Chapter 23 Iris #2
“Perhaps I can help. Strictly speaking, I don’t work here because I was just about to accept the available maid’s position when you came through the door with your urgent concern.
Isn’t that right, Miss Hubbard?” Cynthia beamed at her, but Iris could tell the girl was holding her breath.
She hoped she didn’t need a job for the very same reason the manicurist was about to lose hers.
She narrowed her eyes at the girl, who simply kept smiling, not the least little sign on her face that she had just told Erma a bald-faced lie.
“It is, indeed,” Iris said.
“Your timing is exquisite. I’m sure Iris can spare you from your maid duties this evening to participate in the show. I’ll expect you in the bowling alley at eight o’clock.” Erma hurried off without another word.
“Let’s go into my office,” Iris said, turning and threading her way through the long corridors that led to the back of the building.
The staff kitchen, the laundry facilities, and her own office were in a separate building from the Arden House.
It wouldn’t do for rough domestics to encounter the paying guests any more than could be helped.
Just because one likes to eat sausage, one doesn’t wish to visit the factory was the general attitude towards commingling.
With each passing day, Iris had increasing respect for her former supervisor, Alice.
She had truly not realized how much went into the selection of staff and how fraught each of the decisions as to who to hire and where to place someone on staff truly were.
Her friend had always seemed to handle such difficulties with ease and a minimum of feather-ruffling.
One point in favor of Cynthia was the fact that Iris had to check over her shoulder two or three times during the course of their journey to be sure the girl was still following her.
Many of the girls on staff plodded along with such heavy footfalls they weren’t allowed on the second floor when guests were in the dining room below.
Cynthia, however, could have been a cat burglar, considering the way she moved through the hall.
She walked along swiftly as well. No lollygagging for her.
Each time Iris checked, Cynthia was noiselessly right on her heels.
Perhaps there was more promise in her than first appearances had indicated.
She wasn’t chatty either. Some of the girls who came, and many of the men as well, kept up a steady stream of commentary from the moment they stepped into the building until she made her decision about whether or not to add them to the staff.
She could understand their reaction, even though she had had an intimacy with the estate for many years.
For most people, but especially people living in the town, the level of opulence at the resort was something they would have seen only at the pictures.
From the velvet draperies to the gilded picture frames to the crystal chandeliers, everything about the Maine Chance Farm was luxurious.
The guests wanted to feel as though they were nestled in the bosom of an unspoiled Eden, but they wished to do it without any sacrificing of creature comforts.
These were women who were used to having interior decorators on retainer and wardrobes on loan from the most revered fashion designers.
She had seen many of them wearing real diamonds and pearls with their calisthenics outfits during their morning exercises.
It was a far cry from the modest Cape Cod or even colonial-style homes that most of the employees lived in.
This girl, however, seemed to take it all in stride.
Perhaps her experience at college had made it so that she was more accustomed to a lifestyle that involved servants and plush surroundings than the average applicant.
By the time they had reached Iris’s small office and the two of them had seated themselves on opposite sides of her small wooden desk, she was softening her view on the interviewee.
Cynthia sat with good posture, her hands neatly folded in her lap.
Despite her reservations, Iris liked the way the girl met her gaze instead of darting her eyes around the room with idle curiosity. Iris pulled a notepad from a drawer in her desk and uncapped her pen.
“I think it only fair to tell you that I don’t much like having liars on my staff,” she said.
“I hope that since you offered me the job, you won’t think of me as one,” Cynthia said. She held her head high and sat in the chair opposite Iris’s desk without slouching.
The girl hadn’t come right out and sassed her, but she had come devilishly close. From the way she fiddled with the truth, Iris guessed she was at her fancy school to study law.
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-one in September,” the girl said.
Iris jotted her answer down on the notepad before posing her next question. “Are you aware of what it is that we do here at the Maine Chance?”
“My understanding is that this is an exclusive spot for women of means. Diet, exercise, and beauty regimens are provided by technicians trained in these areas. I believe that the resort prides itself on providing the highest level of accommodation to women who are willing to pay for it,” Cynthia said.
Iris felt a jolt of surprise run through her.
That was exactly what they aimed to provide and what the clients demanded.
She had not expected someone who had never been there as a guest or as an employee to summarize it so succinctly.
In fact, the girl could write an employee handbook based on her evaluation of their goals.
“Precisely. Our expectations for employees here at the Maine Chance are rather different than one might encounter at a motor court or even a luxury hotel that served far more guests at a time than we do here. Our staff-to-guest ratio is two to one, and there’s a reason for that.
We endeavor to provide the highest level of service with the least amount of intrusion possible. ”
“Considering the types of guests you cater to, I would expect nothing else,” Cynthia said.
Iris tipped her head to one side and squinted slightly. “What do you mean, ‘considering the types of guests we cater to’?”
“It’s my understanding that many of your guests are people who are famous and/or extremely wealthy. They have staffs that cater to their wishes at their own homes and expect nothing less when they are paying for what is essentially a vacation experience,” Cynthia said.
