After Our Life Swap (Prestige And Service) free porn video

After Our Life Swap (Prestige and Service) By Susannah Donim A wealthy man decides to trade places with his maid, but what happens next? [This is fan fiction; an homage to my all-time Fictionmania author, the great Belladonna. "Life Swap - Prestige and Service" is probably my all-time favourite Belladonna story. One of the things I love most about her work is how she often leaves the ending dangling, so we can all enjoy imagining what would happen next. Will the continuation be happy or sad; comedy or tragedy? Well this is what I think might happen after Frank Fearnley decides to swap lives with his central American maid, Isabella. I strongly advise you to read the original first, but then who needs to be encouraged to read anything by Belladonna?] Part 1 - Life Swap - Prestige and Service by Belladonna Part 2 Of course Mr Fearnley (as I now always respectfully referred to him) had to make certain arrangements to facilitate Isabella's and my new lives. He expanded his Country Club membership to include Isabella. He set up a bank account for her, and a credit card with a $10,000 limit. The account was regularly topped up, and the credit card debt paid off, by monthly direct debit from Mr Fearnley's account, which also paid my share of the rent in the girls' apartment. Mr Fearnley also set up a bank account for me and arranged for my meagre wages to be paid into it. Obviously I was not given a credit card! As Mr Fearnley I also took certain precautions to protect myself. I was well aware that Isabella's treatment of me had changed since we first began our life swap. It was now several months since we had last slept together, and although I was as much in love with her as I had always been, I was no longer sure how far I could trust her. I therefore quietly arranged for Frank's replacement documentation - passport, drivers' licence, bank cards, etc. When they arrived I stashed them somewhere safe with a minimal set of men's clothes. I still hoped that I would never need to use them. Meanwhile I was settling in nicely with Encarna, Elena and Sara. Although Isabella hadn't told them I was really Frank Fearnley, I'm sure they had guessed when she had to admit my real gender. Who else could I be? Our whole life swap arrangement explained Isabella's meteoric rise in the world. Of course they were as baffled by my willingness to take on her lowly existence as Paolo's girls had been, but their reaction was quite different. At first they were amused. Then they began to wonder if by being nice to me they could get something out of me - as Isabella had. Finally they seemed to accept me as a slightly older (and much uglier) one of them. The apartment had only two twin bedrooms, so obviously one of them would have to share with me. Sara flatly refused to share with a man, even one as effeminate and emasculated as me, and Elena too was far from keen. But Encarna was quite blas? about it. "Don't be so silly, it's just Eva. She's harmless! And anyway if she tries anything on with me, I'll cut her thing off, and that'll solve all our problems!" So she volunteered - but insisted that she and I got the larger bedroom as part of the deal. In the apartment we mostly spoke in Spanish, which was really good practice for me, and Isabella encouraged me to speak it at work too. Because of my Spanish mother I had been nearly fluent when I was in my teens, but I had let it lapse. Now within a matter of weeks I was speaking the language like a native again, and it had become second nature. Somehow it also helped me to keep the pitch of my voice higher and within the acceptable range for a female. Outside, at the store and on the bus, I amused myself by speaking broken English with a strong Hispanic accent. Apart from Madam Isabella the only people I spent time with now were shopkeepers and other domestics. As Frank I had rarely spent any time with the working classes. Now I was fully one of them and found their company much more enjoyable than Frank's upper-class friends. My new companions were forthright, earthy and honest. They said what they thought with no dissembling or hypocrisy, in fact they - literally - didn't know the meanings of the words. Increasingly Isabella was treating me as the poor immigrant domestic worker I appeared to be. There were no more secret winks and grins. When I had served her meals or finished helping her bathe and dress - a duty I particularly enjoyed - she dismissed me curtly. I felt the rough edge of her tongue if I entered or left her presence without a respectful curtsey, old-fashioned as that felt. She had never curtseyed to me properly in our past lives. So this wasn't a game anymore, and while I couldn't be happier with my life now, I was well aware how weird the situation was, and couldn't help wondering about the future. I assumed Isabella would eventually marry one her many rich suitors from the country club. Then what would become of Eva and Frank? * * * Inevitably I was still an outsider at the apartment. The other girls all had extensive and complicated love lives and were very active socially. I wasn't able to join in with any of these activities, partly because I had no interest in picking up men at parties or night clubs, but also because I wasn't confident of 'passing' in such places. When the girls went out on the prowl they wore very short, provocative and figure-hugging outfits. I was only able to get away with my disguise because my maid's uniforms and the few other second-hand outfits I had were quite the opposite - loose, frumpy, and unfashionable. My skirts all fell to well below the knee. I couldn't wear pants, as I lacked the necessary feminine curves. Although my face was still youthful, even girlish, my clothes, hair and makeup all screamed 'middle-aged housewife'. One Friday evening, after another exhausting week at Madam Isabella's beck and call, I was sitting on my bed reading a women's magazine. Encarna was at our vanity getting ready for an exciting night out. "You know, you could make a lot more of yourself if you tried, Eva," she said. "Then you could join us - we'd be glad to have you." "We've talked about this," I sighed. "You know I don't want to go out looking for men." "Oh, but there's a lot more to a night out than that! You can have a great time drinking, dancing and flirting - mostly at someone else's expense - and all without taking a lover to bed afterwards. Anyway you could always pick up a girl! There are plenty of hot lesbians at Ricky's Club." "And what would be the point of that?" I laughed. "A lesbian would be just as angry with what she found in my panties as a male lover! I would need to find someone specifically looking for a she-male. Not so easy - they don't advertise on Craig's List!" "Actually they probably do - or certainly somewhere on the internet. Have you looked?" "No, I haven't! Anyway Madam Isabella wouldn't like it. It could lead to her being exposed..." "And of course she's the boss of you!" she snorted. "Well, have a nice, quiet evening. I'll try not to wake you when I get back." She changed the subject. "By the way, could you have a look at the washer while we're out? It's been on the fritz all week." "I'll try, but I don't really know much about machinery." "Hmph! If only we had a man about the house!" She stomped off. I tried not to take that remark personally. * * * Later that evening I did go and check out the washing machine. There were no signs of life; it wouldn't even turn on. It was very old and obviously out of warranty. The girls' stingy landlord had probably got it second-hand in the first place. So the following morning I called the multiple store Mr Fearnley had an account with. I realised that I wouldn't get any priority if I called as Eva Vasquez, immigrant domestic worker, so I would have to put on my long-unused male persona. I hoped