on the tea proceedings.
The maid fussed around setting the crockery and cutlery out before
us in perfect lines, her eyes flicking anxiously to Miss Worthy all
the while. Maybe having a spoon out of alignment with a saucer was
a reprimandable offence in this household? I was glad that I didn’t
work for her.
“Now, Mr
Heller advised me that you are concerned about some of the
burglaries that have occurred in this neighbourhood recently and
would like to protect your precious belongings,” I began, and on
and on I droned, detailing the types of surveillance offered by Heller’s – discreet or obvious, alarms that rang out to
alert the neighbours, or silently alerted the Heller’s dedicated security force, trip cameras, lights, the whole gamut of
surveillance options.
After our
third cup of tea, she became most adamant about what she wanted.
Silent alarms directly alerting the Heller’s security force.
No cameras. She was willing to pay for priority service. “After
all, Miss Chalmers,” she divulged, her hand on my arm fondly, “one
detests those incessant alarms that screech for hours, irritating
the neighbours.”
I gathered
from the snideness of her tone that some of her near neighbours had
such alarms. I promised that some surveillance experts would be
sent to her house later in the day to scope the job and ensure that
everything was installed promptly. They would also bring the
paperwork for her to sign. She thanked me profusely and I promised
that she could ring me at any time if she had any more queries,
although to be honest I had already exhausted my skimpy knowledge
of surveillance systems.
As we were
leaving, she said, “Matilda is such a lovely name. It was my
eldest sister’s name but we all called her Matty.” I told her that
I was called Tilly, which made her smile at me dotingly. “You’ve
quite made me think of her again today, my dear. She had beautiful
dark hair like yours.” Miss Worthy sighed sadly. “She passed away a
few years ago now. I must get out the photo albums to look at
again.”
As she walked
us to the door, she lowered her voice to a confidential whisper,
glowering at Heller with suspicion. “I’m not sure about that man.
He’s overly handsome. In my experience, men like that are
nothing but trouble. I’d stay away from him if I was you.”
“That’s very
good advice, Miss Worthy,” I said, surprised. “But he’s my
employer. I don’t need to worry about him.”
“Mark my
words,” she tutted and turned to go back inside, softly closing the
door on us.
I wasn’t sure
if Heller had overheard any of that conversation, but we walked
silently down the path to his vehicle. As we climbed back in, he
said, “Ongoing work such as that is very important to me. Thank you
for winning me a new client, Matilda .”
I smiled at
him amiably. “My pleasure, Mr Heller.” And I’m almost
positive there was a faint smile in reply as we drove off.
Our next
client for the day was a bored, wealthy, middle-aged woman who was
convinced her husband was screwing his PA and wanted to catch him
in the act. I could barely capture her attention for even a second
as her eyes remain glued to Heller the entire time. However, when I
explained that we could bill her credit card as ‘manicure services’
for the surveillance, she was all ears. It tickled her that she
could catch out her love-rat husband and ensure that he would pay
for the privilege. With some lingering glances at Heller, she
promised to sign a contract for three months of full surveillance.
I advised that the paperwork would be organised today. As Heller
and I stood up to leave, she took me aside.
“God, he’s
such a honey! Does he, you know, ever offer ‘extra services’ for
clients?” She pulled such a crude face that I almost felt sorry for
Heller.
“I believe
that he does have a ‘special relationship’ with his VIP clients,” I
fabricated, continuing with a touch of regret, “They’re the clients
who
The maid fussed around setting the crockery and cutlery out before
us in perfect lines, her eyes flicking anxiously to Miss Worthy all
the while. Maybe having a spoon out of alignment with a saucer was
a reprimandable offence in this household? I was glad that I didn’t
work for her.
“Now, Mr
Heller advised me that you are concerned about some of the
burglaries that have occurred in this neighbourhood recently and
would like to protect your precious belongings,” I began, and on
and on I droned, detailing the types of surveillance offered by Heller’s – discreet or obvious, alarms that rang out to
alert the neighbours, or silently alerted the Heller’s dedicated security force, trip cameras, lights, the whole gamut of
surveillance options.
After our
third cup of tea, she became most adamant about what she wanted.
Silent alarms directly alerting the Heller’s security force.
No cameras. She was willing to pay for priority service. “After
all, Miss Chalmers,” she divulged, her hand on my arm fondly, “one
detests those incessant alarms that screech for hours, irritating
the neighbours.”
I gathered
from the snideness of her tone that some of her near neighbours had
such alarms. I promised that some surveillance experts would be
sent to her house later in the day to scope the job and ensure that
everything was installed promptly. They would also bring the
paperwork for her to sign. She thanked me profusely and I promised
that she could ring me at any time if she had any more queries,
although to be honest I had already exhausted my skimpy knowledge
of surveillance systems.
As we were
leaving, she said, “Matilda is such a lovely name. It was my
eldest sister’s name but we all called her Matty.” I told her that
I was called Tilly, which made her smile at me dotingly. “You’ve
quite made me think of her again today, my dear. She had beautiful
dark hair like yours.” Miss Worthy sighed sadly. “She passed away a
few years ago now. I must get out the photo albums to look at
again.”
As she walked
us to the door, she lowered her voice to a confidential whisper,
glowering at Heller with suspicion. “I’m not sure about that man.
He’s overly handsome. In my experience, men like that are
nothing but trouble. I’d stay away from him if I was you.”
“That’s very
good advice, Miss Worthy,” I said, surprised. “But he’s my
employer. I don’t need to worry about him.”
“Mark my
words,” she tutted and turned to go back inside, softly closing the
door on us.
I wasn’t sure
if Heller had overheard any of that conversation, but we walked
silently down the path to his vehicle. As we climbed back in, he
said, “Ongoing work such as that is very important to me. Thank you
for winning me a new client, Matilda .”
I smiled at
him amiably. “My pleasure, Mr Heller.” And I’m almost
positive there was a faint smile in reply as we drove off.
Our next
client for the day was a bored, wealthy, middle-aged woman who was
convinced her husband was screwing his PA and wanted to catch him
in the act. I could barely capture her attention for even a second
as her eyes remain glued to Heller the entire time. However, when I
explained that we could bill her credit card as ‘manicure services’
for the surveillance, she was all ears. It tickled her that she
could catch out her love-rat husband and ensure that he would pay
for the privilege. With some lingering glances at Heller, she
promised to sign a contract for three months of full surveillance.
I advised that the paperwork would be organised today. As Heller
and I stood up to leave, she took me aside.
“God, he’s
such a honey! Does he, you know, ever offer ‘extra services’ for
clients?” She pulled such a crude face that I almost felt sorry for
Heller.
“I believe
that he does have a ‘special relationship’ with his VIP clients,” I
fabricated, continuing with a touch of regret, “They’re the clients
who
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