The Three Halves of Martyn Manning - Chapter Nine - A Breakthrough

He was a little surprised that things weren’t going quite as smoothly
as he’d hoped. He thought he’d start at the top end of the market
so his first call was to Berkeley Family Placements, “Oxfordshire’s
Premier Placement Agency for Trusted Family Help”. He met the
owner, Arabella Berkeley, in her plush office in central Oxford where
she was very pleasant and helpful to start with as she introduced her
agency, but as Martyn outlined his requirements she looked
increasingly horrified and eventually fumbled under her desk. By the
time she’d finished saying “I’m afraid we don’t normally
provide those kinds of services here Mr Manning” a burly security
man was stood by her office door. At least that was better than the
reception he got from Bentleys of Buckingham, who described
themselves as “prize-winning” and “catering to an exclusive
county client list”. Unfortunately, Miss Helena Gatenby-Smythe
described Martyn as “a pervert” and told him that if he ever came
back she would call the police. To be honest he was genuinely
confused and bewildered by these responses. In his mind he had a
perfectly reasoned argument and a perfectly rational proposition and
solution. What was wrong with these people? Why can’t they
understand basic logic?

He thought about this. Maybe he’d been wrong to go to the top end of
the market first. Maybe the established market leaders were exactly
that, established and set in their ways, having neither the desire
nor need to cater for customers looking for a bespoke service. Maybe
he needed a smaller, more flexible agency, a disrupter if you like.

He’d spent another ten minutes on his search engine, and now he was on a
shabby industrial estate on the outskirts of Bicester looking for the
offices of Baltic to Balkan Household Services. Their website was not
as slick and professional as Berkeleys or Bentleys, and the written
English was idiosyncratic to say the least, but they had glowing
reviews (were they fake?) and they specialised in placing Eastern
European girls, mainly from Romania and Bulgaria, rather than
blushing home counties debs and highly qualified Spanish and Italian
graduates wanting to improve their spoken English. Yes, maybe these
guys wouldn’t turn their noses up at someone with an unusual
request, this could be the disrupter he was looking for.

He found the door wedged between a car repair shop and a fruit juice
wholesalers. He knew he was in the right place thanks to a black on
white printed piece of A4 paper sellotaped to the window. He climbed
the stairs and found himself in a small reception area where he
approached the young woman behind the desk.

“Good morning!” he said with a smile. “My name’s Martyn Manning, I
have an 11.00am appointment with Monika Radountcheva. Have I
pronounced that correctly?”

The receptionist neither looked up nor answered his question.

“Pliz take a seat. I tell Miss Radountcheva you here.”

The receptionist picked up the phone and muttered a few words he didn’t
understand. He was clearly dismissed so he made his way to a tired
looking sofa and took stock. The office was what he’d call
uncared-for-utility-functional, built in the early eighties and
ignored since, and certainly not intended to welcome or impress
important visitors. His eyes fell on a grey metal filing cabinet on
which stood a hot drinks dispenser and a tray of saucers containing
sachets of sugar, artificial sweetener and plastic stirrers. The torn
and crumpled remains of now empty sachets lay on the tray, along with
a single teaspoon holding a small pool of the previous user’s
coffee. At Bentleys they’d brought him Earl Grey tea in a bone
china cup and saucer. He got himself a black coffee and sat down
again. There was nothing to read so he stared into space. They sat in
silence for several minutes until the phone rang. The receptionist
picked it up and listened briefly then put it down again without
speaking. She looked at Martyn for the first time.

“I take you her now.”

She came out from behind the desk and stood by the door to wait for him.
It was the first time he’d seen her full length and he was
impressed by her fragile yet healthy slenderness, which East European
girls somehow manage to maintain even when they come to live in the
decadent West. He usually was impressed by the bodies of East
European girls. Fast food and corn syrup have a lot to answer for. He
picked up his polystyrene cup and followed her down a short corridor
while trying not to spill his coffee. She opened a door and gestured
him through. He found himself in a cramped, untidy office where a
woman, presumably Monika Radountcheva, sat behind a small cluttered
desk. She rose and held out her hand.

“Good morning Mr Manning. Please take a seat.”

They shook hands and both sat down.

“So you found us OK? Some people say that our postcode is not on their
satnavs.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries. She was in early middle-age with a
short black crash helmet haircut, clearly overweight, but smartly
dressed with a pleasant smile. He decided he’d fuck her if she
offered, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to put much effort into
it. She spoke perfect English but with a noticeable accent. She also
had a direct and businesslike manner.

“So Mr Manning, how can we help you? You said in your e-mail that you
have some special requirements.”