none of my roommates would hear this, but it was still early and the others were either asleep or, like Encarna, didn't make it home last night. "Hello," I began, remembering just in time to speak properly in English, but still struggling to remember what my original voice sounded like. I cleared my throat and tried to find a lower pitch. "This is Frank Fearnley of St George's Park. I'd like to make use of the priority service I have on my account with you." It was also a struggle to sound authoritative after so long being a softly spoken, diffident maidservant, and while sitting at the girls' kitchen table in my nightie and curlers. "Certainly, Mr Fearnley." There was a brief pause as the operator called up my details on her computer. "Oh yes sir, you have our premium service. What can we do for you?" "I would like a new washing machine installed. I'm not too concerned about the brand as long as you can do it today." "Let me just check that, sir." There was another pause. "Yes, sir. Your premium service guarantees a twenty-four-hour turnaround even at weekends. We'll have to juggle the schedule, and it might not be done till this evening, but we can definitely do it today." "The machine is not actually for myself. It's a gift for my maid - to be installed at her apartment." "That would be no problem, sir. Would you like to discuss the make and model?" While I was at it, I decided to get the girls a dishwasher too. I was fed up of seeing all the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, and in any case we maids had quite enough washing-up to do in our day jobs, without having to look forward to more when we got home. There was an empty space next to the washer, with all the necessary pipework, but the landlord had never provided a machine. Encarna showed up just before lunchtime. I told her I'd called a service engineer for the washer. She nodded but didn't seem very interested. Two men came later that evening and installed a brand-new washing machine and a dishwasher. The other girls were out on their Saturday night dates while the work was being done. Although the new machines made our home lives much easier, Sara and Elena never said anything about them. I guess they assumed the landlord provided them. But Encarna was delighted when she saw them and thanked me with a hug and a kiss. I asked her not to say anything to Isabella. * * * I must have been half-dead inside for years because I hadn't realised just how unhappy I'd been as Frank Fearnley, idle rich dilettante. It wasn't just my horrible family, or the awful people I spent time with at the Country Club, the Yacht Club, the Golf Club and any number of Night Clubs. Frank's existence had been so pointless. He contributed nothing; he made nothing. Just about the only good he did in the world was to provide employment to the likes of Isabella, but even that humiliated a good person who didn't deserve it. She probably wouldn't have regarded her old life as my housemaid a humiliation at the time, but she surely would now - now that she had experienced life as a rich lady. I could go back to being Mr Fearnley anytime (although Isabella might not be aware of that!) but there was no way she could go back to being a maid. Nevertheless she was still reliant on Mr Fearnley for her lifestyle. So in a way we were both stuck in our new lives... Fortunately I was feeling more and more comfortable every day as Eva, the poor immigrant domestic, and relieved not to have to look at Frank in the mirror. Also I loved sharing an apartment with three girls, as one of them. For maids they were all surprisingly untidy. There were tights and panties - clean and dirty - everywhere; on the bedroom floors, drying on radiators, hanging over the bath. Everywhere I looked I saw femininity, something I had dreamed of my whole life. In principle we took it in turns to do the laundry, but once the others were confident I wouldn't ruin their lingerie doing the ironing, somehow it always seemed to be my turn. I didn't mind. I loved the domestic jobs. They took to calling 'Thanks, Mom!' when I returned their clean bras and knickers to their drawers. That was nice too. I wondered what Silvina would have thought of me now. I hoped she would have been proud that I didn't grow up like my father, an arrogant, thoughtless, faithless playboy. On the other hand, no mother - and Silvina was to all intents and purposes my real mother - wanted her son to be an effeminate sissy. Not that I saw myself that way. I was Eva, a plain immigrant maidservant, not some hopeless, deluded transvestite. I stopped my fruitless musing. I was happy with who I was and my way of life. Frank Fearnley's home was now just my place of work, not somewhere I wanted to live. I assumed Isabella felt the same in her role as my employer. She seemed to be enjoying herself here in California, just as she had on the island. She was much more confident now, having been living the good life for months. She had become accustomed to flattering male attention in Spanish-speaking Nueva, and her English was improving steadily. She bought fancy clothes; she visited the spa and the beauty parlour; she played tennis; she had many gentleman callers; she danced all night - while I shopped and cooked; travelled by bus; cleaned the house; and did Madam's laundry. But now, finally, I felt I was being useful. Okay, it was on a very small scale, but I'd never had any ambitions to change the world. If I could make just one person happier I'd be content, and if that person was someone I loved, that would be all I could ask for. I didn't interact with her guests. I was comfortable enough as Eva in the supermarket, an anonymous, plain, dumpy woman in a second-hand dress and shabby coat. Nobody looked at me twice. But neither of us thought my appearance was sufficiently convincing to fool a visitor who might have met Frank at a society affair. So Isabella had to answer the door herself, which some of her visitors found odd, knowing that she had a maid. She usually muttered something about her girl being a little stupid and hopeless at English. So when Encarna again suggested testily that she and the other girls could help me with my appearance, I had cause to rethink. Could they make me unrecognisable? Also she made a good point when she said I was only living half of Isabella's old life. If this was to be a proper 'life swap', I should try to emulate the life of a single, albeit poverty-stricken, immigrant girl more closely. * * * One of the many venues my roommates frequented at the weekends was a drag club, which I found ironic, but it meant they had some useful contacts. So one Saturday afternoon Encarna and I joined a Hispanic drag queen called Splendora backstage as she was relaxing after a matin?e. Her first move was to introduce herself. "I'm Salvo," she began. "For God's sake don't call me 'Splendora' off stage. I hate that stupid name!" She was removing her over-the-top stage makeup. "Thanks for helping us out, Salvo," said Encarna. "This is Eva." "And she wants to pass better as a girl, right? And we're talking about in real life, not on stage?" "That's right. She's a housemaid. Her employer knows who she really is, but she wants to be more convincing to everyone else." "And I assume we're not looking at anything permanent for the moment? No hormones, implants, or SRS?" Encarna looked at me. This felt like a 'moment of truth' situation. Just how permanent did I want this life swap to be? We could assume Isabella wanted it to be forever, but did I? I was certainly happy with the way things were - happier than I'd ever been in my life - but did I want to face a lifetime of servitude and poverty? After all, I couldn't hope for the escape route of marrying a rich man... "Not for the moment," I whispered hoarsely. "Just better padding, or something. Whatever you can recommend." I looked down, embarrassed. "No