Never Turn Back (11 page)

Meri left before dawn—before Elina woke up and before Tuula returned home—leaving the balance of her monthly rent in an envelope on the kitchen table. On the outside of the envelope she wrote: “I owe you so much more than this. Take care of yourselves. Good bye. Meri.”

§

Except for the disposition of her employer, Meri came to enjoy both her work and her new accommodations. She lived the life of a professional in a posh section of Paris. Essentially an errand girl for a cantankerous rich man who thought he was superior to those around him, at least she could afford to wear fashionable apparel and visit interesting places in Paris. While on errands in the finer parts of Paris, she took note of the fashions women wore and how they acted.
One day, I’ll be just like these women. I don’t know how, but I’ll show Mamma that Papa was right—I’m special.

Meri didn’t have as much time to herself as she thought she would have. She squeezed in visits with Siri over quick lunches between errands for Monsieur Nurmi. During those rare times when the two friends connected, Meri took advantage of Siri’s ever-patient ear.

“He wants me to type correspondence for him at night and during the weekends, can you believe it?” Meri took a bite of Camembert cheese, the creamy aroma doing nothing to calm her.

“Why? What business can be so important?” Siri sipped her coffee.

“Nothing! Of course I can’t give you details, but I can tell you these letters are filled with nonsense. I think he wants to make sure he keeps me in the house as much as possible during times when I could be having fun.” Meri speared a piece of hard-boiled egg.

“Terrible! How do you cope, Meri? I’d go crazy!”

“I have my ways. Like now. He doesn’t know I have these lunches with you. Sometimes I go window shopping to see the newest fashions between errands. I take my time when he sends me out.”

Siri swallowed her bit of sandwich with an audible gulp. “Meri, be careful. You could get you fired. Or worse.”

“Worse than enslaving a woman?” Meri’s right eyebrow arched up.

“Well, he
is
your employer. A rich one.”

“I’m careful. I don’t do these things all the time, only enough to give me some control in my life…and over him. For a man in a wheelchair, he’s surprisingly powerful.”

“It’s his money, not his legs giving him power.”

“True, Siri. But I think the wheelchair gives him power, too. People don’t challenge him because they’re afraid to offend him. He takes full advantage of people any way he can. Ha! They say women are manipulative.

“I see it happen all the time. He insults visitors or businessmen and they just look away. I hear them talking as I escort them out. They say things like, ‘I would be angry if I lost the use of my legs. Can you blame him?’ They just shake their heads as if he’s a poor little boy. He wouldn’t be quite so powerful or get his way quite so much if he wasn’t tied to a wheelchair. I wonder if he always behaved this way—before the wheelchair.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t dare ask him and no one who works there knows—or won’t tell me…yet.”

Siri lifted her cup of coffee, but stopped. “Are you going to try to find out?”

Meri finished the last of her lunch. “I’ll find out and use the information in some way to improve my situation.”

“Sounds dangerous, Meri.”

“Siri, everything about working for him seems dangerous.” Meri sighed.

Siri rolled her eyes, remembering she told Meri about this job.

§

In October 1929 newspaper headlines barked of the stock market crash in America. Meri worried, along with her fellow coworkers, what effect the fall of such an economic and political giant would have on France. As days, weeks, and months of conjecture and fretting went by, she noticed France seemed immune to the tidal wave of devastation America’s financial crisis caused her neighbors in Europe—Britain and Germany most acutely. For her and Monsieur Nurmi, life seemed to continue as usual.

In 1930, Meri celebrated her one year anniversary of being a personal assistant. Monsieur Nurmi summoned her into the library after supper. She thought he was going to have her type another useless letter.

“Meri, are you aware I hired you a year ago?” As usual, he faced away from her and was looking down at a book on his lap.

Meri had gotten used to speaking to various inanimate objects in the library. This time she decided to respond to the marble table lamp. “
Non,
Monsieur
.
I wasn’t aware. A whole year? My Goodness.”
What does he want me to say? Am I supposed to thank him for the privilege of serving him?

“Is that all you have to say?” From the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders stiffen.

“
Non,
Monsieur. I’ve enjoyed my duties and hope to work here for many more years.”
He wants me to tell him how much I like him
, Meri thought as she rolled her eyes.

“Good. Good. You have come along quite nicely, having been so inexperienced when I hired you. I thought I had made a mistake, but I am not a man who makes mistakes. You have proven yourself to be an adequate assistant.”

“
Merci
. Monsieur”

Adequate? The nerve!

“It is my policy to give my loyal employees a bit of an incentive each year they are with me. You may find this hard to believe, but many of my former employees have not lasted even one month, let alone one year.” He turned his chair, facing Meri.

She stepped back. “Incentive, Monsieur?” Her eyes veered to the arm of his wheelchair, giving her enough scope of vision to be prepared for what he might do next and to show him, if he looked at her, that her eyes were closer to looking directly at him.
He didn’t hire a wash rag!

“I thought you might be interested. Every employee wants more then they earn. But, alas, France is not immune to the economic troubles of the world.”

