August 15, 2000
Diary entry
LOUISA FLEW HOME from Madrid this morning.
We lined up in the arrivals hall at Schiphol, and she kissed each of us on the cheek. Hendrik and the boys carried her luggage while she linked her arm in mine. She told me I was glowing and asked me if I was in love. I felt my face flush. She laughed and wanted to know who the man was. Although she pressed, I repeatedly denied the existence of a lover, and she soon let the matter drop.
Louisa reeked of perfume, making me wonder if she had spilled a bottle. She combed her long blonde hair with her fingers and put on her sunglasses. In her ears were gold bangles; and around her neck, strings of colored beads. She wore a loose-fitting gypsy blouse, a maxi skirt, and black ballerinas on her feet. Heads turned as we crossed the terminal. Even if they didn’t recognize Louisa, they sensed she was a star.
When we got home, she went upstairs to shower and asked me to draw the blackout curtains in her bedroom. She intended to sleep until six o’clock, at which time I should bring her dinner on a tray. Willem and Jurriaan listened to music with their headphones on, and Hendrik worked in his workshop without turning on his electric saw or drill.
As I’ve chronicled in this diary elsewhere, my cooking has improved with practice. I prepared a dish with chicken in almond sauce, one I had made several times for Hendrik and the boys. At six o’clock I took up her dinner with a glass of her favorite white wine. She was smiling, propped up on pillows, and motioned for me to set the tray on her bedside table.
The suffocating scent of perfume wafted up from the discarded clothes on the chair.
“Shall I open a window?” I asked.
To my amazement, her demeanor darkened. Her eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“The room needs airing.”
“Are you saying I stink?”
I was taken aback.
“No. Of course not. But the room was closed up while you were away.”
“What do you smell?”
“What do I smell? The dinner,” I said, sensing I shouldn’t mention the perfume.
“Nothing else?”
“No, nothing,” I said as convincingly as I could. “You should eat before your dinner gets cold.”
She studied the tray.
“What is it?” she asked.
I described each dish.
She picked up a fork, inspected the tines, and took a bite of chicken.
“It’s tough and dried out.” She laid her fork on the tray.
“Is it?” I asked in surprise.
“Take the chicken away, and bring me something else.”
Did she think I was room service? That I wanted to go downstairs and cook her another meal? Was she crazy? I considered telling her off, but it occurred to me she might be ill, not just exhausted. The concerns about her odor were peculiar. My intuition told me she would reject any dish I prepared. I was the nanny, the poor relative, her drudge. And I needed her more than she needed me.
“What would you like?” I asked, my voice strained.
“Something vegetarian. Soup, I think.”
I had picked up the tray and turned to go when she said something I didn’t catch.
“Sorry, what did you say?” I asked.
“I said … the cook’s sister-in-law finally died. Isn’t that lovely?”
“How is that lovely?”
“She’s coming back to work starting tomorrow. We won’t have to eat overcooked chicken with almond sauce.”
I clenched my jaw but said nothing.
“Katja, darling, I have exciting news for you.”
“What?” The tray was growing heavier by the second.
“My secretary quit without giving notice.”
Imagine that, I thought, but I kept my sarcasm to myself and waited for her to continue.
“I want you to take her place for the rest of the tour. I’ll pay you a salary plus expenses. And next school year, I’ll arrange a lovely apartment for you. We fly to Milan in ten days.”
The idea repelled me, but even as I made a mental list of my objections, a part of me realized what a fantastic opportunity it was—the chance to meet the greatest living musicians and composers, to visit Europe’s top cities, to stay in five-star hotels. I knew Louisa spent most of her day practicing. She had her hair done, her makeup applied, her nails manicured, and sometimes she had a massage. On the evenings that she didn’t perform, she retired early. I would have plenty of free time. That’s what I told myself, because I knew I was going to accept. I don’t have the backbone to stand up to my stepsister.
“Who will look after the boys?” I asked as a matter of form.
“I can’t get an au pair on such short notice. Hendrik will have to do.”
I pretended to give her proposal some more thought.
“All right,” I said gravely.
“Wonderful. Take the tray, but leave the wine,” Louisa said, yawning and settling into her pillows.
The cloying scent in the bedroom was too much. Louisa was too much. I felt queasy and hurried out the door, the dishes rattling on the tray.