The Lamplighters (2 page)

Digging some dope from the stash sock under her bed, Marla rolled herself a little nightcap and imagined what tomorrow might bring.

Only disappointment
, she thought as she stubbed out the joint. Moments later, and Marla’s head was at one with her pillow. Her breathing slowed and became heavier.

Somewhere in cyberspace, a series of electronic pulses conspired together, drawing data from algorithms out in the ether. The data weaved together into text, words gliding towards a pre-determined destination.

Words that became a message, a whisper.

“You’ve-got-mail,” said Marla’s computer, and she stirred for a moment before turning over and drifting off into a troubled sleep.

Chapter Three

Rain pounded on the window, waking Marla from her nightmare. She’d been crushed inside a pram, listening to her bones breaking. Peering through sleep-encrusted eyes she realized she’d left the computer on all night. Wonderful. She’d have to feed the electricity meter before she fed herself, as usual.

Yawning her way across to the kettle, Marla made herself a cup of coffee. She flopped down in front of the laptop and fingered the track pad, ready to shut it down. As the screen lit up in response to her touch, something caught her eye. One new email. She couldn’t help but look, even though she knew it would end in disappointment.

“FAO: Marla Neuborn—employment offer”
read the email header.

What the hell?
Marla rubbed her eyes, looked again.
More junk surely
, she thought as she opened the message. She began to wake up as she gulped coffee and scanned the text;
Dear Ms. Neuborn—acquired your details from agency—ideal candidate—a paradise of opportunity—immediate start…

Spam. She hit “delete”, turned off the computer and downed the rest of her coffee on the way to the shower room.

Marla tried to keep her soapy skin away from the slimy tiles and mildewed shower curtain. The landlady hadn’t updated the facilities at the “Mansions” in years. And every day, Marla had to run the gauntlet of the hallway outside her room to reach the communal shower room. Sometimes, like today, she got lucky and didn’t run into one of the building’s lecherous inmates.

Marla dropped the shampoo bottle onto her foot.
Fuck
. As she bent down to retrieve it, the shower curtain clung to her in a vile embrace. Joining the assault, the showerhead began to sputter cold water onto her back. Cursing wildly, she retreated to the safety of the sink and rinsed her hair there. Looking at her reflection in the chipped mirror, Marla spied a pimple forming on her chin. Brushing her teeth angrily, she climbed back into her bathrobe and sloped out into the hallway.

Glinting eyes peered out at her from a crack in her neighbor’s door. The dirty bastard was spying on her again. As she hurried by, she heard pornographic moaning from the TV set inside—the sound made Marla wince. This place was really beginning to get under her skin. She pushed her door. She’d locked herself out.
Oh no. Oh please for the love of God no, not again.
Now she’d have to face the landlady and get the spare set of keys, which would no doubt be accompanied by a lecture about not losing her keys. That lecture would be followed by the one about paying her rent on time. Marla suddenly felt suicidal. Maybe suicide wasn’t such a bad idea. Just kidding, she reminded herself, but it wasn’t such a bad idea, what she was thinking. The window to her room was still open after all. Strangely amused that her fear of her landlady was so great she’d be willing to risk life and limb to avoid speaking to her, Marla quickly ducked back into the bathroom.

Wrapping her bathrobe tightly around her, she opened the window as wide as it would go and looked out over the ledge. It was certainly wide enough for her to climb across, then she just had a short section of roof to navigate before she could climb in through her window. A pigeon flapped noisily from the eaves above her, egging her on with its dumb show. Marla clambered out, wincing at the chill air as it penetrated her bathrobe and whistled, freezing, around her nethers. Clinging to the arch of roof tiles above her she set off along the ledge, walking sideways like a crab. The wind picked up and her bathrobe rose up, billowing out suddenly and making her shriek like an embarrassed schoolgirl. It wasn’t long before she heard the wolf whistles from below. Great, someone had seen her—and invited his pals along to witness the spectacle too. Let them look, sad bastards. She wished that pimple had been forming on her backside, let them wolf whistle at that for a while. Marla reached the sloping section of the roof as the aural humiliation of hoots and lascivious cries railed on below her.
Don’t look down. Don’t
. Gasps from below now as her foot slid off the side of the roof, loosening a tile, which smashed noisily on the ground far below. Then loud cheers rang out as she corrected herself and clambered on up the slope to her window. She climbed inside and turned to shut the window. As she did so, she glimpsed a face pressed up against the glass of the window nearest hers. Her neighbor. He was naked. She closed the curtains.

