Queen of the Hide Out Read online

  “Oh, I feel tho much better now! I thought I’d made a real bad mithtake! I thought we had to give it back!”

  “What do you mean? Why are you saying that?”

  She looked sheepish and started to clam up. I had to really coax her to get her to spit it out. “Well, you know the other day when I thaw that Thimon really wanted that boat thingie from Pirath of the Caribbean? I could thee that it wath making you thad, Mommy. I could tell that you were thinking about how much money it would cotht and that it hurt you. I thaw that you couldn’t afford it and that it made you thad. Tho, when we went back home and I wath playing with the necklath, it didn’t make me ath happy ath it uthually doth. I thought about how much money a necklath like that muth cotht, that it wath a real treathure and that Thimon would never be able to have a really great Chrithmath gift.”

  “What are you talking about? Listen, Sabrina, Santa doesn’t worry about the prices of gifts! He never looks at how much stuff costs! What he’s bothered about is if children have been good or not, and if they deserve the gifts he’s going to give them. If kids are naughty, they’ll get nothing but a lump of coal!”

  It’s so hard to give kids all that bull. Mind you, it’s not as though I can tell them that life just throws stuff at you willy-nilly and that there are a shitload of peeps out there who have everything they could ever want but don’t deserve it and that just as many of the rest of us who are all kind and soft-hearted but starving to death half the time! We have to make them believe there’s some sort of sense in this world; otherwise, they’d never want to grow up, would they? After all, the opposite—luck, happiness—can be true too sometimes, right? Well, I was certainly lucky to have my kids, that’s for sure!

  “Whath coal?”

  “You know what it is—we use little lumps of coal when we have barbecues.”

  “And why doth Thanta give it to kidth who’ve been naughty?”

  “Honestly, Sabrina, I really couldn’t tell you. You’ll have to ask him when you see him this year.”

  “Mommy, why are you treating me like I’m thome kind of baby? Do you think I don’t know that Thanta dothn’t exitht?”

  I put my finger to my lips and gave her a horrified look while pointing at the twinnies. “Shhhh . . .”

  Sabrina copied my gesture and started to giggle. I asked her the question I’d been trying to get an answer to all this time: “So what have you done with it? Why are you saying all these things?”

  “You thee, um . . . I went to thchool with my printheth and her necklath yethterday. When Victoria thaw the necklath, thee wath crathy mad jealouth.”

  “Who’s Victoria?”

  “Thee’s the one who alwayth takth her Barbie collection everywhere with her. Thee’s got tho many dolleeth, and tho many printheth dretheth, and tho many jewelth for the dollth. Well, thee jutht loved mine! Thee thaid thee’d never theen one like it. It’th true that you never thee anything like mine in the thtorth! Victoria wanted it tho bad and did all kindth of thingth to try to make me give it to her. Thee begged me. Thee thaid thee wanted to be my betht friend and even thaid thee’d tell the teacher I’d copied her work if I didn’t give it to her. But it’th not true! I never copy her!”

  “I can’t believe it. What a little brat she is! I sure hope you didn’t give it to her?”

  “Of courthe not! The whole thing’th over now, anyway!”

  Sabrina looked so proud of herself. She had such an excited little face on her. She ran to her room and started rummaging through a collection of plastic bags and came back with a radiant smile and a twenty-euro bill in her hand.

  “You thee, I thold it to her for a whole lot of money, a whole big lot! You’ll be able to buy tho many Pirath of the Caribbean toyth with thith! Maybe even the King of the Pirath, Jack Thparo!”

  I took the crumpled-up twenty out of her grubby little hands (all stuck together with pancake scraps and jam). I unfolded it and sat there staring at it for what seemed like an age, my bottom lip trembling.

  There was no need to be a witch to understand that my bright, kind, and generous little spark had wanted to help me out by selling the necklace and had gotten it into her head that she’d made a fortune for us—that she’d sold our diamond for one of the big bills. Twenty was a high number for a little girl. Seeing my baffled face, she started to look sullen.

