"You can go in now," the woman in black said. She had leaded me through the house, going up and down several stairs and we were now standing before a big, wooden door.

I never felt more intimidated in my life. It was like the first day of school all over again, only now I did not have the reassuring hand of my father to hold on to, nor my mother's promise all would be well.

On the contrary, the only person here who with one friendly word could have helped me to give me at least some confidence did not even try to hide her disgust. The woman acted as if I had planned to get covered by lemonade, just before one of the most important job interviews in my life!

Ah well, it was understandable, because she had hated me from the beginning. The incident had only confirmed her suspicion. I was not worth to be a maid in this house! Still, she was not the one to decide. Not all was lost yet.

"Well," the woman said, "are you planning to go in today, or can I bring the next girl up". It was so clear to me she thought my interview a complete waste of time, and most likely she was right. Still I had to go in! I had to try!

"No, I will go," I said, swallowed, knocked on the door and entered.

The first thing I noticed where the books. I love books. The way they look, the way they smell and the way they give you the opportunity to escape this world and get lost in the words, forgetting everything around you that is real.

And here were more books then I had ever seen in a private house. It was like the libraries of the great English mansions. You know, the ones they sometimes show on television: my personal idea of heaven.

For a moment I was lost in awe, looking around to take it all in. Then a small cough made me remember where I was. I blushed and quickly turned around.

He was tall and handsome. But well, that was to be expected. Good looks and riches usually seem to go together. He kindly smiled at me, while offering his hand. "Gregory Weston," he said, "Master of the house. You probably expected my wife to be here to conduct the interview, but I am afraid that contrary to the letter you received, she is not able to be here. Maybe she'll manage to come later, but I'm not sure. Anyway, I hope you don't mind?"

"Anna Keizers," I said and smiled, for a moment forgetting my awkwardness, "No of course it's all right!". He looked nice and I felt relieved he did not seem to look down upon me. Maybe I still had a chance.

It was only after I had taken his hand, I realised my mistake. Not being able to clean, the remains of the lemonade made our hands stick together. It was only a moment, but long enough to be noticed.

"I am so sorry," I stuttered, while furiously blushing. I had never felt so embarrassed in my life. "I did not….I mean…I should have….it's only lemonade…I just had a small accident just before I was called…and there was no time to clean…"

"So we can see," another man said. I had not noticed him before, because contrary to Mr. Weston he had not stood up when I entered the room. Lying backwards in his comfortable chair, his eyes rested on my breasts and he softly chuckled. "But it suits you, so don't worry about it", he added. I don't think I ever felt so humiliated in my life.

"Keep quiet, Devon!" Mr. Weston said, "And do try to behave." Then turning back to me, he once again smiled. "Don't worry about the lemonade, Miss Keizer. It could have happened to anyone. I remember an incident with a glass of red wine…"

"I am sure Miss Keizer is not interested in that," the other man quickly responded, "don't you think you should introduce me, so we can get on with the interview, Gregory. I am sure Miss Keizer's time is valuable. Although, under the circumstances I have to ask to refrain from shaking her hand," he quickly added, again staring at my breasts.

"I am so sorry about the behaviour of my younger brother, Miss Keizer," Mr. Weston said, while frowning upon Devon. "He is here to help me with the interviews, but as you might have noticed, he is not too happy about it"

"Well I could have spend the afternoon in better company, Greg," Devon responded, "not even trying to be polite. "I am sure Miss Keizer understands! No insult intended."

His smile towards me could have fooled a shallow girl, but even though my looks might have been deceiving, I was not stupid. I knew exactly that he meant to insult me, and I felt hurt and angry, even though I knew it to be silly. After all, it was only natural for someone like him to look down upon someone like me.

Still before I knew it I answered: "Of course, Mr. Weston, I understand and naturally I feel exactly the same way. No insult intended!" It was with pleasure I saw the angry flicker in his eye that made me know he understood exactly what I had said and how it was intended.

Then I myself realised what I had said, I inwardly cowered and both my anger and the courage it had given me was gone. What had I done! Blown every opportunity to get the perfect job, while I so needed the money. Why could I not have shut up and ignored the insult. I was such a fool!

My thoughts were interrupted by a Mr. Weston. While I had been focusing on his younger brother, I had missed the amused expression on his face and was a bit shocked by his laughter.

"Well, now that's all out in the open, we might be able to go through with the interview," he chuckled. "Let's begin with the letter your send us. Do you know you were the only one who managed to write one without any spelling mistakes? My brother read them all and picked yours as the only one well written."

Thinking back at the other girls in the waiting room that did not surprise me too much, but I was not sure how to respond.

I looked at Devon, who smirked and said: "Ah well, grammar isn't all.

I glared at him, but did not dare to say much after my last remark.

Fortunately Mr. Weston did not seem to expect an answer.

He ignored Devon and went on: "We've read your resume and still have a few questions. You finished high school with really good marks. Why didn't you go to college or university? I mean, I understand if your financial situation made it impossible, but with results like these you should have been able to get a scholarship, without much trouble."

"Because of personal circumstances," I answered.

I knew my answer was probably too short to be considered polite, but I did not know what else to say.

I did not want to share my problems with these men.

I did not want to share it with Mr. Weston because he might pity me and I could not handle to be pitied, while my pride was all I had left.

I did not want to share it with Devon Weston, because he would look even more down on me then he already did and I could certainly not handle him assuming me to be begging for a job, by telling them the story of my life.

So I kept silent and stared at the ground.