problem. As it happens I'm an agent for a cross-dressing service, and I keep a pretty full range of our products here at the club - to help out new gurls. The best stuff - and you will need the best stuff - is pretty expensive though." He appraised my ill-fitting frumpy dress from a charity shop. "Can you afford it?" "My employer's paying," I said. Encarna looked at me quizzically. "Not Madam Isabella - Mr Fearnley." She snorted. "Now, you obviously shave your body hair," Salvo continued. "That must be a nuisance. Why don't you wax?" "Well, you can't do it to yourself, can you, apart from your legs? And I never had the courage to go to a salon." "It must be really uncomfortable. Don't you get a rash?" I nodded. "Well, I can recommend someone who'll do your waxing for you and be discreet, but again if you want it to be permanent you should consider electrolysis or laser treatment." I was doubtful and must have shown it. He continued, "And while you're at the salon, you can get something done about your hair." "But I'm a maid. It's not appropriate for me to have an expensive hairdo." "I'm not suggesting that. Anyway it won't be expensive to have it cut properly in a feminine style and conditioned to give it more body. Most hairdressers I know are happy to help out working women like you without charging the earth." He grinned. "They only charge rich ladies exorbitant fees." The suggestion that I was now a member of the impoverished female underclass gave me another little thrill. "They can teach you a little more about make-up too. Presumably your mistress likes you to wear a little subtle make-up during the working day?" I nodded again. "They can also teach you how to do something a little more dramatic for the evenings. Now let's talk about prostheses - what you called 'padding'. Where did you get those breast forms - on the internet?" "Well, yes, actually..." "We can do much better." He went over to a cupboard in the corner of the dressing room and started rummaging through a drawer. "I'll need to measure your chest - without your current forms in - but I think these should be about right. Slip your dress off." Encarna unzipped me and I stepped out of my cheap, floral dress, uncomfortable at my unfeminine body being exposed in my bra and knickers. Salvo removed my old falsies and slipped two new ones into my bra. "These will suit your body shape much better, and they'll move just like the real thing. You should stick them to your chest to get the full effect - but wait till you're properly waxed. I'll give you some medical adhesive and solvent. You'll need to remove the forms every couple of weeks to clean them - and yourself - properly." He stood back to inspect my new bosom. "Those are much better for your frame, but that bra's no good. It's too small and the wrong shape." He was rooting through another drawer. "Try this." He held out a beautiful, lacy confection. With Encarna happily acting as my lady's maid we changed my bra and slipped the new forms into it. I went to the dressing room mirror to inspect my new bosom. I turned sideways to view my profile. It was amazing! I noticed that Encarna was watching me, goggle-eyed. Salvo was looking through another drawer. "Okay, let's do something about your butt - well, hips, thighs and buttocks. You'll need a gaff, but for the moment just get your panties off and try these." It was a bit late in the day to be shy in front of these two, so I complied without further objection. I tucked myself back and stepped into the padded knickers Salvo gave me. They were very comfortable, but I felt like I was sticking out a mile behind! "They look really good!" said Encarna. "She's got a real bubble-butt!" "Yeah," agreed Salvo, "they work well. But now we need to do something about your waist. You're quite slim for a man - though you could stand to lose a few pounds - but to look really feminine, you need your waist to narrow more above your new wider hips." He passed me yet another contraption from his stock. It looked like a cross between a thick belt and a narrow corset. "This is called a waist cincher. You should wear it all the time to train your waist but keep it fairly loose during your working day. Tighten it as much as you can bear when you're out for the evening." Encarna fastened it around me and tightened it until I protested. "Okay," said Salvo, when Encarna had done her worst and I was sure I was going to die from being cut in half. "Put your dress back on and let's see how much better you look." The effect of the shapewear was dramatic. I now had a genuine hourglass figure, albeit on the plump side. My second-hand dress had an elasticated waist. Before I had donned the waist cincher it was stretched to the limit and I was 'straight up and down'; now I was all feminine curves - with a noticeable waist. Salvo made me an appointment at his favourite salon on my next day off to get an all-over waxing and a feminine hairdo. I waited till Encarna went to the Ladies' before using Mr Fearnley's bank card to pay for the prostheses and shapewear, with a generous tip to Salvo for all his advice. He smiled warmly and we exchanged girly 'mwah-mwah' kisses. I felt wonderful. When I got back to the flat I tried on my uniform and was delighted what a difference Salvo's shapewear and breast forms made. With my hair up in a utilitarian maid's bun I felt I looked really convincing as Eva for the first time. * * * The following Saturday I spent the morning at the salon Salvo recommended. First I had my long, untidy hair conditioned and trimmed into a feminine bob with bangs. The new 'do' framed my face much better, concealing my few masculine features and enhancing the feminine. While my hair was drying I was waxed all over. It was horrible, and I decided then and there to arrange to have all my body hair removed by laser treatment. That would be permanent but what did it matter? Even if I returned to being Frank one day, there were plenty of men in the world with no body hair. Finally the salon owner helped me with my makeup, talking me through what would be best for my colouring, for work as a housemaid, and for an evening out. She couldn't make me an expert in a morning, but now I understood the principles for the first time. I bought what I needed from her, at a considerable discount. I gratefully promised to be a regular customer. Mr Fearnley paid for the waxing - after all, that was a part of my transformation, like the prostheses and shapewear - but I needed to pay for my hairdo and makeup myself. Even though they weren't expensive, as Salvo had promised, they made a considerable dent in my savings. After the salon I met up with the other girls to do our weekly grocery shop and to go window-shopping at the local mall. They all enthused about my new hairstyle, and Encarna persuaded me to celebrate by buying a new dress. She came into the fitting room with me and tightened my waist cincher as much as I could bear. Eventually I got a pretty A-line dress in green silk - the first 'girly' dress I had ever had. It was daringly short! It was also cheap but cost enough to wipe out the rest of my savings. Ironically, it meant that I could now get dolled up, but couldn't afford to go out! I finally began to feel part of the group when they invited me out on the town with them that night. After a particularly back-breaking week, made worse by the long round trip bus journeys to Isabella's house, I was looking forward to putting my feet up and getting an early night. Encarna came bounding into our bedroom at about four o'clock. "Come on, babe, we're going out dancing tonight!" I groaned. "Get your boobs and butt on, and I'll help you with your hair and makeup. You can wear your new dress - or you might like to try my metallic grey mini." "I can't!" I said, "I'm completely broke." "Don't be silly! You're a girl, Eva, and quite a pretty one at that. You