The lovely Mrs Clarke was sitting in the living room with a visitor. At least, with her halo of soft blonde hair and big blue eyes, she would be lovely, if she didn’t have an irritating Home Counties schoolgirl accent and was so resolutely unsmiling. I couldn’t help noticing that the visitor, presumably, judging from the overalls he wore, the man who had just delivered the dresser, was clutching a mug of coffee. Over the last two years I have worked two hours every week for Mrs Clarke, trudging in from the road where she makes me park in all weathers, and I have never been offered a cup of coffee, tea or any other form of refreshment.

‘Hello!’ The visitor hailed me in a loud and cheery voice. He was a pleasant-looking, elderly man, and judging from his loud voice, possibly deaf.

Mrs Clarke cast a look over her shoulder. ‘Oh. Juno,’ she greeted me in a desultory tone. ‘Bedrooms.’ Having given me my instructions, she wasted no more words on me, and turned back to her visitor.

‘Aren’t you joining us for coffee?’ the visitor asked.

A questioning glance at Verbena’s stiffened countenance told me that I wasn’t paid to waste my time on pleasantries and I’d better get my ass up the stairs. ‘’Fraid not!’ I told him and beat it up the staircase.

‘Shame!’ he said. As I reached the landing, I heard him enquire loudly, ‘Who’s the Titian-haired beauty?’ Despite my ears being on stalks I only caught the end of her reply: ‘cleaning woman’. She might as well have said ‘serf’. Perhaps she’d like it branded on my forehead so future visitors would appreciate my lowly status and not attempt to engage me in conversation.

In the master suite I found the most pleasant member of the Clarke family, Perdita the pedigree Persian, stretched out on the bed. She rolled around luxuriously, showing off her gorgeous fluffy tummy and allowing me to adore her. I suspect that Perdita was only purchased because she looks so fabulous reclining on the furniture, although if she keeps bringing in dead voles and chewed-up baby rabbits from outside, she may well find she’s on borrowed time.

When I’d finished in the master suite, with its white-marble bathroom, there were two more for me to clean. Frankly, I think Verbena’s teenage offspring should be made to clean their own bedrooms’ en suite. Picking up dirty knickers and grubbing long hair out of the shower plughole with a bent paper clip is character-building stuff.