Grabbing clothes from the floor, Marla dressed in a hurry and stuffed her door keys into her pocket vowing never to lock herself out again. Her make-up bag was almost exhausted, so she decided not to bother. She'd save what was left for a hot date. She snorted.
Like that’d ever happen.

Minutes later and she was downstairs. Envelopes lay in disarray on the doormat. More damn junk mail. Still, she picked them up and dutifully separated them into neat little piles for the Mansions’ inmates. The landlady would like that. And a happy landlady was a forgiving landlady—she hoped, wincing as she replayed the sound of the roof tile shattering on the ground. Marla’s rent check was going to bounce again this month.

Sighing heavily, Marla saw the logo on the envelope first. It was one of those clunky, important corporate stamps. Then she saw her name, and a single rubber-stamped word in red.

URGENT.

Wincing at the chicory taste of the coffee, Marla put the cup down and added another two sugars. This was the worst café in London, no question, but on quiet days they never hassled her to free up the table. And today she really needed to be away from her crappy bed-sit and out of the rain.

She picked up the letter and read it again, slowly this time.

“Dear Ms. Neuborn,

I am writing with reference to a potential offer of employment. We acquired your details from the agency and believe you could be an ideal candidate. The position is one of housekeeping in a private Mediterranean community owned and operated by our parent group The Consortium Inc. We are confident you’ll agree that the job placement offers a paradise of opportunity to the right person. Please contact us to arrange an interview. Please note; should you prove to be a good fit, the job requires an immediate start.

Kind regards,

J G Mathers, Human Resources

The Consortium, Inc.”

Marla looked down at the cup.
The agency?
Surely she'd dropped off their records ages ago.

A sickly beige skin had already begun to form on her coffee.

Marla folded up the letter, paid the waitress, and headed for the nearest phone booth.

Chapter Four

The voice on the phone had been friendly enough, but The Consortium Inc. Building was pure corporate terror. Nestled in among the higgledy-piggledy side streets of the City district, it had taken Marla three bus routes to find it. And so here she was, craning her neck up at it, a modernist megalith of black marble cladding and smoked glass. She took a breath, licked her lips, and stepped into the revolving doors.

Sealed off from the hustle and bustle of outside, the foyer was calm and still. Marla’s footsteps echoed as she approached the reception desk. The receptionist peered at her through layers of make-up, took her name and directed her to the sixth floor. Marla shuddered as she stepped into the elevator—any minute now and they’d find her out, pull her file, hear from the agency about her Big Mistake.
It’d be a blessed relief,
she thought,
then I wouldn’t have to go through with the damn interview.

Ding.
The elevator doors opened and Marla found herself in another reception area. This time, the desk was vacant, with a closed door just beyond it. Marla sat down in a brown leather sofa and waited. She was still, miraculously, five minutes early. The voice on the phone had seemed delighted that she could make it that very afternoon.
Wouldn’t be so delighted if they’d read the tabloids
, she thought beginning to panic again. Palms sweating, Marla stood up and opted for pacing the room instead of sitting. It helped. Her heart rate slowed and her hands became merely clammy instead of wet hot.

“Ms. Neuborn?”

Marla turned, and the voice on the phone now had a face, handsome and tanned, with a prominent jaw and strong hairline. He’d either had work done, or simply looked after himself. Maybe a bit of both.

“Marla?”

His teeth were so white.

“Yes that’s me,” she spluttered.

He thrust his hand out. Marla discreetly wiped her palm on her hip and shook his hand. What a grip—the guy definitely worked out.

“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Mr. Welland. But you can call me Bill. Come on in.”