“Yes, that’s true. We do cater to the famous and the wealthy.
One of the most important factors in providing a good experience for these clients is a sense of discretion.
We do not prefer that our staff make any sort of a fuss when encountering movie starlets, for example,” Iris said.
“Do you think that you would be able to manage not to fawn over someone like that?”
“I expect so. I confess, there are certainly people whom I would be thrilled to have the chance to see in real life as opposed to only on the silver screen, but I do think I could manage not to foist myself upon them asking for an autograph or trying to take their photo, if that’s you mean.”
It didn’t bear considering. She tried to imagine some of the guests they had hosted in the past having autograph books thrust at them along with their breakfast trays. No, this young woman didn’t seem the sort to make such an egregious error in judgment.
“I see,” Iris said, jotting down Cynthia’s response.
“It seems as though you might be someone who could navigate the social aspects of the job, but it doesn’t look to me as though you would be up for the physical ones.
We’ve never had a college girl working here before, and I am quite concerned that you will find the work beneath you and actually be ill-equipped to complete it. ”
Iris kept her gaze firmly fixed on Cynthia’s face, trying to read how her frank disclosure of concerns had been received. There was just a flicker of fear that rippled across Cynthia’s face before she caught it and replaced it with a more neutral expression.
“I can understand why you might be troubled by what you perceive to be my background. I am a student at Barlow, which does make me a college girl. That said, I’m a scholarship student.
The funding was only for the first two years.
If I want to complete my studies, I need to earn some money,” Cynthia said.
There was something in the tone of her voice that Iris perceived as strength.
Perhaps there was more to Cynthia than first met the eye.
“And you think that working here will make it possible for you to pay your own way?” Iris asked.
She was genuinely curious about this young woman.
She reminded her a bit of Iris herself when she had been that age.
She had chosen a path that did not agree with her own parents when she was only a year younger.
“If you are paying the going rate and I am able to work full-time, I think I just may be able to manage it.”
“Have you ever cleaned anything before in your life?” Iris said.
“Although Barlow’s an expensive private school, my background is solidly middle-class.
My mother employs no help around the house, and since I’m her only daughter, I was expected to pitch in.
I can make beds, vacuum, scrub the floors, do the laundry, and even help with the cooking if that is required.
If one of your gardeners calls in sick, I’m skilled at weeding and planting.
I also have a driver’s license, in case you need someone to fill in as a chauffeur,” Cynthia said, her voice growing slightly more confident with each item she added to her list.
Iris jotted down the skills she listed and wondered how truthfully she had answered.
“We do not employ women as chauffeurs. Miss Arden does not prefer it, but I will make a note of your other qualifications. You do realize that if I were to hire you, you would be expected to back up your claims?”
Cynthia nodded. “I understand.”
Iris looked her up and down once more and laid her pen down on her notepad.
Although she didn’t appreciate the way Cynthia had wangled her way into the opportunity, she had to take a risk on someone.
And she desperately needed the help. Nevertheless, with guests like Geraldine Putnam in residence, there was no way she could allow the standards to fall, especially considering Miss Arden had her under a microscope.
Still, she couldn’t resist pressing the girl a bit more.
Someone ill-suited to the job was worse than no one at all.
“Do you realize that you would be expected to live in the staff quarters here on the property?” Iris asked.
Cynthia’s eyes widened slightly before she recomposed her face.
“I didn’t know that, but I can see how it would be very sensible to have staff available at a moment’s notice. I just need to thank the Mayhews for their hospitality and to let them know I won’t be returning. After that, I can be available to move into the staff quarters immediately.”
“That won’t disrupt your plans to spend the summer at the lake?” Iris asked. “The Mayhews do have a lovely home right there at the water’s edge.”
“My only plans for the summer are to get back to school in the fall.”
Iris drew in a deep breath and then exhaled loudly. “You will be paid every other week, and your housing and meals are included. You’ll be expected to wear a uniform, which we will provide, and your employment here will be on a trial basis until I decide otherwise. Is that understood?”
Cynthia nodded. “Absolutely.”
Iris pushed back her chair and stood. She might be making a terrible mistake, but she couldn’t see doing otherwise.
Considering the cultured way in which Cynthia spoke, she might end up being more trouble than she was worth.
The guests might find her easy to interact with, but there was every likelihood she would stir up resentment with the other staff members.
She didn’t appear as though she would fit in all that well with the local girls.
And even the guests might find her a bit too well-bred for them to feel entirely comfortable treating her as a servant.
Despite her claims of a middle-class upbringing, she certainly had managed to take on the patina of the upper classes that she would have spent time with at her private college.
Still, there was something about her forthrightness and her eagerness to be given the position that made Iris willing to take the risk.
“I’ll have Calvin take you back to the Mayhews to say your goodbyes and collect your things.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “If you can’t be back within ninety minutes, don’t bother to return.”