won't be paying for anything tonight." And so, padded, cinched, coiffed, made up and perfumed, I began a new aspect of my life as Eva Vasquez, penniless immigrant domestic servant, and now good-time girl. * * * I made it clear to the others that I was flat broke but they laughed it off. "If you have to pay for anything yourself, you're not trying," Elena hooted. "Just do as we do," added Sara. "Obviously you'll have to settle for our leavings, but you're still quite pretty enough for a free ride all night. Just don't let anyone take advantage. If they try and get in your panties, tell them you're on the rag and offer a BJ." I blanched. "She's joking," said Encarna. "You don't have to do that with anyone you've just met. That only happens on the second date." She realised I wasn't reassured. "Don't worry, honey, I'll look out for you. Just make sure you stay in my sight - don't let anyone take you outside or in the back." And they were right. Even in this day and age there were night clubs where women got in free - if they were sufficiently attractive, which we were as a group, even with me bringing down the average. And once inside there were plenty of men willing to shell out for our drinks in exchange for a dance. I copied the others' moves and soon started to enjoy myself. Frank had been a hopeless dancer, but as Eva I seemed to have fewer inhibitions. I had dreaded what would happen when the music shifted to slow dancing, but it wasn't as bad as I'd feared. My partner moved in and clasped me round the waist, but it was actually quite pleasant. He was smart, and clean, and only smelt of cheap cologne. Half-way through the song, his hands began to move down to my butt, but I didn't notice at first, because of the padding. He tilted his head back to gauge my reaction, at which point I realised what he was doing. I smiled but reached round to pull his hands back up to my waist. He grinned and didn't push it any further. At the end of the second slow song I indicated I needed a break. He followed me back to our table where Encarna was chatting to the man she had been dancing with. "So, how are you enjoying your first night out as a fashionable young lady?" she asked, when our partners went off to fetch more drinks. "I can definitely see the attraction," I laughed. "The problem is, I'm not gay, and I don't really want to dance with men. I'm pretty sure he'll try to kiss me soon, and I'm not sure how to handle that." "Well, I know somewhere else we can go, which might suit you better." When they returned with drinks the boys pressed their phone numbers on us, and we dutifully popped them in our handbags, but refused to return the favour. After a couple more dances, and one fairly chaste kiss, I was able to break away, and Encarna and I took off. I was curious to see what she had in mind for a venue that would 'suit me better'. It turned out to be a garish, colourful night club, two streets from where we started. We were inside and half-way down the stairs to the basement dance hall when I realised. "It's a gay bar!" I exclaimed. "I told you I wasn't gay..." I turned to Encarna. She was looking at me quizzically with a twinkle in her eye. Then it hit me. "Oh, d'you mean that you and I could..." "You're quite slow on the uptake, aren't you, sweetie?" She grabbed me and hauled me onto the dance floor. We gyrated around our handbags to dance music, both fast and slow. We kissed and cuddled in front of dozens of gay couples, the only hetero pair in the club (as far as we knew) and hiding in plain sight as hot lesbians! * * * Later back at the apartment we frantically began to undress each other. Down to her bra and panties Encarna was gorgeous. She had to restrain me from ripping off the grey sequinned dress she had lent me, but it had been so long since I had held a woman, I was a pushover. I stared at her beauty, goggle-eyed. "You really aren't gay, are you?" she grinned, pulling down my padded panties, and eyeing my rising manhood. "I've been dying for this. I've wanted it since helping to feminise you properly last week at Salvo's. There's something so hot about a guy disguising himself as a girl. And you're really good." She unhooked my bra. My breasts fell forward, but their adhesive held. She laughed and cupped them with her hands. I could feel her jiggling them through the flesh where they were attached to my chest. "I always assumed you'd be disgusted, or just laugh at me," I said. "Don't you prefer strong, macho guys?" "Meh, they're a dime a dozen," she sniffed, "and most of them are pretty obnoxious - at least the ones I've met. Maybe I've just been unlucky. But I like you, Eva, I enjoy your company. I don't think of you as a man anyway. You're a girl with... something extra." She laughed. "Pretty much ideal, actually!" "That's how I feel about myself too," I admitted, as we got into her bed. "I've come to hate the man I was. He seems like a completely different person now." "Okay, that's pretty weird..." she said. "Ooooh, keep doing that!" I guess foreplay is like riding a bike. It had been a while, but I remembered the technique pretty well. Maybe living as a woman helped. "But just so we're clear - this isn't love," she maintained. "It's 'friends with benefits', okay?" "Understood," I replied, at which point the 'benefits' silenced us both for a while. In any case, there was only one woman I would ever love, and she was way out of my reach now. After that evening we pushed our two single beds together. * * * "Eva, get in here!" Madam Isabella was summoning me. I was in the kitchen washing up after breakfast. It was mid-morning, one Monday. I dried my hands on my apron, hung it on the peg on the back of the kitchen door, and hurried into the sitting room. I bobbed a little curtsey, as she required. "You called, Madam?" "Would you care to explain this?" She indicated a photograph on her laptop. I noticed that it was on somebody's Facebook page. It showed four girls in party clothes laughing together as they stopped in the street to listen to a busker. Three of them were Encarna, Elena and Sarah. The fourth girl, in a green dress, was turned sideways and her face was obscured by her dirty- blonde bobbed hair. I recalled that the picture was taken by an old boyfriend of Elena's the previous Saturday evening as we were all making our way to a nightclub. He must have put it on his Facebook page. I supposed Isabella must have been one of his 'friends'. "I'm not sure what you mean, Madam," I began. "I've been going out with the girls for the last few Saturdays and..." "When did you start going out clubbing?" Isabella interrupted. "Do you really think that's appropriate for someone in your position?" "It was Encarna's idea, Madam. She said she didn't understand what I got out of this 'life swap' thing, but if I was going to do it, I should do it properly." "What did she mean by that?" she snapped. "Well, as she saw it, I was only taking on the working life of an immigrant domestic worker. I should experience her leisure time too. She said that you often went out dancing when you lived with them... Madam." I hesitated as Isabella seemed to be getting angry. "Did you dance with any men? Good heavens, did you think about what might happen if one took a fancy to you? Or was that something you wanted to happen?" "Oh no, Madam!" I swallowed. "Although I couldn't really avoid dancing with a couple of boys. They were very pushy." "I'll bet! Slow dances?" "Um, yes, Madam." "You little slut! That dress looks very thin." She indicated the photograph. "What if your partner had felt your... thing? He'd have beaten you to a pulp, and then where would we be?" She was horrified. "There was really no danger of that, Madam. I was wearing very tight shapewear. And Encarna was watching out for me. Whenever she saw anyone getting too, um, amorous, she came over and rescued me." I didn't mention that