Chapter 3

John moved down the hallway to the stairs and down to the foyer. Their clothing was now gone, and a young blonde girl was on her knees, mopping up the melted snow. As his feet moved into her line of view, she let out a small “Oooh!” and stood up. “Excuse me, sir, I didn’t hear you.” She dropped the sponge she held into the pail at her feet. Grabbing the sides of her skirt, she dipped slightly and curtsied. “Welcome to Belle Ayre, sir.”

John Andrews had about as much experience with servants as he did with the back side of the moon. “Uh, hello. Uh, thank you. Can I help you with that?”

“Oh, no sir, that wouldn’t be right. I’m almost done anyway, Mr. Andrews.”

“You know my name?”

“Oh, yes sir. Mrs. Jenson told me to take care of things.” The girl curtsied a second time. “I’m Jeanine, sir, the maid. If you need anything, just ask.”

“Thank you, Jeanine. Uh, call me John.”

“Oh, no sir. I couldn’t do that.”

John was saved from a fruitless argument by Malcolm coming in from the large room opposite the parlor. “Thank you, Jeanine,” he said. Turning back to John, he said, “Come on. Let’s make you another drink,” and led the way into the parlor. Jeanine curtsied silently and knelt again, to finish the floor. John glanced at her briefly and followed Malcolm. ‘Pretty girl.’ he thought to himself.

Jeanine looked back over her shoulder as John walked away. She felt like telling him she could use some help, and not with the mopping either, but ‘Uniform B’ precluded that idea. ‘Uniform B’ was the code word that meant visitors were not, as yet, intimate members of the household. Thus, Jeanine and Phoebe were required to depart from their customary mode of dress.

Jeanine was short, only five-foot-three, with short blonde hair in a pageboy cut, and in her early twenties. Presently she wore a black, knee-length, cotton blend dress, with plain black stockings and low-heeled pumps. The bodice had a conservative neckline, and she wore a white blouse underneath, with a small white apron. This looked differed from her usual attire only in its conservative nature, not in its overall look. Typically, the dress was an extremely short black satin number with a flared skirt and a very low cut, U-shaped neckline. No blouse was worn, and her breasts and cleavage were on conspicuous display, almost to the tops of her pert nipples. In addition, the black stockings were replaced by black fishnets (thigh high in either case), and the low heels by much nicer four-inch heels.

Of course, Jeanine reflected, she didn’t wear underwear with either outfit. The conservative garb molded and lifted her C cup breasts nicely and hid her pussy completely. When not in ‘Uniform B’ she didn’t want her tits and pussy hid at all! And occasionally a guest would attract her even in ‘Uniform B’ and she would simply raise her skirt to accommodate him.

In the parlor, John settled onto a bar stool as Malcolm walked behind the bar. “I have no idea how to thank you. I don’t know what we would have done if we hadn’t found this place,” he said to Malcolm.

Malcolm waved a hand lightly, brushing aside the concerns. “Please, it’s no trouble at all. Most fun we’ve had here in years. Can I get you something to drink? Another brandy, perhaps?”

“Thank you, no. Do you have any tonic water?” asked John. At Malcolm’s nod, he continued, “Could I have a gin and tonic, please?”

“Certainly.” Malcolm prepared the drink and set it on a coaster before John. “What about your wife? What would she like? Caroline and I prefer a martini before dining.”

“Anita loves a good martini. I can’t touch them personally, and she hates to make one for herself, but I know she’ll want one.”

“Excellent,” said Malcolm. “I’ll make a pitcher. Do your daughters drink or are they still too young?”

“Not for a few more years, yet,” said John, smiling. “Perhaps when they turn forty, I’ll think about it.”

Malcolm laughed. “We never had any daughters, but my friends with daughters, they all tell me the same sort of thing. Do you plan on ever letting them out of the house?”

“Not while I’m alive,” replied a grinning John.

“Daddy, you’re awful!” shrieked Cory. Coming up behind her father and wrapping her arms around his waist. She looked over his shoulder at Malcolm. “We’ve been dating since we turned sixteen!”

“Easily changed.”

“Daddy!” protested Laurie.

Malcolm laughed wholeheartedly as the Andrews family was reunited in the parlor. “Now, you must tell me. I know your names are Cory and Laurie, but who’s who? I can’t tell you apart!”

“I’m Cory,” said the first girl.

“And I’m Laurie,” said the other.

“You’re absolutely identical,” remarked Malcolm. “Hmmm, blue, Cory, red, Laurie,” he said, pointing at their outfits.