DEPENDING ON the weather, these dinners for female family members and close women friends who are also part of the extended royal family are either held around the pool or in a purpose-built chalet. The two princes from our palace and the family doctor are the only three men allowed to join the royal women. Oh, and the court jester, a funny little man who seems to be openly gay. For the record, this is only my opinion and not a fact.
Several maids walk around constantly spraying perfume into the night air as the royals hate the smell of food cooking. Whenever Lilly or I cook for the princess, the kitchen door has to be closed. A very strong extractor fan absorbs the delicious aromas.
Tension is building between Mona and me as my princess has instructed me to help out with the Wednesday dinner preparations in the main palace. Mona feels this is her domain, and I am encroaching. When the Amira makes a surprise visit in the kitchen and compliments me on what I am wearing, the look of sheer venom on Mona’s face confirms my suspicions: my presence there threatens Mona no end.
The Amira asks me to light the fire inside the chalet, which further infuriates Mona. I don’t know why the Amira asked me, but it may be just that I was standing closest to her. I walk in, and without looking at any of the royals seated on the plush couches, some with their feet up, I kneel and start spreading the fire lighters.
I suddenly become aware of a presence behind me and as I turn, I see Mona’s furious gaze. She is trying to give the impression that she is supervising me. As the fire jumps into life, I stand up, just to hear Mona thanking me, loudly enough for the Amira to hear. At that moment I feel sorry for her. I excuse myself to go to check on Lilly.
This is the one evening the princess’s bedroom, dressing area and bathroom gets an especially thorough clean as the bedroom is vacant for the duration of the dinner, which usually lasts until sunrise. As none of the staff is allowed in the princess’s bedroom without rubber gloves, I hastily pull on a pair as I make my way upstairs. Lilly smiles as I enter.
Every second day, Lily brings an out-sized tray down from the laundry with about 30 pillow slips spread out on it for the princess to choose the linen. The collection of bedding is colourful and varied. Once the princess has made her choice, the colour scheme has to match throughout. That goes for towels, bathroom mats, dressing gown, prayer mat and fresh pyjamas put out each day with matching slippers. These items are perfumed every evening. So much perfume is sprayed onto her pillows and sheets that I am not sure how she sleeps with the overwhelming scent.
We are not allowed to touch the princess’s phones, not even with gloves on. When the princess asked me to pass her phone, I slipped out a tissue from one of the hundreds of boxes scattered all over the villa, grateful that the staff had shared this detail with me.
I have my own bathroom in the villa. When I first asked the girls for a hand towel, they told me that towels aren’t allowed as it is unhygienic, according to the princess. I have to dry my hands on tissues. There are six boxes in my bathroom alone. The tissues may not stick out, but have to be folded over like an envelope on top of the box.
I alternate my evening between supervising the cleaning of the princess’s bedroom and the chalet as the royals want us to be visible. A good looking man in his fifties pulls up in a BMW and parks in the middle of the road, next to the chalet. The maids swarm around him. I don’t know who he is but he spots me walking past and stretches out his hand. “Here,” is all he says as he drops the contents of his closed fist into my hand. I don’t look at what he gives me, thinking it is rubbish.
Once back at the villa, I take the crumpled pieces of paper out of my pocket. I am shocked as I look down at SR1500. Just over three thousand rand. Now I understand why the servants of the main palace were all around him – clearly this is not a one-off. He is the Amira’s brother.
Mona and I are told we may go at about two in the morning. On the way home, Mona tells me that my princess has a huge crush on this uncle. On their last European trip, my princess made such a nuisance of herself texting the uncle that a family meeting was called in an attempt to dampen her fervour. Apparently Princess Arabella went into isolation after the meeting and did not leave her hotel room to accompany the family on their shopping sprees for four days.
We are both bone weary tired when we get home, so after our nightly ablutions, we hit the sack with minimal conversation. It is easier to go to sleep with soft music playing on my head phones than to listen to Mona’s snoring that comes in bursts, like a gatling-gun.
In the morning, I start the DVD inventory. I clear the pile of boxes stacked up against the windows in the basement as it obscures the natural light coming in from the glass sliding doors that lead to a small patio. There are roughly 20 large boxes of DVDs. I clear a huge area on the immaculate floor and open the first box. It is a fun exercise as I pile them into genres.
The princess has given me permission to help myself to any of her books or DVDs. I come across a movie called “Cairo Time” and after I ask the princess’s permission yet again, I take it to watch later. I have the evening to myself as Serge has gone home to Lebanon. It is Christmas Eve.
The compound seems bleak without him.