  “What ith it, Mommy dearetht? What’th happening? Ith there thomething wrong?”

  I didn’t have to answer all her questions right away, so I took her up into my arms and squeezed her as tightly as I dared. I didn’t want her to gather how disappointed I was. I took a deep breath.

  “Of course nothing’s wrong! It’s great what you’ve done, Sabrina! Let me tell you something right now—you’re going to be an amazing businesswoman later down the line. Believe me! I never get it wrong! I can totally see into the future! You’re going to be the best businesswoman in the whole world. I think we both need a little pick-me-up right now. What do you say? Come on, let’s make mojitos.”

  “A mo-what? A Mohican? Like the weird haircut?”

  I couldn’t stop laughing. “No! You’ll see! They’re amazing! It’s lemonade with mint leaves, a little brown sugar, lime, and crushed ice. And in mine, I’m going to add a little something that children aren’t allowed to have, OK?”

  15

  Later on that evening, as I said my good-nights to Sabrina, I whispered to her, “Tomorrow morning, point out Victoria to me, would you?”

  “But what’th the reathon? Ith it becauth you want the diamond back?”

  “No, I don’t want it back. I’d just like to see who has it now, OK? I want to know who the little girl is. Just because, that’s all.”

  “Yeth, OK.”

  There was absolutely no way I could let Sabrina know that my Big Pink was worth so much more than what she’d gotten for it. I couldn’t have her lose confidence in herself like that. So I’d have to find some way to get the necklace back and then see if I could find someone around here to take it off my hands. I mean, the thing was worth millions, so surely I’d be able to get the seven hundred euros I needed for Christmas gifts and to pay off my debts?

  Everyone was snoozing soundly while I finished clearing away the crockery, sweeping, and tidying the living room. Suddenly, my cell started chirping.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Mademoiselle Maldonne?”

  I held my breath, clasped my hand to my heart, turned white, then heated up to a bright red—all in a tenth of a second.

  It was . . . him.

  My heartbeat stabilized and my pulse returned to normal.

  “Who’s asking?”

  I asked the question on principle. I can’t stand it when people ask me who I am.

  He responded in his Prince Charming voice, “It’s Monsieur Dumond de la Pinsonnière. You were in contact with me yesterday about the possibility of taking up employment with my family.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Have you thought about it some?”

  “Yes, absolutely. The problem is that I have to leave tomorrow afternoon for Switzerland to attend to some very urgent business, so all this has to be settled by tomorrow morning at the latest. Could you come and meet my father in the morning, and we can sort out the small print while you’re here?”

  “Wait just a second . . . Let me check my calendar . . .”

  I shuffled a few bits of paper lying around on the sofa. I wanted to at least sound credible and make him believe I was mulling over his offer. I knew very well I’d be doing zilch the next day.

  “Your address, please? And what time would be most convenient? Nine a.m.?”

  “5 Place de la Foux. Call me on the intercom when you get here and make sure it’s nine a.m. exactly. Thank you.”

  And he hung up before I could respond. Whoa! He seemed like he was really to the point, maybe even a little pissed. Then again, people like him probably just liked things to be sorted out in a flash.

  16

  A j
ob interview! It was amazing!

  I’d heard people talking about them before. It seems as though these days you can’t go anywhere without hearing someone say, “I have an interview,” “I’ve been invited to apply for a position,” or, “My job interview went really well,” and all the rest of it.

  Without warning, a terrifying thought flashed through my skull. Every time people talk about applying for work, they always mention the same magic little word: CV.

  I scrambled through the kids’ stuff and found a clean sheet of paper and a pen. In my very best handwriting I wrote my name, address, telephone number, and date of birth. Then I sat and chewed on my pen while I thought things over.