Welland’s office was the cleanest room Marla had ever been in. Even her time in hospital had seen more dust than this. He asked her to take a seat and offered her a coffee. Trying not to recline into the soft comfort of the leather swivel chair, she refused the offer of a drink.
Probably spill it all over his desk in a matter of seconds.
Damn her nerves.

“So, I take it our letter came as something of a surprise?”

Marla cleared her throat, “You could say that, yes.”

“But a welcome one?”

He beamed at her.

“Of course.”

She leaned forward a little, intent now on giving it to him straight. “To be brutally honest, Mr. Welland…”

“Please; Bill.”

“Bill. I had kind of given up on that agency… I’ve sort of, moved on since signing up with them.”

“No problem Ms Neuborn.”

“Marla.”

He grinned again. “Marla. Our company has very specific requirements; the right candidate for the right job. We put feelers out everywhere. We have employees from the world over, offices on every continent. I personally am a firm believer in appointments that are meant to be. Your resume and experience, coupled with your age could make you an ideal candidate for the job.”

Marla braced herself for the questions. So long since she’d done an interview.
Deep breath, don’t mess it up.

“This isn’t an interview, as such,” Welland continued, as if clairvoyant. “No, I prefer to keep things as informal as possible. Our meeting is merely an opportunity to tell you more about the position and answer any questions you might have. Okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Marla’s voice betrayed her unmistakable relief. Welland didn’t seem to notice, or care.

“This isn’t your regular job, I can assure you of that. If I were to tell you that it would involve living in real luxury on a Mediterranean island would you have a problem with that Marla?”

His eyes positively twinkled.
Smooth bastard
. Marla shook her head, smiling.

“Good. Now we’re past that difficult question,” he chuckled. “Onto the details… The Consortium Inc. represents a quorum of very rich clients, who would like to stay that way. Each of the members has a variety of business interests, and the day-to-day running of these is handled largely by us. One such area entrusted to us is the safekeeping of an island community owned entirely by our clients. Are you with me so far?”

“I’m with you.”

Welland rose and continued speaking as he glanced out at the gloomy city sky.

“The mansions on the island are inhabited very rarely, usually when our clients are taking their annual break or attending a special event on the mainland. This makes it very difficult for them to fulfill their resident status requirements; have you heard of those?”

“I’m… No I don’t think I have.”

“No problem, Marla, I’ll explain. The system is exactly the same in Monaco and other…prestigious areas; wealthy homeowners are required to prove residential status in order to qualify for generous tax benefits. If they only use their homes for a week or two a year, they don’t qualify. So, rather than lose out, they employ housekeepers to keep things in order for them. These employees use up a bit of gas, water and electricity each day, tend to the grounds and generally enjoy all that the lifestyle has to offer.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

“Indeed it does,” he turned smiling from the window. “Especially when you also take into consideration the fee you get paid on top. The Consortium holds a monthly salary in an account for you. Once your contract is complete, the money is yours.”

“May I ask…”

“How much? Of course,” he chuckled. “It’s a little more than double what the agency was offering you, per hour, as a base rate.”

Marla whistled. She could already see the possibilities; a University course, no more debts, no crappy bed-sit… She snapped back into reality.
Too good to be true. Has to be.

“I don’t know how to ask this politely…”

“Go ahead.”

“What’s the catch?”

Welland chuckled once more. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a folder, sliding it across the smooth surface towards Marla.

“First catch; before we hire you, you must complete this written personality test.”

I already have a personality,
Marla was tempted to say.
I don’t need to take a test. I hate tests.
She bit her lip.

“You don’t have to do it right now. Mail it back to us and we’ll let you know in a few days if you’ve got the job.”

After a pause, he went on. “Second catch; if we hire you, you must agree to be available without interruption for a year. You will not be allowed to leave the island for any reason during this period. That includes illness, and ‘acts of God’. If you break contract, your earnings account will be closed and no monies paid to you. However, I assure you that if your contract doesn’t reach full term for any other reason, then you’ll be paid in full. And the third catch is our secrecy clause; you shall at no point during your employment be advised of the exact location of the island and you will not be permitted to contact the outside world.”