Monsieur Nurmi is up to something. But what?
Meri knew a little something about the current economic circumstances around the world, but she saw no signs of any hardships in Paris or in Monsieur Nurmi’s daily business dealings.
Maybe he knows something I don’t. After all, he’s connected to people in both political and financial circles who know much more about France’s vitality than I do.
A worrier by nature and experience, Meri began to doubt France’s immunity from economic crisis. Meri’s head reeled with questions she dared not ask.
If so many other countries are in such desperate conditions, how long can France continue to sell its wine and cheese? How many rich people around the world are left to visit Paris and buy expensive fashions?

“Meri? Are you listening to me?”

“
Oui,
Monsieur. You know much more about these things than I do.” She now spoke to the rug in front of him, her bravado waning.

“With all this financial doubt in the air, increasing your wages is impossible. To compensate, I am willing to retain your services. Many people like you are losing their jobs, so consider yourself fortunate. In addition, I will no longer require evening work, and you may have every Sunday off to do as you wish. I think this is a very generous compromise.”

Her gaze crept back up to the wheelchair’s arm. “
Merci
, Monsieur. I expected nothing.”
Not even a few more francs? You miser!

She saw what resembled a grimace fleet across his face. “Meri. You are a realist. You take what you are offered and don’t complain. You and I are alike in that way.”

Meri thought,
Ah, that’s what his smile looks like.
“Do you need me for anything else this evening, Monsieur?”

“
Non.
Not officially.” He chuckled. It sounded more like a hacking cough. “Since this is the last evening I will have you here on business, I want you to do one thing before you leave.”

Meri stood still, awaiting her instructions.

“Come closer.”

“
Pardon
?”

“Are you deaf, Girl? I said come to me.”

“To you…to your chair? Monsieur?” He had never let Meri look directly at him and now he wanted her to stand close to him. A shiver went down her spine.

“Where else?”
Thrump-thrump…thrump-thrump.
Meri had grown used to the sound of his fingers drumming the arms of his wheelchair. It usually meant he felt impatient or agitated. Neither was a good sign.

Meri edged herself around his desk and stood behind his chair.
Maybe he wants me to push him somewhere.

“
Non,
come in front of me and kneel down. I do not want you looking down on me. I am a proud man—a fault I have always had—and having to live with people constantly looking down on me infuriates me. I have all the riches a man could want, yet I feel vulnerable and worthless sitting in this god damned chair.” He looked up and spoke directly to her.

Meri knelt in front of him, sensing her professional life crash to the floor. “Monsieur, I don’t know what to say.” Meri’s heart beat so hard, she felt sure he could see her dress moving with each thump.

“I do not speak so…intimately with most people—with anyone, really. There is something about you, Meri. You have a fire inside you that I find irresistible. You remind me of someone I once knew…someone I once cared very deeply about.”

Meri’s body trembled with fear on the inside but remained still on the outside. This sensation was all too familiar.
What’s he going to make me do?

Meri did not wait long to get the answer to her question. “I wanted to do this since the day we first met. I had to wait to see if you were the girl I imagined you would be. You are a fetching girl, Meri. I am still a man. I have needs. I cannot fulfill them in the way that I used to, but I have found another way. You may not know what I mean, but I want to teach you.”

“Monsieur Nurmi…”

“When we are together…like this…call me Topias. Say it. I want to hear you say my name.” He held her chin with his remarkably strong right hand.

“Top…Topias. This…this isn’t…”

“Hush. I will not fire you if you leave now and we will never speak of this again.” His eyes locked with hers. “Unfortunately, I have revealed very personal things to you. Our professional relationship may be compromised and might have to be ended if I find matters, shall I say, become unsatisfactory. Do you understand?”

Meri blinked and nodded as much as his grip on her chin would allow.
“Vulnerable and worthless” my ass! I’m the one who’s vulnerable, not him!

“Good girl. I’m glad we understand each other. Now, take this book from my lap and put it on my desk.” He released her chin. The crooked smile stayed on his face while she stood up awkwardly and followed his instructions. Her trembling hands and the dizzy feeling in her head made it difficult to remain steady on her feet.

Meri had not yet turned to face him when he said, “Good. Now unbutton your blouse for me.”

She froze. A sick feeling rolled around in her stomach.
If I leave, he’ll fire me. If I stay, it’s Claude all over again, only with a man who can’t enter me. Or can he? Mon Dieu! Does every working girl in Paris have to give her body in exchange for her job?

“I know you heard me, Meri. Come over here next to me and unbutton your blouse.” His voice lilted with a dangerous undertone. Meri imagined a man gently waving a razor-sharp sword in the air.

She nearly tripped in her attempt to stand in front of him. She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse as her breathing became shallow and quick.

“No! Slowly. Carefully. Strip for me, my good little girl.”

Mon Dieu, are all men lusty pigs?
Meri thought as she tried her best to do a striptease for another vile man who controlled her life, wondering what would happen once she was naked. All she could muster was undressing very slowly and tossing each garment—her blouse, skirt, slip, stockings, shoes, bra, and finally, panties in a small pile at the base of the wheelchair. She stood, shaking, naked and ashamed in front of him with her hands clenched by her side in tight fists.
Is this what all professional assistants do?
Meri’s cheeks flushed red, partly from embarrassment and partly from the rage burning inside her.

“Ah, beautiful. Turn around.”
This is familiar. Parisian men must be natural born inspectors. And pigs. I hate them all.