we only went to regular nightclubs for the first half of the evening. Isabella didn't need to know that Encarna and I usually finished up at the gay bar where we could be ourselves. "And where did you get that dress?" "I paid for it out of my wages, Madam. Apart from my bus fares and my share of the household costs I have nothing else to spend my money on. I've been saving. I never used to go out..." "Well, I am not at all happy about you spending your time off in this way. It's much too dangerous. I'm going to have to speak to Encarna." I wondered what on earth she could say. Encarna and the others were already jealous enough of her situation. They would probably tell her to mind her own business, but I couldn't see how that could work out well for me. "By the way, Eva," Isabella continued. "There's something different about you, isn't there?" "Is there, Madam? I'm not sure what you mean..." I said, quite sure what she meant. "Your tits and ass, girl! They're bigger, aren't they?" Good grief! Was she only just noticing that now? I'd been wearing my padding for weeks now. She had been right - no one notices a maid. "Oh, er, yes, Madam. Encarna thought I needed a bigger bust and, er... um, bottom, to balance my thick waist." "And you've had your hair done too, haven't you? My God, what is she doing to you?" she said, exasperatedly. "Oh, never mind. Get back to your duties, for heaven's sake." "Yes, Madam." I bobbed another curtsey and scuttled back to the kitchen. * * * Isabella's reaction to the latest developments in the life of her maid gave me a lot to think about. For several months now I had been happy enough for our exchange to be mainly for my mistress's benefit. After all, I had been born with everything and had made myself thoroughly miserable. She had had none of my advantages. I felt she deserved some good times... As for me, I'd been 'treading water' as Eva until Encarna took me in hand (so to speak). Now I was enjoying the life of the single girl: poor but happy. I loved being Eva. Isabella was now a rich lady, surely wealth wouldn't make her miserable too? I wasn't there in the evenings or at weekends, so I didn't see anything of her gentlemen callers, and in any case I tried to avoid contact with any of them in case they were people who knew Frank Fearnley. But I saw enough of them from a respectful distance to realise that very few gentlemen appeared twice, and recently visitors were becoming less frequent. I also noticed that Isabella seemed less excited about life. She went out less. When I left after serving her dinner, she was usually lounging in front of the TV, making inroads into Frank's wine cellar. When we had first returned home from Nueva, my first job in the mornings, after serving my mistress breakfast in bed, was always to pick up the discarded evening dresses, sexy lingerie, stockings and heels, and to arrange for the necessary dry-cleaning, laundry and ironing (which all made me feel like a proper maid). But now I rarely needed to pick up her discarded evening clothes, because she was staying at home at night. The new jewellery and make-up she had bought would have been gathering dust on her dressing table if I hadn't been such a conscientious housemaid. And increasingly often I found her pillow damp in the mornings when I was making her bed. I wanted to say something, but how could I? It would be completely inappropriate for a maid to ask her mistress if she was unhappy, and if I broke character and asked her as Frank, it could all be over. I didn't want that for myself, and I assumed if Isabella wanted it... well she was in charge, wasn't she? I couldn't help but worry about her, but as it turned out, the situation was about to be resolved... * * * It was a Friday evening around eight-thirty. I had nearly finished the washing-up after dinner, and was hoping to make the 8.45 bus back to the city, when the doorbell went. As always, I ignored it, but was alert in case Madam Isabella felt it would be safe to call me to attend to her and her guest. I heard a male voice in the hall and then two raised voices - his and Isabella's. There was a crash as the front door was slammed shut. Isabella screamed. Without thinking, I grabbed a broom I had left leaning against the pantry door and rushed out into the hall. It was Barry Richardson, a leading member of the Country Club tennis set. He had Isabella by the arm. She was struggling to break free but he was far too strong for her. "...teach you, you little prick-tease!" he was bellowing. Isabella was in tears and squealing something unintelligible in Spanish. I couldn't make it out despite my near proficiency in the language, partly because her strong Central American accent had taken over from the gentile Castilian she had taken to using, and partly because of the colourful vocabulary, in which I wasn't quite as proficient. Barry hadn't seen me behind him, and never did. I might have looked like a plump little Hispanic maidservant, but the broom had the full force of a thirty-year-old man behind it when I cracked him over the head. It was probably lucky for both of us that my bust and ass padding, heels and feminine centre of gravity threw my aim off and reduced what might have been a killing to merely a glancing blow. Richardson bellowed again even more loudly and this time clearly in pain. He released Isabella and half-turned to catch sight of his unseen assailant. I remember thinking, 'It's all over! Everyone will know Frank Fearnley has been playing cross-dressing lady's maid to his former housekeeper!' But Barry had felt sticky liquid coming from his scalp and was staring at his bloody fingers. In a panic he made for the door. Still yelling and cursing us for 'murdering bitches', he staggered off into the night. Sobbing, Isabella threw herself into my arms. * * * After closing the front door and putting the chain-lock on, I led my weeping mistress into the sitting-room and sat her down on the sofa. I closed the curtains and fetched her a box of tissues. I made to stand up and offered to fetch her a stiff drink, but she grabbed my uniform dress and pulled me down to sit with her. Still crying she threw her arms around me and laid her head on my bosom. "I didn't... encourage him... really!" she blurted through her tears. She was still speaking her native rough Spanish, the sophisticated English she had been developing having deserted her for the moment. "I only flirted..." she sobbed. "I didn't mean to lead him on... like that..." I knew how it must have happened. Isabella wasn't prepared for the kind of rich selfish bastards she would have met at the Country Club. She was still young and, I guess, quite na?ve. Where she grew up, in a traditional Catholic village, young boys and girls played and flirted and enjoyed each other's company, but there it stopped until an engagement was arranged and their families settled things. Ours was a different world, and she hadn't been ready for it. I blamed myself. I knew Richardson of old. He thought he was God's gift to women, and would never have taken 'no' for an answer, let alone 'I've changed my mind'. Numerous complaints had been made against him over the years by the young women of the area, but none of them had stuck. His family was almost as rich as mine. On the plus side, he probably wouldn't dare take my assault on him any further. I don't think he recognised me as Frank, and it would be too embarrassing to admit that he had been prevented from having his way with Isabella by her housemaid, armed with her broom. On the other hand, I realised I was now even more stuck as Eva. I was the only witness to his assault on Isabella. If Eva were to disappear, it would be her word against his, and he would be bound to construct some kind of story that would throw the blame on her. While I was thinking this through, Isabella had managed to regain some of her