Free Finding Margo by Susanne O'Leary

while she prepared the tray, “is quite a tricky business.” Her stocky frame was encased in a blue cotton dress covered by a crisp white apron that crackled with starch as she moved. Her grey hair was pulled back so severely it looked as if the bun at the back of her head had been tightened with a wrench.
    “Oh,” Margo said, feeling awkward standing there in the kitchen in a navy skirt and white blouse. “Tricky? Why?”
    “Because she is never happy.” Justine poured orange juice into a crystal goblet, placed it on the starched linen cloth and looked up at Margo. “Those clothes fit you perfectly.”
    “I know. I couldn’t believe it when I tried them on. And all the other things fit me too, even the shoes. But why is Madame – I mean Milady – never happy?”
    “Milady?” Justine snorted. “Has she given herself a new title then?”
    “Well, that’s what she told me to call her. And that is also what you would call a countess in English,” Margo explained. “But do go on. What is the problem with Milady’s breakfast?”
    Justine shrugged. “Oh, you’ll see. No matter how hard I try, she always complains.” She put a small basket of fresh bread rolls beside the orange juice, followed by a plate, a knife, and a large cup, which she filled with equal amounts of coffee and hot milk. She put one and a half cubes of sugar into the coffee and placed a small bowl with jam and a saucer with two tiny rolls of butter beside it. Finally, after having placed a single red rose in a small vase on the tray, she lifted it up and handed it to a startled Margo. “Here, you take it in.”
    “Me? But—” Margo backed away.
    “Not fancy enough for you? Not the job of a personal assistant?” Justine almost spat out the last words.
    “No, it’s not that. I—”
    Justine glared at Margo.
    “Oh, all right.” Margo took the tray. “Where do I go?”
    “Go to the lobby, then take the corridor on the right, and it’s the second door on your left,” Justine replied.
    Margo found the designated door and, trying her best not to drop the tray, managed to knock gently.
    “Oui?”
    “Breakfast, Ma—Milady.”
    “Bring it in then!’
    Margo turned the handle, pushed the door open with her shoulder, and walked into the still dark bedroom. “Good morning, Milady,” she murmured. I’m really good at this, she thought with delight.
    “Where’s Justine?” the voice from the large four-poster bed demanded.
    “In the kitchen. She asked me to—”
    “Open the curtains,” the voice ordered.
    Margo put the tray on a table near the door and walked over to the windows. She pulled the heavy brocade curtains apart, and the room was at once flooded with light. As she walked back to pick up the tray, she glanced around the huge room, noticing the beautiful Persian carpet, the deep red silk on the walls, and the exquisite French antiques. There were some impressive oil paintings, but Margo’s eyes were immediately drawn to a huge framed black and white photograph of a vaguely familiar woman. There was a big vase with fresh flowers and a silver candlestick on the table underneath. Margo nearly tripped on the carpet as she stared at the photo, trying to figure out who it was.
    “Coco Chanel.” the Comtesse said. “The pillar of French haute couture.” She was sitting up in the huge bed, propped up by a number of pillows in lace pillowcases. With her dark hair and pale pink silk negligee, she looked like a very beautiful ageing diva. Margo put the tray in her outstretched hands, and the Comtesse put it across her knees. “Thank you,” she said graciously as she picked up the linen napkin and studied the contents of the tray. “This looks to be in order.”
    Margo smiled back and walked to the door, wondering what all the fuss had been about. Justine was just trying to frighten me, she thought, opening the door.
    “Wait!’
    Margo froze.
    “The coffee is not strong enough,” the Comtesse announced. “Take the cup