Page 22 of Broken Beyond Repair

“It’s just the two of us for the time being; we may as well eat together. That way we can work. Not tonight, though. I’m too tired. Fetch me some painkillers, would you?”

Sydney placed a glass of water and paracetamol beside Beatrice as the actress tapped furiously at her phone.

“Actually, I’ll have a glass of wine.”

As Sydney reached for the box of paracetamol, Beatrice placed her hand on top of hers and without moving her gaze from her phone muttered, “I may still need those.”

It wasn’t Sydney’s place to advise against mixing alcohol and painkillers. She withdrew her hand, the softness of Beatrice’s hand against hers making the hairs on her arms shoot skyward.

They ate in silence. Sydney, taking her cue from Beatrice, absorbed herself in her phone.

“How was it?” Sydney asked as Beatrice finally placed her knife and fork onto her plate.

“Very good. You can indeed cook.”

That was the second ‘very good’ she’d received on day one. Thanks to her upbringing by the sea, seafood was Sydney’s speciality, and by the looks of Beatrice’s food delivery, she, too, was a fan of it.

“I don’t mind cooking for us — it makes sense — but would you clarify what else I’ll be doing? I’m a PA, not a housekeeper.”

“If you were any sort of PA, then you would have summoned a housekeeper,” Beatrice replied dryly, glaring over the top of her black-rimmed glasses.

“I assumed you would have one.”

Beatrice eyed her. “You assume a great deal.” Returning her attention to her mobile phone, she added, “In this case, your assumption would be correct. There’s Mrs Clarkson; she lives nearby and pops in most days. She’s unable to join us for two weeks; until then you’ll have to cope. Unless you feel such work is beneath you, of course?”

“No. I just like to be clear about what is expected of me.”

Sydney found herself under Beatrice’s scrutiny once again.

“Mrs Clarkson will do some cooking; you can discuss it between you once she arrives.”

“Do you not cook?”

“God, no, I’m terrible at it. I’d kill us both.”

Sydney made a mental note that should Beatrice ever offer to cook for her, it was a sign their relationship had reached the point of no return.

“She’s only part-time. We adopted her with the house. She’s getting on a bit now, so she doesn’t do as much. Xander will cook when he arrives. He has a passion for it. God knows where from.”

“Xander?”

“My son,” Beatrice replied, her tone questioning rather than informative.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I didn’t know you had a son.”

Beatrice removed her glasses and studied Sydney.

“What was the name of my last film?”

Sydney shrugged.

“My first film?”

Sydney shrugged again, unsure where Beatrice was going with this.

“Name any of them.”

Would the woman sack her for not knowing her work?