composure. "Thank you for..." she began. She gave a little smile. She was clearly unsure whether she should be thanking Eva or Frank. "Would you mind staying... in case he comes back?" "I think I better had, Madam," I said. "In fact, I think I'd better move back in for a while, Madam," I added firmly, with two 'madams' to emphasise how I saw our relationship continuing. She nodded. She got to her feet and made for the door. She didn't say anything, but I thought I could see a look of relief on her face. I adjusted my uniform dress and cap, and straightened my apron, which had become awry in the excitement. I went back to the kitchen to finish tidying up. Then I called Encarna to tell her what had happened and to apologise that there would be no 'friendly benefits' tonight. I said I would probably be staying with Isabella for a while. My roommate commiserated but didn't seem unduly put out. When I went upstairs to make up the little maid's room, I could hear Isabella snoring softly in the master bedroom. * * * Life returned to normal for the next few days, the only change being that I no longer had to factor two thirty-minute bus rides into my working day. Isabella was very subdued. She acknowledged every job I did for her with a quiet 'thank you', but otherwise hardly spoke. I was getting worried. Things came to a head the following Saturday morning. This was Eva's day off and two weeks since I had last removed my breast forms, so I had applied the solvent and peeled them off. I had just got out of the shower when I heard the front doorbell. I assumed it was one of Isabella's tennis partners. I went to the window which looked out on the front drive. There were two vehicles, one of them a police car. I rushed to the landing and listened. Isabella had opened the front door. The first voice I heard was Richardson's, and then the calm, quiet tones of Bill Karlin, our local police sergeant. Crap! Isabella would need my help, but I couldn't go down as Eva. Thinking on my feet, I hurried to Frank's secret room, unlocked it with the hidden key, and rushed in. I grabbed a sweatshirt and jeans. Shit - my hair! I rammed a baseball cap on my head and tucked my girly curls under it. A pair of sunglasses completed my outfit in case I hadn't got all my make-up off last night. Wait - my painted toenails! I stepped into a pair of sneakers. Luckily I had removed the polish on my fingernails before going in the shower. It had been chipped and I was planning to renew it. I made my way downstairs trying to listen in. I caught snatches of the conversation. "...no one's seen Fearnley for months," Richardson was saying, "and this little bitch has been living high on the hog here..." "Steady on, Barry," Karlin was saying calmly. "I'm sure Miss Garcia can explain everything..." "...Mr Fearnley is away on business," Isabella said. I could hear the fear in her voice. "He left me to look after the house..." OK, I could work with that. I made my way into the kitchen. As Eva I had put the coffee on for Isabella's breakfast an hour earlier. There was still plenty in the pot. I poured myself a cup and padded into the sitting room, yawning and scratching idly at my backside. "Hi, guys," I said, concentrating on sounding like Frank - difficult as I hadn't used his voice for months. I yawned again to cover up the too- high pitch. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I heard the doorbell and saw the cars. Everything all right?" Three pairs of eyes turned in my direction, at least two of them in astonishment. "It was very late when I got back last night, babe," I said to Isabella. I stepped in to give her a warm kiss on the lips. "I didn't want to wake you, so I slept in the guest room." Karlin turned to Richardson. "There you are, Barry. Frank's fine. Barry's been worried about you, Frank, and he's right, we haven't seen you for ages. Mind telling us where you've been?" Bill was a conscientious officer. He wanted to make sure there was nothing funny going on. "Not at all, Bill. You probably know that my Dad dies about eighteen months ago? At first I didn't want anything to do with the family business, but I changed my mind. So I've been spending time in our offices all over the country - and abroad. I've usually made it back every two or three weeks, but I haven't had much energy left for socialising. I guess I should get down to the Country Club if people are starting to think I'm dead!" I laughed at the absurdity of the notion. Bill and Isabella joined in. Richardson was still fuming. This was clearly his plot for revenge against Isabella, given that he couldn't admit to what really happened the previous week. And he was watching it unravel. "So, just to dot the I's and cross the T's, as it were," Bill continued, "could you just confirm Miss Garcia's role here?" "Sure," I said. "She looks after this place for me. She's my 'chatelaine', the mistress of my castle when I'm off to the wars. Well, business can be like war - I'm discovering I've got a lot to learn." "You mean she's your cleaner?" Richardson said with a sneer. "Heavens, no! She has a maid for the menial jobs. Isabella keeps the place running. She looks after the household accounts, deals with the gardeners, the decorators, the plumbers, the deliverymen, the bank, and so on. A maid couldn't be trusted with all that." Actually of course I, the maid, did do all of that. Perhaps I should show Isabella... "Well I think we've intruded on your weekend long enough," said Karlin. "You satisfied, Barry?" he said in a tone that suggested he'd better be. Richardson grimaced but didn't argue. "Always a pleasure, Bill," I said, as I showed them to the door. "See you down the club, Barry. Hey, what did you do to your head?" Richardson muttered something about a low beam, but I was already closing the door behind them. * * * Isabella was shaking like a leaf when our visitors departed but she soon recovered her composure. "It's good to see you again, Frank, I mean Mr Fearnley. Should I go and change into my uniform now?" "Funny, I was just about to ask you the same thing, Madam," I laughed. "Please forgive me for not curtseying." "I suppose we should have realised it couldn't go on forever," she sighed. "But what do we do now? Do we go back to how we were before? Do you want me to leave?" "God, no! I couldn't manage without you! And anyway you can't. We've told the police you're the mistress of the house now." "But you'll have to be Frank Fearnley. Barry will tell everyone about this morning. People will expect to see Frank around. You can't be Eva anymore." "I have to be Eva - she's the only witness to what happened last week. If she disappears Barry will have you thrown in jail for assault. Bill Karlin is a reasonable guy but his boss is a friend of Richardson's. He'll take his word over yours. I have to be both Frank and Eva." I paused. She didn't seem convinced. "Anyway you don't understand," I continued. "Eva is who I really am now. It's Frank who is the disguise. I can't - won't - change that. It's what I've always wanted - I told you. As soon as possible I need to get into my maid uniform and back to the kitchen where I belong." But I knew it wasn't as simple as that. I hesitated, thinking hard. "You're right though; we need Frank to put in some appearances in public." "So why don't we play some club tennis this afternoon, and maybe have dinner there tonight?" "That would be nice, but what about all the men who are chasing you? Aren't you afraid of putting them off, being seen with me?" "None of them mean anything to me." I raised an eyebrow. "Oh I did sleep with a couple of guys from the Country Club, but they were just drunken one-night stands." She looked a little embarrassed. "It was all so new to me... the money, the clothes, the cars, the fancy restaurants. I thought they were actually interested in me, but I soon realised I was just another notch