reached over and squeezed Meri’s hand as they got up from the table after paying for breakfast.

“I think you’re the only true friend I’ve ever had.”

“You’re my truest friend, too, Meri.”

“As your truest friend, I’m telling you to be careful of this Monsieur Dorval. He seems too good to be true. Too helpful, if you know what I mean…”

Meri waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “Not him. I think he’s my guardian angel sent by my Papa. He’s not old enough, but he reminds me of Papa—he sees something special in me and wants to take care of me.”

Siri grimaced. “Exactly how long have you known him? His wife will resent her husband protecting the maid.” Her words had edges as hard as the gravel they walked on.