“Well yes. In short I’m looking for a live-in nanny. I don’t want an
au-pair. I want a qualified experienced nanny to look after my two
kids. I work long hours and she will have a lot of responsibility and
I want to know I can trust her.”

“That’s what we’re here for Mr Manning. We have made many such placements
and I can provide you with many satisfied client references if you
like. And we have several highly qualified and experienced girls on
our books looking for such work. I’m sure it won’t be a problem
finding someone suitable. But you mentioned special requirements?”

Martyn paused before responding.

“What do you think might be the typical cost of a nanny like I’ve
described?”

Monika Radountcheva looked him straight in the eye to gauge his reaction to
her reply.

“A girl like this, living-in, with accommodation and food included will
cost around £500 to £600 a week. This is a good price. Wages are
low in Eastern Europe and you will find our rates are very
competitive.”

She smiled.

“£500-£600 a week.” He paused while he made a mental calculation. “So what’s
that, say about £25,000-£30,000 a year.”

Monika Radountcheva tapped on a calculator.

“Yes, that’s about right.”

“I can pay £60,000 a year.”

Monika Radountcheva’s expression slowly turned from one of hopeful
encouragement to one of bemusement. Eventually she replied.

“But Mr Manning, why would you pay so much money?”

He took a deep breath.

“Miss Radountcheva. I’m a single man with two young children. I work hard
and have neither the time nor inclination for dating. I still however
have needs and desires. I want the girl to sleep with me.”

Monika Radountcheva’s expression turned from bemusement to confusion.

“Sleep with you? But Mr Manning, I thought I explained, all our girls will
sleep with you. You asked me for a live-in nanny. That means she will
sleep in your house.”

For a fraction of a second Martyn was taken aback at the thought of
getting a better bargain than he’d hoped for. Then he realised that
although Monika Radountcheva was grammatically perfect and owned an
extensive vocabulary, she hadn’t quite mastered all the idioms and
nuances of the English language. He sought to clarify.

“No, I mean sleep with me.”

He emphasised “me”.

“Sleep with me. In the same bed. I want her to do everything a wife would
do.”

Monika Radountcheva’s expression remained one of confusion.

“I want her to have sex with me.”

There was a long silence. Monika Radountcheva’s expression changed from
confusion, to astonishment then disbelief as Martyn’s words sank
in. Martyn prepared himself to be thrown out. Again. But he continued
to watch as eventually Monika Radountcheva visibly pulled herself
together. Maybe she’d just been calculating her commission.

“Well...Mr Manning….that certainly is an unusual request...a ‘special
requirement’. “

In truth she had absolutely no idea if she could persuade any of her
girls to take up this offer, but at sixty grand a year it was worth a
try.

“How often do you think you’d expect the girl to have sex with you?”

“Oh, a couple of times a week should be fine, I’d have thought a weekday
night and a weekend morning should do it.”

“And those nights when you don’t have sex, would you expect the girl to
sleep in your bed on those nights also?”

“Yes of course. But I don’t want any of this to be contractual. I’m
paying for a wife if you like, and I’ll expect her to behave like
one.”

“I’m afraid it may have to be contractual Mr Manning.”

He’d never got this far with either Berkley Family Placements or Bentleys
of Buckingham. He threw caution to the wind.

“Of course I want her to be pretty and attractive.”

“We have many pretty girls Mr Manning. Prettiness is not the issue.”

“And when we make love I want her to act like she really loves it, like
she really loves me, not just lie there and take it like it’s just
part of the job.”

“Mr Manning you have already given me a very demanding brief with a very
specific set of criteria. I’m really not at all sure I can help
you. I can promise to do my best but there are no guarantees. So
please don’t make my job any harder.”

Yes, he thought to himself, maybe that was a bit too much.

“I’m sorry, I understand.”

“One last thing Mr Manning. Please remember I also have a duty to my
girls. Do you have any kinks or perversions that I need to know
about? That you would expect the girl to go along with?”

Martyn thought for a few moments before replying.

“Not really. A little light bondage, and I can be a bit rough sometimes.
But no-one’s ever complained and I would always respect the girl’s
wishes.”

Monika Radountcheva scribbled a note on her pad.

“OK Mr Manning, I think that’s enough to be getting on with. You have
my number and mail address. If you think of anything else don’t
hesitate to give me a call. And if I need anything I’ll be in
touch. As I said, this is a very demanding brief. I’ll get to work
on it this afternoon but it may be a few days till you hear anything
from me.”

As he walked back through reception he said goodbye to the receptionist
but she didn’t look up from her screen. At the same time as he was
walking across the car park Monika Radountcheva was speaking to the
receptionist. If you could speak Romanian you’d have heard “Elena,
come to my office quickly. You’re not going to believe this one.”
Then “Did you think he was attractive?”