Two days later, after his weekend in London, she came back to him and asked him to stay for three additional months, for a total of six months in her employ, and offered him a raise. He answered her on the spot.
“In theory, yes, I’ll stay another three months, under certain conditions. If I find the job of a lifetime, I’ll tell you and give you a decent notice, but those jobs are rare, and I don’t want to pass up an opportunity that might not come again. And the second condition is that if we see that eventually I really have nothing left to do for you, that we agree to wind it down. At a certain point, you won’t need me. I don’t want to become useless to you, so let’s see as we go along. But yes, in theory I would be very happy to stay three months longer than our original agreement. And I refuse the raise. It’s a very generous offer, but it’s not necessary. I’m not worth that to you. You are already paying me very handsomely for what I do, and I’m grateful for it.” She was shocked when he refused the raise.
“That’s not businesslike, Joachim,” she chided him. “You’re worth every penny of it. I’d be lost without you. I will be lost without you when you go. And I hope you find a wonderful job you love, just not too soon,” she said sheepishly, and he smiled.
“There’s no risk of that. If I’d taken the job I was offered this weekend, I’d probably wind up in jail for drug trafficking, or running an opium den.” There had even been signs of it during the interview. The potential employer had offered him a joint, which he declined. And he appeared to be on coke or some form of speed or upper during the interview. He had recently been arrested in the States for possession of cocaine and crystal meth. He had adult children who were drug addicts too. “You’re safe for now,” he assured her, “and I’ll let you know if I see any serious contenders in London. So far, there is nothing I want at all.”
“I’m relieved,” she said, and looked it.
A week later, she had a new project for him. She’d gotten an email from a very important American decorator, Audrey Wellington. They had met several years before when the magazine interviewed her for a cover story, and she had kept Olivia’s personal email address. She was an older woman, had decorated the White House for two presidents, was a greatly respected interior designer, and had taken a liking to Olivia. They stayed in touch, she had heard about the magazine folding and that Olivia had moved to Paris right after it did. She wrote to say how sorry she was about the magazine and said how much she had always enjoyed it and read it religiously. She was coming to Paris and hoped to see Olivia while she was there. She was in her seventies, and still very active. She said she had a longtime client who wanted to redo her apartment in Paris, and she was coming on a reconnaissance mission to see what needed to be done. Olivia was happy to hear from her, answered her immediately, and said she’d love to have her over for tea. She went to find Joachim as soon as she pressed send. He was checking under her bathroom sink for another leak, and he had promised to hang another painting she had bought at Drouot. The apartment was becoming a much bigger decorating project than she had originally planned. She kept finding things that she loved, and it already felt like home.
She talked to him while his head was still under the sink. “I have a friend coming from New York. I’d love to have her over for tea. I mean, a really lovely English tea, proper tea service and all, little cucumber or watercress sandwiches. You playing butler, all of that.” He stuck his head out with a smile.
“I think I can manage to ‘play butler’ rather well.” He sounded very English when he said it and she laughed.
“I know you can. I just wanted to warn you. We can use the tea service I got at the flea market.” It was a beautiful antique English silver service and she had gotten it for next to nothing. “Maybe I should go back for a tray.”
“I can borrow one from my mother. She’ll be happy to lend it to you. She has a nice one I got her from the silver vaults in London. You don’t need to buy one.”
“Thank you.” She was touched and appreciated the offer. “Maybe scones and clotted cream too.”