The Curious Maid

The yacht rocks gently, side to side, like a giant cradle. I only wish it was soothing. I was in an empty stateroom with an empty bed and an empty heart. Empty had been my state for many years since Charlie. Even the ballads chiming through our old record player did little to soothe my soul, or dampen the frantic thrum of my heart. Today is special in many ways, it told me. So much planning has gone into it. So much thought and guilty debates over glasses of wine I shouldn't have had—my poor liver probably doesn't like me very much, but who does? Not a single soul on this boat I bet.

So I sit there on the ottoman, staring at that haggard, aging face in the mirror on the dresser. Her hard eyes stare right back. Unwavering. She seems to ask, 'Do we have to do this?'

I nod. Silly, I know. There's no one in the room with me. Just me and my judging reflection. "Yes. We have no choice. It's my birthday. I want it to be ..." I look for an apt word, " ... perfect."

'They won't like it,' she says, not even batting her eyes.

Ain't truth a bitch? I chuckle to myself. "They have no choice. It's my life." I do my best to shrug off that feeling of doubt from my heart and pick up the tea sitting on the dresser next to my makeup bag and take a haughty sip. Vain. Be vain, Devi. I chant, though God knows I've been stripped of my vanity for years. I've been walking around wearing the Devi Dhungel persona as if it's a shield—even today—when truly, I'm exhausted. I just want to be Charlie's Devi. Devi Le Fontaine. The one full of life. The one everyone liked ... except for his exes.

The one I liked.

But now, I want it to be over. This loneliness. These hours with my miserable self. To think I wanted to have fun on this trip. Ha! So far, it's gone as well as dredging a muddy river for a dead body long decomposed. Nothing but a deeply buried skeleton remains.

Devi Le Fontaine. I want to find her again. I need to.

The boat continues rocking. Charlie would hate me for calling it a boat. I take another sip of my Nepali-style tea, the art of which I drilled into the Chef the very first time Charlie and I took the 'boat' out as a couple, much to his dismay. He hadn't liked a nobody teaching him how to make tea, but not all teas are made the same, are they?

'Honey, it's not a boat. Yacht. Y-A-C-H-T. Say yacht.' I can almost hear the faint echoes of Charlie's voice in my ears even after all these years. His voice. It is in the ocean's breath, coming in from the balcony, flapping the sheer curtain lazily on its way to me. It is in this room, in every grain of the wood that's gone into making it. It's in me, my every pore. CHARLIE. But, a part of me also doubts my recollection. Was that really what his voice sounded like? I can't say for sure anymore. And though his imaginary comment brings a smile to my face, my heart wrings in pain and I take another sip of my tea, trying to wash away the ache with it.

A nasty sway wobbles the cup in my hand and the tea splashes onto my robe and floor. It misses the vintage Persian rug Charlie had once boasted he'd 'haggled for'—if by haggled, the vendor made out like a bandit—on the Morocco leg of our whirlwind around-the-world honeymoon aboard his precious yacht. I cherished that rug. I even cherished this stupid yacht ...

Now, it belongs to another millionaire. Sorry, Charlie. I had to do what I had to do to survive. At least that's what I told myself back then, that it fetched a good price, money I needed to maintain the 'Devi Dhungel' lifestyle.

But no more. I am. With Devi Dhungel and her mess. I want out. And tonight is it. Tonight, I'll tell them all to —

"Ms Le Fontaine?" a voice calls me from the doorway.

I turn to see the young maid, holding the door frame, white-knuckled. There's a nervous disposition to the way she always looks at me like she's half expecting me to burst into flame and fly away like a phoenix. I don't know why. She's been around me often in the past three days. I don't bite. But perhaps the 'Devi Dhungel' reputation has preceded me once again and this poor girl walks on eggshells around me.

But that's not why I study her this morning as the breeze sweeps through my room. I even forget about my tea-soaked robe clinging to my knee.

She looks a little green in the face. The poor thing clutches the door frame as the yacht lurches violently from side to side in the swell. She has yet to find her sea legs, I suppose. Something I had to acquire myself at her age. The curse of being from a landlocked country and all.

She reminds me of myself when I was her age—twenty-two? Twenty-three? She couldn't be older than twenty-five, for sure. I take in her golden tan and wavy hair. We could almost pass for a relative, if you discount the fact that she's young and vibrant stranger with her whole life ahead of her, whereas I'm old, greying grouch with the best of my years behind me.

"Don't worry. She's a sea-faring yacht. She can handle a little rough weather." I glance at her in the mirror, picking up my foundation brush, ready to paint Devi Dhungel on. "You'll be right," I add. That famous Aussie saying.

"Mmmm," she offers as if it's her duty to agree with me, because I'm her employer. She needn't bother. I'm long past wanting people to serve me. I was her once. I know what it's like to be looked down on by people who thought I was there to serve them. But not Charlie. Not my Charlie.

I steal a look at her. Her gaze dances around my room, eyes lingering a moment on the dresses I've flung on the bed, unable to choose one for the big event tonight. Then they move back to me, at the dresser, where I sit, putting my face on. Her gaze naturally lands on the sparkling beauties in my open safe. There's a type of curiosity on her face I suspect has made her forget about the rocking boat for a moment. She lets go of the door frame and walks in, hypnotised. But another spell of rock-the-cradle sends her scrambling to hold the plush chair near the door where I usually sit to pull on my heels—but not tonight. Tonight, I'm wearing sandals. I need to be comfortable for what I have to do. Peel back the layers.