  So this is where I had to actually write the CV bit of my CV. Right. I’m not wet behind the ears, and I knew that if I wrote down everything that I’d ever done up to that point, I wouldn’t get very far. I had to explain why the things I’d done were relevant to the job. Cleaning and reading. And being nice to people. I’d need to highlight my qualities in these three areas.

  So I’d have to separate this CV into three clear sections. I’d decided that the best way to go about this would be to write up a themed CV, like how they’d taught me down at the employment office. So, I wrote:

  Furstly: Cleening.

  I am very cleen and a maneeac for hawswork. I no all the cleening products and deterjents that are in the supermarket. I uze them all the time. There is nuthing like a good dusting cloth maid from mykro fyber, but all so, even if you dont have deterjent, you can just wet the cloth to clean the serfis you want to cleen. I never uze bleech. It is not good for the envirowmunt. I do most of my cleening with wite vinigur. And for the flaw, I uze sowp.

  I have done all my own cleening sins I was 16 years old and nowbody can do it betta than me. The best is to test me on it.

  Secundly: Reeding

  I luv reeding. I have always luved reeding. I know the hole colexion of Luky Luke and Garfilde the Cat. When I was yunger, I liked the Smurfs.

  For my reeding level, pleez no that I was in the French edukashun sistim until the leegul age. Here also it is best to giv me a test and a tryal.

  Thurdly: Frendchip

  I am a very frendly woman. I am always smileing. I luv konversashun. I have mani frends. In generul, people thinc I am kynd.

  (This was bit of lie. Most people find that I have a short fuse and that I’m troublesome and a little grouchy. I must admit most of that’s true. It’s how I make sure I stay on the right track. There’s no chance I’ll ever end up as one of those women who gets taken advantage of. It’s not easy when the only weapon you have is a pretty smile. I wasn’t going to put that on my CV, though.)

  I continued:

  I have many kwalitees to help keep sumwon cumpani. I like to sing. I can do all sortes of songs. I can even do showz and lern songs by hart. I also hav an egselent memori. I can allso lern to play bored gaymes becuz I’m not a pour loozer. On this poynt, as with the uthurs, you can tri me owt.

  I am avaylubul shud you have any other qweshuns.

  I looked over my CV with a real sense of pride. I corrected what looked to be a couple of spelling mistakes, then took another sheet of paper and copied it out neatly in my very best handwriting. I wanted to make sure it was all high-class and looked the part.

  Obviously, it would have been a lot classier if I’d typed it up and printed it out. I could also have used some Wite-Out or something for any mistakes. But the guy with the long name had asked me to meet him real early, and I didn’t think I’d have time to get down to the library beforehand. I’d just have to tell him my printer was broken or something.

  I folded up the sheet as straight as I could and slid it into an envelope which I shoved into my purse.

  Then I slept the sleep of the dead.

  Wednesday: A Drinkypoo, Dearest?

  17

  The morning started out with the Beatles’s “Love Me Do.” A total classic and one of Mom’s faves.

  It couldn’t really be said that the day started out all that well. Although I had this slow love song in my head, which made my heart beat at a sluggish pace, I also had major nerves because of the interview. I could clearly see that my mother (she was always so starry eyed) thought I was going to meet the most gorgeous-looking guy ever known to womankind . . . the one!

  When I arrived, my teeth were chattering and I was frozen to the bone. There was only one bell on the intercom of 5 Place de la Foux. It was pretty clear that this massive casa was centuries old. It was all freshly painted in a brick-red color, and it looked like only one family lived there. The place was four stories high!

  I’d hardly even pressed the button when there were a few clicking noises and some creaking as the door opened by itself. I stood in front of a labyrinth of rooms. Just after the entrance hall, there was a massive corridor that looked just like the one down at the library. There was a staircase fit for royalty and what looked to be about a hundred closed doors. On one side there was a covered patio in a mosaic of marble.

