Page 21 of Broken Beyond Repair
Poor Gertie, she was a little on the incontinent side. Sydney was going to have to find a suitable time to mention that the chicken coop needed taking to the harbour. She’d leave it a while, at least until Sam confirmed that he’d managed to source the parts. Feeding Rosie’s cat on Beatrice’s time was going to be a separate challenge altogether.
Beatrice passed Sydney the key to open the imposing oak front door. A light shone through its stained-glass inlays, casting multiple colours onto the geometric tiles beneath her feet. She’d never been so eager to see inside a house and prayed it was in its original condition, not stripped of its Victorian features. Rarely did she get to work in old houses; most of her wealthy clients owned drab, sprawling new builds with underground car parks, gyms, and swimming pools. They were not her cup of tea.
Stepping over the threshold, Sydney was not disappointed. An ornate oak staircase swept up to a galleried landing where an enormous window flooded the room in natural light. An elegant glass chandelier hung over a circular table in the centre of the room, and beside the bay window overlooking the drive sat a grand piano. A full-size grand piano.
“Are you going to stand there all day gawping?” Beatrice snapped from behind her.
“Sorry.” Sydney moved to one side to allow Beatrice to crutch her way in. She took a closer look at the piano and nearly choked on her own saliva when she saw it was a Bechstein.
“Do you play?” Sydney asked, already imagining Beatrice’s talents extending to those of a concert pianist.
“I can play,” she allowed. “It doesn’t mean I do.”
“You seriously have a Bechstein and choose not to play it?”
“The point is I can choose to play it if I wish.”
Sydney was unsure what she meant and decided it was best not to push the matter any further.
“Your house is…” Sydney was about to use the word ‘exquisite’ until a memory from the wedding reception stopped her. That word had been the one that came to mind when she’d first laid eyes on the woman across the room from her.
“…grand,” she settled on.
That was better.
“I styled it myself,” Beatrice said in lieu of accepting the compliment. “You’ll have to find your own way around, I’m hardly able to give you a guided tour. There are plenty of bedrooms on the top floor, so take your pick. You’ll find everything you need in the laundry room. My bed will need making up too. That’s the suite at the back with the balcony.”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to have a lie-down in the drawing room before dinner; I don’t have the energy to attempt the stairs. All my clothes will need washing or dry cleaning. I have an account with the dry cleaners in town. Use the Range Rover for day-to-day jobs. I ordered a food delivery; it should arrive shortly. I’m sure you can work out where everything goes, and I assume you can cook.”
“Yes,” Sydney said. James had failed to mention she’d be housekeeper and cook. But she was a PA, a role where lines were often blurred, usually to the advantage of the employer.
Beatrice made her way into a bright, spacious room to the right of the entrance hall. Her crutches tapped against the wooden floor as she went. At least Sydney would be able to hear the woman coming — slowly. Ensuring Beatrice was comfortably placed on one of the large sofas, Sydney closed the door behind herself so as not to disturb her employer. She had a lot of work to do and needed to familiarise herself with her surroundings.
A sweep of the ground floor revealed a cosy sitting room, a formal dining room, and a study with one wall made into an entire bookshelf. It was stacked with an impressive array of books.
The kitchen was across the entrance hall in a large, modern rear extension. It was a stylish space with the entire exterior wall being one large glass door that could be pushed aside, allowing a smooth transition from indoors to outdoors during the warmer months.
It was more of a family room with an L-shaped sofa and an enormous, wall-mounted TV in the far left corner. A less formal dining table was placed beside it with an outlook over the garden. The remaining half of the space was taken up with floor-to-ceiling white kitchen cabinets and a long kitchen island that ran parallel. It divided the two spaces perfectly. All was finished off with black granite worktops and grey slate floor tiles. The hob and sink were stylishly incorporated within the kitchen island.
An inspection of the rest of the house revealed numerous bedrooms on the first floor; Sydney lost count after the fourth. The larger bedroom at the back she assumed was Beatrice’s, as its double doors led out onto a balcony where there was a table and two chairs. The room itself was divided into two zones. A huge bed sat against one wall with doors on either side, and the opposite wall held an enormous television, buttressed by two sofas.
Not wishing to intrude on the space, she turned her attention to the top floor, where the final room she discovered was the most anticipated. Squeezed between two bedrooms and accessed via a short staircase was the small, hexagonal turret room she’d spied from outside. It was adorable, with a wooden desk perfectly positioned under the window. It was enough to inspire any writer to greatness — or distract them from it. The remaining walls were bookcases, filled with books all the way up to where it transitioned into a hollow point.
A bedroom further along the top corridor called to her to take as her own. It was a large room with a glorious double-aspect view, yet it retained a cosy feel as it was tucked into the eaves. As she peered from the side window, she could make out Beatrice’s balcony below.
Beatrice certainly had created a masterpiece with her design, despite it being a sympathetic modern interpretation rather than a fully authentic period restoration. The original fireplaces, intricate ceiling roses, decorative mouldings, and cornicing remained; long gone were the heavily patterned wallpaper and deep colours. Every room had a refinery and elegance about it, not just in its décor, but in the furniture too. Large armchairs, ottomans, and chaises longues were all perfectly placed and accessorised.
Between wash loads, she made up the beds and accepted delivery of an enormous number of groceries from a delivery man who was a little upset that he’d been pushing the gate button for ten minutes without a response. Her employer had thought of everything when she did the online shopping. There was enough fresh food to keep them going for a week.
Every job with a new client was initially frustrating and tedious until Sydney learnt her way around their home. It took ten minutes to hunt down some washing powder in the laundry room, and it wasn’t until she was unpacking cold food into the empty fridge that she realised the thing wasn’t even on. The hunt for the power switch took another five minutes.
The tangy aroma of the lemon-roasted potatoes must have made it as far as the drawing room as the taping sound of crutches came from the hall later that day. Beatrice’s timing was perfect. The mussels were ready to go in the pot, and Sydney was just finishing the salad.
“You’ve only laid for one,” Beatrice said as she took a seat at the head of the table.
“I assumed…”