on their bed-posts." "I'm sure you were more than that," I said. "There's so much more to you than just a beautiful face." "And anyway what about you?" she said, cracking a little smile for the first time in a while. "You can't tell me that you've been sharing a room with Encarna all these months and been completely chaste! I know what she's like." "'Friends with benefits', she calls it. Just sex, if you want to be crude." I paused. Might as well get this out in the open. What's the worst that could happen? "You know I've been in love with you since that first day when you made me dress up." She smiled. "And Frank's the only person in my new life I could love, I think," she admitted. "But there is no Frank anymore, is there? I'm not a lesbian; I can't sleep with a woman, and certainly not with my maid." She sighed. "I'm sorry. When we started this it was fun, but I was selfish. I've been poor all my life and I saw our game as a way out of poverty. I realise that time in Nueva was horrid for you, which was why I had to get you out, but when we got back I thought we could carry on..." "And it was fine!" I interrupted. "I've loved my life as a poor immigrant girl. I've loved being your maid..." "But it hasn't been so great for me! I'm an outsider here. All the rich folks at the Country Club know I'm a fake. They talk about me behind their hands when I walk into the restaurant. The only people who are nice to me are the men who want to get into my pants!" "I'm sure we can change that over time. You mustn't give up. You can stare them down. You're beautiful, and brilliant, and..." "I don't know... It's really hard." "OK, how about this? For the next few weekends I'll be Frank, and I'll take you to all the posh venues around town; introduce you to the important people - the nice ones; make sure they understand you're one of them, and that you're here to stay." "As your other half, you mean? Are you sure you're OK with that?" "It would be my honour. So you can accept any weekend invitations for us as a couple, but during the week, Frank will be away on business again, and I can go back to being myself - Eva, I mean." * * * So began a very strange period of my life. During the week I continued to be Eva, shy, plump, Hispanic immigrant domestic. I cleaned and cooked. I did my mistress' laundry, hand washing her delicate and expensive lingerie. I ran her bath, laid out her clothes, and helped her dress. I started to do her hair - for which she sent me on a training course at a local hairdressing salon. I still hid from any visitors who might know Frank, but I interacted regularly with people of my own class - shopkeepers, the mailman, delivery men, plumbers and gardeners, many of whom tried to flirt with me. I would blush and pretend not to understand, answering in my appalling broken English. Then on Friday night after dinner, I would fill the dishwasher, tidy the kitchen and go upstairs to the little maid's room, where I took off my uniform and underwear and removed my shapewear and my breast forms. Then in just a dressing gown I would make my way to the main guest room where I changed back to Frank. I cleaned off all traces of makeup and washed my hair to get rid of any remaining hairspray. When it was dry I would use setting gel to style it in a male fashion. Finally I put on a stylish man's suit. It felt weird at first. With no boobs or padded rear I felt... misshapen. I hadn't worn pants for months and I missed my skirts and lingerie, my pantyhose and heels. When I walked, I wobbled in a very effeminate manner. I had to concentrate on every step I took. I had to stop wiggling. Also, after an exhausting week as Eva the housemaid, I now would have to put in an equally exhausting weekend, squiring Isabella around the hotspots of the area. We danced at nightclubs populated by the rich and famous; we played tennis and golf at the country club and joined the fashionable couples at the bar after a game. We went to the theatre, the ballet, the opera, and the very best restaurants. I made sure we were seen together as much as possible, and that Isabella has a marvellous time. We cut dead anyone who was rude or condescending to her when I was 'away' (mostly WASP snobs) and were warm and generous to the friendlier people (mostly rich Hispanics, like ourselves). And afterwards I would be welcome back in the master bedroom where Isabella was a passionate and demanding lover. It was all wonderful, but I wasn't sure I could stand the pace... Then on Monday morning, I would get up at six and return to the little maid's room at the top of the house. I washed and set my hair - Madam kindly allowed me to work with curlers under my cap on Monday mornings. Then I would glue my breast forms back on and put on my bra and padded panties, and do my makeup. When I'd put on my pantyhose, shoes and maid's uniform, I was Eva again, and back to my real self, ready for another hard week as Madam Isabella's maid-of-all-work. Somehow both of us were able to treat Frank and Eva as separate people. Isabella shared her innermost thoughts and passions with Frank but she was only as intimate with Eva as a lady should be with her maid. I saw her naked in both my personae, but only Eva helped her mistress in and out of the bath, clipped and unclipped her bras, zipped and unzipped her dresses, and did her hair; and only Frank made love to her. Over the weekends we would discuss the coming week and the next weekend's activities, but Isabella gave Eva her instructions on Monday morning, even though I often knew what she wanted already, having previously discussed it with her as Frank. Since our difficulties with Richardson now seemed to be over, Madam Isabella didn't need Eva to be a live-in maid anymore, so I moved back in with Encarna and the other girls. On Monday evenings I would take the bus back to their dingy apartment and had to face the round trip journey on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays again. The upside was I often found myself in Encarna's bed, enjoying the 'benefit' of being her 'friend'. We were becoming genuinely fond of each other now, although we both realised that our relationship fell short of love. When we weren't too tired, we sometimes went out clubbing on weeknights now, since I had to be back with Isabella as Frank for the weekend. I found I had no difficulty being Eva, fitting in with the other girls, talking about clothes, hair and makeup, and exciting nights out. I even joined in when they were discussing boys and reliable ways of avoiding getting pregnant, although I obviously had less to contribute on those topics. I had much more difficulty at the weekend being Frank. Before that life-changing cross-dressing session with Isabella months ago, I'd just been an unhappy drunk, scoring with fortune-hunting women too dumb to realise I wasn't the marrying kind. I had never really been much of a 'man about town', and playing the playboy now, with all the back- slapping and jovial bonhomie with relative strangers, was a real challenge. But Isabella was gradually regaining her confidence and seemed happier than I'd seen her for a while. Thanks to our weekend social life she now had made some good women friends and often went out to coffee mornings and shopping trips with them during the week. As her devoted maid I'm glad that I don't need to change damp pillowcases so often. In fact, I think we were both truly happy for the first time in ages. I spent every day with my beloved mistress, mostly as myself, Eva. My compensation for having to spend two days a week as Frank was the three nights a week in Isabella's bed. It couldn't last of course, but it didn't come to an end because I ran out of steam (as I'd feared), it was because Isabella discovered she was pregnant. * * * It was a Tuesday morning, so I was Eva. I had just brought Madam her breakfast in bed, and as soon as she saw