  I had no clue what to do with my umbrella, so I quickly shoved it in a corner. I took off my coat and spread it out on an onyx table next to a vase of flowers and some crystal ashtrays. With a bit of luck it’d be dry by the time I was ready to go home.

  Why had nobody come to show me in? This place was like Alibaba’s cave. This couldn’t be right. It could have been a fortress, but there weren’t any guard dogs, or anything in terms of security. It’s the sort of image you’d expect, right? Maybe there were some hidden cameras some place? I looked up into the corners of the high ceilings. Nothing.

  As I headed farther into the building, my muddy boots and the hems of my jeans smeared a big dirty mess across the sparkling polished floors. Despite my best efforts to remain quiet, my steps echoed throughout the house. I even walked on tiptoe, trying to make as little noise as possible. When I reached the bottom of the huge staircase, I stopped . . . and waited. There were doorways on either side of the stairs, and I didn’t know whether to turn left, right, or go up. And still nobody had shown up to meet me.

  Good God! You’d think in a place like this, they’d manage to send some sort of minion to check who’d arrived at the door. That’s when I realized that the minion would be me, and that if they were looking to hire me, it was because they didn’t have any minions. I wondered what must have happened for there to be no staff in a place this size.

  After several more minutes of waiting, I felt pretty exasperated, so I started yelling, “Hey! Hey there! Is there anybody there?” Obviously, it was right then that a door to the right opened and a woman strode toward me. I couldn’t see her at first because the light was behind her. All I could make out was that she was wearing an ankle-length skirt and had her hair pulled back in a severe-looking bun.

  When she stepped closer, my jaw dropped. I wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in my throat and I felt I’d never get them out. Who was this robot chick? She was like that wicked witchy woman in 101 Dalmatians. What was her name again? She had, like, a lightning streak thing across her head . . . Yeah, it was Cruella de Vil! It was her . . . or, like, Frankenstein’s bride maybe.

  18

  As she approached me she eyeballed me from head to toe. This broad was already getting on my nerves. She called over to me with the voice of a general.

  “Mademoiselle Maldonne?”

  “So it would appear!”

  She didn’t have an answer for that and just stared at me from what seemed like an even higher position (if that was in fact possible—she was already megatall).

  I soon found my voice. “Are you checking me out to see if I’ll cut it? You’re really staring at me. I don’t bite, you know.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Monsieur de la Pinsonnière will be here in a moment or two. You can wait here.”

  And just like in some kind of well-timed play, as she was exiting toward the back of the hall, the gorgeous man from the day before came out of nowhere and made his way t
o me with his arm stretched out and the smile of an angel plastered across his stunning face.

  I felt suffocated in front of such beauty.

  “Hello there, Mademoiselle. Rosie Maldonne, I understand?”

  I managed to catch my breath in time to give him an answer. “You can call me Cricri!”

  “Cricri?” he asked with a surprised tone.

  “Sure! They call me Cricri for short!”

  “For . . . errr . . . short? I must admit, I don’t under— Anyway, you’re right on time! Well done! I appreciate anyone who’s punctual, particularly as I have a plane to catch. I’m going back to Switzerland, where I live.”

  So that explained his amazing accent. Such a sweet sound!

  “Come with me. Let’s go to the office together.”

  He crossed the hall in just a few wide and extravagant strides with me trotting and then running behind him in my slippery wet boots. Don’t break your neck, girl! He stepped to one side to allow me to go ahead of him, which I found very gallant. He’d clearly been raised well. What a gentleman.

  The room could have easily fit three of my trailers in it. I swear it took us about five minutes to walk over to the desk (a great big whopping piece of furniture that looked super high-tech), which was covered with files. There was a funny statuette thing being used as a paperweight. It was a group of young hotties in their birthday suits, leaning on each other in a circle, looking like they were having the most exciting conversation ever. It looked like a lot of saucy secrets were being told. Rich people sure do have a lot of money to collect a lot of weird things.