Chapter #7Elidibrian Events by: imaj   You watch with dread as the cell phone vibrates on the bedside table. It edges towards the side, not quite being in danger of falling off. You briefly consider ignoring it, but that would just lead to an angry knocking at the hotel room door within minutes.
You pick up the phone at hold it to your ear. “Hélène,” comes the imperious voice of Maria Cardozo. “Come to my room at once.” She hangs up abruptly.
You sigh and place the phone in your handbag. In the large mirror fixed on the wall, you watch as the gorgeous Hélène Verdier stands up. You’ve been Hélène since you started your short apprenticeship with Maria, but in that time she’s had you act as her maid, her cook and other menial jobs.
Now that Maria is here in London for a few days – an attempt to break out of the florid telenovelas she stars in back in Brazil – you are acting as her PA. Acting is the wrong word now you think of it, she actually has you being her PA. You check your makeup and clothes quickly, before heading across the corridor to Maria’s suite.
You knock the door before entering. Maria glances at you as you come through the door, curling her lip just the faintest amount. Hélène is both younger and prettier than Maria. Though she never vocalises it, Maria resents you a little for that. That said, being Hélène is perfect for the kind of things Maria has been teaching you and she has been perfectly professional in that aspect of your time with her at least.
Maria has a visitor. Hal Swann, another Stellae. He looks much the same as the last time you saw him, at Margaret’s funeral, save for the addition of sling round his arm. He does a double take when he sees you. “Have you met my apprentice,” asks Maria.
“Yes we have,” you say levelly.
Hal’s brow furrows in confusion. “I think I’d have remembered…” he begins before the penny drops. “Bloody hell! Will Prescott? I think I need to take a cold shower.”
Maria’s face colours, but she keeps her calm and continues. “Hal has asked me to help him with a case he is working on Hélène,” she says, stressing your assumed name ever so slightly.”
You realise Hal is staring at you. You meet his gaze and he blinks and turns to the side. “What is it Hal,” you ask.
“Oh right,” he blinks absentmindedly a couple of times. “Another cog in the corporate machine Will,” he continues, regaining his composure. “We need to smash it apart and free the proletariat. They have nothing to lose but their chains…”
You glance aside to Maria as Hal continues to spout his revolutionary babble. Maria rolls her eyes impatiently. “Get to the point Hal,” she snaps.
“Uh… Peter Churchman: Widower, father to two young girls, auctioneer with a minor firm here in London – Gilder & Percy. Sees all manner of pricey baubles and trinkets that the bourgeois used to decorate their homes while…” Hal falters as Maria stares icily at him.
“You want me to replace him,” you ask.
“I wanted to win him to the side of the people,” replies Hal. “I was hoping Maria could put the whammy on him.” That comment earns another glare from Maria and Hal wriggles uncomfortably in his seat. “Replacing him? That wouldn’t work, Gilder & Percy is locked up tight. The kind of locked up tight that works against us too. That’s why I want someone on the inside on our side.”
“Hélène will still be able to do it,” states Maria. “I have been training her after all. I presume you have a way for her to slide into this Mr Churchman’s life.”
“Well, the live-in nanny was in a bad traffic accident yesterday. She’ll be stuck in hospital for a week.” You look at the sling wrapped round Hal’s arm and wonder just how much of an accident it was. “I didn’t mean to hit her car,” protests Hal loudly, seeing how you are looking at him.
“Will Mr Churchman not already have arranged a replacement,” asks Maria.
“Nah,” grins Hal. “I intercepted the call he made to the agency. He’s expecting a new nanny tomorrow morning.”
*****
You knock sharply on the wooden door of the house.
The street is deserted this early in the morning. Rows of expensive cars are parked at the side of the road, often two in front of each house. The houses themselves are just as upmarket. Big, old fashioned buildings built from off-white stone. Churchman certainly does well from himself.
You give yourself one last look over before the door opens. Maria insisted you find a new body before you presented yourself to Churchman and you’ve made a new face from a mixture of half a dozen students you encountered over the course of last night. It’s a pretty face rather than a beautiful one, one that shines with kindness. In a way it reminds you a little of Rosalie, but this new identity of yours is shorter, almost pixie-like and with waves of red hair that match the soft Irish accent you’ve managed to pick up for it. And at the very back of your mind lurk the memories Lydia Holloway, the now injured nanny lying in hospital. When you meet the Churchmans, you will have the secret advantage of already knowing all about them.
There is a rustling behind the heavy wooden portal and it slowly opens to reveal an earnest and worried looking man in his mid thirties. His hair is sparse and he hasn’t quite realised that it will continue to get more so over the next few years, clinging stubbornly to a haircut that doesn’t suit him any more. Slate eyes peer out from behind rounded frames. The man is only half dressed, his pinstriped waistcoat lies open and his shirt collar is undone. “Yes,” he asks in a reedy voice.
“Mr Churchman,” you say smiling brightly. “I’m Siobhan Connor. The agency sent me.” You feel for the flow of his emotions like Maria taught you, tugging on them weakly to sooth his nerves. With only a reflection of Eldibria to rely upon you can barely affect him. That works both ways though: The effect is so subtle as to be unnoticeable.
Churchman smiles faintly. “Call me Pete,” he says ushering you in. “Let’s introduce you to the girls. I’m sure Imogen and Beatrice will love to meet you.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” you smile, following him.
*****
You lean forward onto the people carrier and watch through the fence as the Churchman girls’ school finishes for the day. The car is only one of a line of similar looking vehicles, broken only by the odd expensive looking SUV where a parent has deigned to collect their children themselves rather than send the help to do it.
The girls – and it is one of the most expensive private schools for girls in London – pass through the playground at varying speeds depending on their temperament. The most excitable, usually the youngest, run out to meet their rides home. Beatrice, the youngest of Churchman’s daughters is right on the front of the mob.
You walk round from the car. The little blonde girl – she’s barely six – runs out through the cast iron gates to meet you. She wraps her arms round your legs and hugs you tightly.
“Whoa there little Bea,” you say, ruffling the girls hair. She giggles into your skirt before looking up and smiling. “Didya have a good day.”
“It was okay,” says the little girl equivocally. “Maths was dull.”
You laugh a throaty and warm laugh that seems at odds with your diminutive stature. “Maths is always dull. Ice cream isn’t dull.”
Bea grins again. “Really?” It’s been easy enough to win her affection through simple kindnesses like this, you’ve barely had to move her emotions at all. Bea’s already more or less forgotten about her old nanny after less than a week.
“You were a good girl today, weren’t you,” you ask. Bea’s head rocks up and down. “Then sure, why not?”
“Because it will rot her teeth,” says Imogen, strolling lazily up to you. The elder daughter is eleven, precocious and resolutely cynical. She flicks her hair with one hand and regards you coolly. Nothing you’ve done, not getting involved in her burgeoning interests in boys, makeup and music, has broken that façade yet. Having stolen the memories of the previous nanny, you know it took her months to win Imogen’s trust. You, however, have the luxury of using Eldibria to push her feelings around and you do so very gently right now.
“Don’t you want ice cream,” you ask her.
“I didn’t say that,” say Imogen levelly.
“Then get in the car,” you say, eyes gleaming.
“Yaaaay,” shouts Bea in delight.
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