The girl looks ready to puke. I hope she doesn't. She's standing on the edge of my prized rug, the rug Charlie paid an arm and a leg for to make me happy. I'd hate to see it spoil, even if I no longer own it. Even if she'll have to clean it up herself. It brings back memories of my housekeeping days, and I grab the small, round bin to the side of my dresser and pass it to her. I should ask Johann for the rug back. Maybe I can even pay for it if he fusses ... Why did I ever let it go? Oh, right? It's Charlie's memories. All things that made me hate the fact that I was still here and he was gone ...

'Or that he died on this yacht?' My reflection taunts me as I sit back down on the ottoman.

Well, I'd tried to forget that, hadn't I? To forget it the only way I could. By changing the damn name of his beloved yacht to MARG so it reminded of an asshole every time it popped to mind and not the fact that my Charlie lay dying on this very yacht. Sesame allergy. Who knew?

Then I fucking sold the thing, didn't I? Anyway, I glare at myself and set the foundation brush aside.

"First time on a yacht?" I move on to the eye shadow palette next and freeze. What colour should the fierce and feisty Devi Dhungel wear today? Perhaps bronze for the day. I want to try subtlety for once. I want to be Charlie's Devi again. I'll save the extravagant Devi Dhungel for tonight.

"First time on a rocky yacht with a headache, ma'am." She says and I hear her accent for the first time, since we've hardly conversed before. I wonder who her parents are. I hadn't pegged her for a British. She looks more Nepali. I think, eyeing her eyes and tan. I should go one day. Maybe after tonight, I can plan it out.

"You're British?" I accidentally dab on a little too much eye shadow, thanks to the rocking, and I reach for a tissue.

"Not by birth," she replies, clutching the bin I gave her to her chest, and waits for the rocking to pass. "I was born here, but my mum's from Nepal," she blabs. Probably a nervous habit.

"Another Nepali ... We're everywhere," I mumble. Ten years ago, it would have been rare, getting a Nepali on the crew, but these days, we are everywhere. I don't know if I'm proud of that fact or if I'm jaded. I used to be exotic once. Now, I'm just another one among the crowd.

I glance at her again. But isn't that what I want? To blend into the tapestry of humans and no longer be called Devi Dhungel, the fearsome author who tackles crime like she tackles her life. Head on, like a stupid bull. I don't feel like a bull anymore. I'm not.

I clear my throat, finally remembering that the poor thing's come to see me. "Anyway, was there something you wanted?"

Her eyes briefly linger on my jewels. I close the safe, get up to stretch my legs, and face her.

"The Chef wanted a word with you about tonight, ma'am," she finally says. Her dark eyes meet mine; a flash in the pan. I can't help but notice our similar structures, though she's taller than me by inches.

"Righto." I move to my bed. "But first, help me choose. You're young. You have eyes and tastes that are better than mine." I throw my hand toward the three dresses sprawled on the bed. "For tonight."

"Depends, ma'am. What do you want people to see when they see you tonight?" She stares at the dresses, moving in for a closer look.

I almost laugh at her candidness. She's right. I'm not dressing as me tonight. Not the real me. I'm stepping into the shoes of Devi Dhungel, the heartless bitch, one last time. "When I enter, I want all their attention on me. It's an important night, tonight."

"Why?" she asks before she can help herself. "I'm sorry. That is out of line."

Any other time, I may have agreed, that it was out of line, but today, I'm Ms Le Fontaine. She was simple. She was kind. She was, empathetic. So I shrug. "No. Don't be."

She takes another wobbly step closer to the bed, the bin still clutched in her hands. At one point, the poor thing almost loses her balance and I reach out to steady her. "They are all beautiful." She eyes the three options: a cocktail black sequined dress, a bejewelled chiffon tunic, and a simple summer dress I threw on there because we're out at sea, so why not.

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to say anything to anyone?" I blurt, not knowing why I trust this girl.

"Of course, ma'am."

"I'm about to drop a bomb on them tonight. My family and my friends. They won't like it." I stand beside her, staring down at the three dresses. One is the extravagant Devi Dhungel, the other is Devi Dhungel on a chill pill, while the third, that's me, Charlie's Devi, who is free from all this. My heart cries for her, but I don't think it's the right time for my dear ones to see her again. Not yet. After all, they haven't seen her in almost fifteen years, and frankly, I don't think they care for her, because she wasn't their messiah. She was just a silly girl in love, a silly girl who wore her heart on her sleeve. Soft and fragile.

"I want them to see me tonight, but not the real me, and not my public persona," I say.

"In that case, I'd wear this." She holds up the middle option. The chill Devi option; the multi-coloured chiffon kaftan dotted with diamantes. "It's got personality, and it's your birthday. Besides, the memo to your guests for dinner is comfort and style, so the black dress ... it's too much, and the summer dress screams beach lounge."

She smiles. Her eyes sparkle somewhat mischievously. "If you let your hair out and accessorize it just so, all heads will turn your way tonight. It's very Rich-Boho-Chic."

I take the dress from her hands, a smile tugging at my lips. "Rich-Boho-Chic? You're a girl after my heart." I wink. "Thank you. Please tell the Captain I'll be there shortly."

The girl places the bin back from where I'd plucked it and beelines for the door.

"Do you know what it's about?" I ask her just as she ducks out of sight.

A moment later her head floats in the doorway. "No, ma'am. It's probably nothing."

She leaves and I study the kaftan in my hands. "Knowing Tobias, it's never nothing. The man's probably thinking up ways to ruin my night in some annoying way."