me she burst into tears. At first, she wouldn't tell me what the matter was, but eventually she confessed. I wasn't at all sure what to do, but I realised Eva couldn't do it. So I excused myself with a curtsey and ran out to the guest room to change back to Frank, three days early. I got my boobs off as quickly as I could and before the solvent had dissolved the adhesive properly, so my chest would now be sore for days. I pulled down my padded panties and hastily cleaned off my makeup. With a baseball cap crammed down over my girly hairdo and in Frank's dressing gown and slippers, I rushed back into the master bedroom, where Isabella was chewing gloomily on a slice of toast and snivelling quietly to herself. At her bedside I went down on bended knee and asked her to marry me. It wasn't from any archaic notions of 'doing the decent thing'. It was because both Frank and Eva had been in love with Isabella for months, and now at last I thought she might accept me, albeit under duress, but I didn't care. She looked at me dubiously. "I though you said you were Eva now, and that Frank is just a disguise she occasionally wears." "I can be both, but you need Frank now, more than Eva. Maids are ten a penny." "Not maids as good as Eva," she said, to my considerable satisfaction. "I can't sleep with her, or screw her, but I love her just the same. If we do get married I'll still need her around, and I know you still need to be her." "I'll be whoever you want me to be. Hell, I'll be Donald Trump - or Hillary Clinton - if you'll say yes." "I'd rather you weren't either of them, but... okay, yes." * * * I tidied up my appearance as Frank and we went into town to choose an engagement ring. I had no doubt that would quickly become common knowledge around our developing social circle. There was no waiting period for getting married where we lived so we went down to the courthouse the following morning for the licence. Neither of us had any family or friends we wanted to invite, nor were we keen on big fancy weddings, so we arranged a civil ceremony for that Saturday. We had to drive thirty miles to find a place with a vacancy at such short notice. Sara, Elena and Encarna were the witnesses, bridesmaids and only guests. As Frank I hired my tuxedo and bought the bride's and the bridesmaids' dresses 'off the peg'. Luckily all the girls were standard sizes. They wore beautiful - and low-cut - full-length dresses in grey chiffon. Isabella and Encarna insisted that Eva should be a bridesmaid too, so I had to buy a dress for myself. When we got back to the house I changed from Frank to Eva and the photographer took pictures of the bride with all four of her bridesmaids (with our boobs on provocative display) in our garden. I therefore had the distinction of being both the groom and a bridesmaid at my own wedding. I spent a happy hour fiddling with Photoshop so that both of my guises appeared in our wedding pictures. But I changed back to Frank again for our wedding night. * * * Being married didn't make much difference to our lives. Frank was still only around at weekends, and Eva still lived out, sharing a bedroom (and occasionally a bed) with Encarna. Neither woman seemed to mind; each was getting what she wanted from me. It made much more of an impact at our clubs and with Isabella's women friends. It soon got out that she was Mrs Fearnley now, and she proudly showed everyone her engagement and wedding rings. No doubt the gossip-mongers deduced the reason for the indecent haste of the betrothal and the nuptials. It would have been foolish to attempt to dissemble and we didn't care anyway. Half-way through the pregnancy Isabella developed worrying symptoms. I'd been going with her as Eva to her scans and routine examinations. I had to put up with some critical remarks from the doctor who clearly thought the father should have dropped everything to be with his wife for these. Isabella explained that her husband was away on business, which was why her maid accompanied her. I was blushing scarlet at the doctor's remarks but he didn't seem to notice. Even if he had, he would never have guessed the reason. At her twenty-week scan Isabella's blood pressure was dangerously high. This could have been for many reasons, but she recalled her mother telling her that she had had to spend most of her pregnancy in bed. The doctor explained that this might have been because of preeclampsia. Isabella had an increased risk of that condition if her mother had it. He drew some blood and told her to go home and go to bed. He promised to follow up as soon as the test results came back. I tried to remain calm as I installed Isabella in her/our bed with radio, TV remote, books, magazines, grapes, and everything else I could think of. But inside I was terrified. I had been Eva for several months now, but I had zero experience of 'women's problems'. I didn't know what else she needed me to do. Should I be treating her as fragile? What about exercise? Diet? Keeping clean? Should I learn how to do bed baths? I decided I would need to move back in, so I called Encarna to warn her that I wouldn't be back at the apartment for a while. When I hesitantly described the problem, she immediately volunteered to come over to help. Actually, 'insisted' would be a better word than 'volunteered'. I gratefully accepted and made my by now familiar switch to Frank so that I could go and pick her up in my car (if I could remember how to drive it). "I should stay over, shouldn't I?" Encarna said, as we made the return journey. "I'm sure Isabella would be very glad to have you around," I said carefully, as I was far from sure about that. "Of course," she said. "She may have gone up in the world - thanks to you," she added scathingly, "but she's still my friend. And I can't trust you to look after her properly, in her condition." "What about your job?" "Jobs," she contradicted. "They'll just have to do without me. Anyway, you and your 'Madam Isabella' are rich, aren't you? I'm sure you'll make sure I'm not out of pocket." * * * Isabella was glad that Encarna was around, and for her companionship as much as for tender loving care. After all, I was just her maid; Encarna was her friend - and she left me in no doubt regarding her status. She was now Isabella's housekeeper, a much more senior position than a humble maid. I still called Isabella 'madam'; and Encarna called her 'Mrs Fearnley', at least when I was in the room, but from outside her closed bedroom door I often heard them giggling together. So I had two mistresses now, and twice the work. Still, at least Encarna and I were sharing a bed again in 'the housekeeper's quarters', which were much bigger than my little maid's room in the attic. Isabella didn't seem to mind. The doctor confirmed the risk to her health and that of the baby. He promised to call in every other day to check her blood pressure. She certainly wasn't allowed the exertion of love-making. The pregnancy was making that increasingly uncomfortable anyway. "I don't care what you get up to with Eva, Encarna," she said, "but I'd better not catch you in bed with my husband, Frank." But Frank couldn't make love to his wife, and she couldn't go out on the town with him, while confined to bed rest. He'd done his job, squiring her out in public and marrying her. So there wasn't much point in him being around anymore. I was back to being Eva 24-7. * * * "We should talk about our arrangements for after the baby is born," Isabella said one day, when she and Encarna were sharing breakfast (that I'd cooked). I was pottering around the bedroom and the en suite, gathering her dirty laundry for the wash. "Yes," agreed Encarna. "The doctor warned that you won't have much energy for weeks after the birth, if not months. So who's going to look after the baby? It'll be a lot of work." They both looked at me. I wasn't used to being consulted but it s