Sylvia went back upstairs and treated herself to a leisurely lie-in.
She saw that it was only nine,
and after a long shower in the en suite bathroom,
it was still not even ten.
She was just about to get dressed when she heard a knock at her bedroom door.
“Yes?”
“Your Breakfast, Mistress,” said Pam.
There was that “Mistress” business again, thought Sylvia.
What an irony that a woman who called her “Mistress” couldn’t follow simple instructions.
“I’ll be down shortly, Pam.”
“I just have it here, Misst…Miss Fletcher.
Would like it in bed?”
Sylvia arched an eyebrow.
That idea hadn’t occurred to her.
She hopped back into bed and covered herself.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Pam walked in carrying a large wooden tray.
With smooth motions, she flipped out two supports and either side, and set the tray across Sylvia’s lap.
Sylvia nearly gasped in surprise.
The tray contained a bowl of blueberries topped with whipped cream,
a hoddle of coffee with a mug,
and eight pieces of french toast,
sprinkled with cinnamon,
and topped with syrup,
butter,
and orange slices.
“Thank you…Pam.” said Sylvia, quite impressed.
“is everything to your satisfaction, Mistress?” she asked.
“Yes. That’s lovely.” said Sylvia, not bothering to correct her.
She reached for the coffee to pour herself a cup but found that Pam was already pouring one.
“Cream and sugar, Mistress?” she asked. Sylvia nodded.
“Will that be all, Mistress?” she asked, setting the steaming cup down on the tray.
“Yes, thanks.” said Sylvia, sipping the coffee.
It was better than she had expected, like a gourmet coffee instead of the Robusto instant stuff she had had in the cupboard.
Where had this come from?
“Very good, Mistress.” said the maid, bowing deeply and exiting the room.
Sylvia dug into her breakfast.
“I could get used to this.” she thought as she tucked into her french toast.
Pam certainly knew how to cook.
Sylvia spent most of that day in her new studio, experimenting with different styles and watching tutorials on YouTube.
Pam, meanwhile rushed from room to room,
cleaning and tidying up as she went.
The woman seemed to have inexhaustible energy and enthusiasm and even seemed to take uncomplicated joy in her work.
As Sylvia struggled with her first attempt at Cubism, she could hear Pam singing downstairs.
“This is the way we dust the shelves,
dust the shelves, dust the shelves!
This is the way we dust the shelves, with a gentle sweep!
It’s a breeze!
No need to sneeze!
What a tidy home we keep!”
It was an inane ditty, but Pam genuinely had a lovely singing voice.
Sylvia wondered if she shouldn’t admonish the maid for singing, but decided against it.
Pam’s happiness and enthusiasm were infectious, and Sylvia decided that for all her oddities, she was a delight to have in the house.
Any thought of replacing her new maid was obliterated by the time Sylvia had finished her lunch,
which consisted of fried porkchops with mashed potatoes and gravy .
Like breakfast, it was both delicious and plentiful.
Sylvia decided that she would have to talk to Pam about limiting the portions she served, or else she would gain weight eating like this.
Still, no need to do it today.
After lunch, Sylvia continued to work in her studio.
She couldn’t seem to get the visual effect she was hoping for, no matter what she tried.
The sound of Pam’s frenetic footsteps around the house was distracting.
If her song was anything to go by, she was starting in on the laundry.
“This is the way we wash the clothes,wash the clothes,wash the clothes!
This is the way we wash the clothes, with diligence and care!
Spotless and fresh, tidy and pressed, a joy for all to wear!
Sylvia eventually got frustrated trying to make her lines as sharp and clear as the ones on YouTube.
Over the last few years, she had gotten used to working twelve to fourteen hours a day, and yet after a few hours of leisurely painting, she felt drained.
She yawned and headed downstairs in search of dinner.
To her relief, as she emerged from her studio, marvelous smells and yet another of Pam’s little songs wafted through the air.
“This is the way we cook the food, cook the food, cook the food! This is the way we cook the food, cookies, cakes, and pies! A country-fried steak, a great big milkshake, a fatter pair of thighs!”
That last line was a little on the nose, Sylvia felt.
Even after only one night in her new home, her midsection was feeling a little softer than usual.
She decided that tomorrow would be a good day to get out in the garden and start her plans for a beautiful set of rosebushes.
Right now, though, she was feeling more than a little hungry.
When she arrived in the kitchen, she was amazed at how different it looked.
Not only was everything spotless,
but her dining room table was coated in freshly-baked chocolate-chip cookies,
orange-raspberry scones,
an entire honey-baked ham,
as well as a salad and a basket of croissants.
It looked like enough food for a family of eight.
Sylvia felt stuck.
She wanted to tell Pam that cooking this much food with only two people in the house was silly and wasteful,
but the idea of criticizing this woman’s hard work when she herself had spent the day mostly lazing about seemed ungrateful.
