Beauty and the Beast

By P. L KURUP

When Eliza James lands a job with a £60000 salary, all her troubles seem to be over. The problem is it requires her to live in the secluded home of her employer, the mysterious Stefan Bainbridge.

Despite the misgivings, Eliza travels to the imposing Beatrice House, where she finds labyrinthine corridors filled with rare artworks,,and the despotic Mr. Bainbridge, on whom she is not allowed to set eyes.

What is Stefan Bainbridge's dark secret? And, by entering his domain, has Eliza James made the biggest mistake of her life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: L Books
• Release date: Dec 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386167235

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Eliza James woke at 6.30am and sighed as she thought about the day ahead. Kicking off the bedclothes, she swung her feet to the floor and staggered to the bathroom. The reflection in the bathroom mirror revealed a pretty, green eyed woman with long brown hair, clear skin and perfectly shaped eyebrows. Despite having had eight hours of blissful sleep, she had bags under her eyes and yawned excessively. 

After showering, she wrapped herself in a towel, went back to her bedroom, and changed into a crisp white blouse, navy trouser suit, and a pair of black high-heeled shoes. 

Be calm and positive, she told herself, looking in the mirror once again. 

She then walked downstairs and picked up a brown envelope lying on the doormat. The words Payment overdue, were scrawled at the top, so she tossed it into the waste paper basket and walked out of the house.   

Eliza slid behind the wheel of the yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked in the street, slotted the key into the ignition and turned the key, but the fifteen-year-old car refused to start. She gave the key one more turn, willing it to start with everything she had, and heard the engine roar into life. 

Thank you, she said, kissing the steering wheel before driving down the street. 

It was a grey September morning, and despite the chilliness she switched the air conditioning to full and breathed in the blast of cold air coming out of the vents. Eliza turned the car onto the main road and, almost at once, her car stopped moving as it became cocooned in heavy traffic. At first, she looked a little helpless at the thought of not being able to move her car, but she soon shrugged it off and concentrated on what to say for her interview. 

I know I’m young, but I hope you won’t judge a book by its cover, Eliza said aloud. After all, Queen Victoria was only eighteen when she ascended the throne. 

Her car crawled along at a pitiful pace and she tried not to think about the million-and-one things that were currently cluttering her life, or the contents of that little brown envelope. 

Glancing at the dashboard clock, she saw that it was almost 9.00a.m, but the Volkswagen was still trapped in traffic and unable to wriggle free. She looked around for a parking space, as she was already late for her interview, and spotted a deserted alleyway on her left. It was clearly not a parking space, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, so she took a left turn and parked in the alley.

Eliza bolted onto the pavement, and after ten minutes of frantic sprinting, she reached a tall building with a white door and tumbled through the entryway.

My name is Eliza James. I have an interview with Mrs. Fox, she said, walking up to the reception desk. 

The stylish receptionist nodded to a clock on the wall and replied, You were supposed to be here at nine, not half past.

I know, but I was stuck in traffic. Please tell me where I need to go for the interview. 

Second floor. Third door on the right. Good luck. 

Thank you, Eliza replied. 

She climbed the staircase to the second floor and her face dropped as she saw twelve other people in smart clothes already waiting. Eliza took an empty seat and tried not to make eye contact with anyone as she needed to calm her nerves. 

xxx

An hour and a half later, after everyone else had been summoned and left, a secretary called her name. Eliza rose from her seat and walked into an office with modern furniture and a painting of Big Ben on the wall. Her eyes went to a middle-aged woman with straight blonde hair, sitting behind a desk, who declined to offer any smile or greeting which she took as a bad sign. 

You might as well sit down, the woman said. 

Eliza took the seat opposite her.

I’m sorry I was late. I was stuck in traffic, Eliza explained. 

All the other candidates got here on time, the woman observed. Why couldn’t you do the same? 

You’re right, Mrs. Fox. I should have been here on time.

Not a very good first impression, is it? Mrs. Fox continued. 

Terrible. But my lateness aside, I hope you can see my potential. I have a great deal of experience... and I know I’m young, but even Queen Victoria— 

Do you think I should hire you for the post? Mrs. Fox interrupted. 

I’m very hardworking, and I’m actually over-qualified— 

Let me rephrase, Mrs. Fox butted in again. Do you think I should hire you based on how bad your first impression was? 

I think you should hire someone who had the decency to turn up on time, she replied quietly. 

Exactly. 

Eliza got up from her seat and retreated to the office door.

Thank you for teaching me a lesson, she whispered. 

She wandered along the now empty corridor, back down the stairs, and past the receptionist. 

I should have mentioned she detests tardiness. The receptionist chuckled as Eliza passed her desk. 

Eliza left the building and trudged down the street at a lacklustre pace, and wished she hadn’t bothered with the interview. When she arrived at the alleyway where she had parked her car, she found it blocked by a grey van. Her eyes searched for the driver, but she could not locate him anywhere; so sitting heavily on a bench, she awaited his return. 

The traffic went by in droves and Eliza watched it apathetically, as all she could think about was Mrs. Fox’s reprimand, and how she definitely didn’t get the job. A double-decker bus stopped in front of her, and she saw an advertisement on its side for a dream job, along with a phone number at the bottom. She didn’t give the display a second thought, because there was no such thing as ‘a dream job’. The bus drove on and she put her chin in her hand and pouted at how awful her day was. 

Two hours later, the van owner finally moved his van, and Eliza sighed before getting into her car and driving away. 

During the drive, her mind racked with all kinds of ways to pay off her debts, but none of the solutions seemed achievable and she dismissed them one by one. She chewed her nails as she thought about her failings and drove through a red light without even realising it. Eliza eventually steered the car into a pretty avenue lined with apple trees and white terrace houses, still thinking about the awful interview...and stopped abruptly when she saw a red Ford Fiesta parked outside her home. A quick scan of the car established there was no one waiting, meaning the owner was inside her house. 

Not good, she said. 

After parking the car, she walked to her house and opened the front door, and almost at once, the nauseating stench of body odour caught in her throat and brought tears to her eyes. Eliza covered her nose and shut the door. 

We’re in here, a female voice said. 

Eliza walked into the living room to find her sister, Abby, sitting near an open window and looking perturbed. 

Eighteen-year-old Abby was a younger version of Eliza, as she had the same green eyes and shoulder-length brown hair. She wore a Queen t-shirt, skinny jeans, and sat up straight in her chair. Opposite her, sat a middle-aged, bespectacled woman, with short mousey-brown hair, and the misfortune of having terrible personal hygiene. The woman interlocked her fingers and gave Eliza a condescending look. 

So nice to see you again, Eliza, said Mrs. Morag Weir, the tax office’s chief debt collector. 

Eliza exchanged a glance with her sister. 

I haven’t got the money, Eliza told her straight out. But I’ll be happy to give it to you as soon as I’m employed. 

And when will that be? Mrs. Weir asked in a pronounced Scottish accent. 

Very soon, Eliza promised. 

Let me remind you, the tax office has given you ample time to get a job and now it’s time to pay up. Of course, the eight thousand pounds you currently owe may be increased at some point, said Morag. 

Increased? asked Abby. What for? 

Mrs. Weir gave a smug smile. It turns out your sister unfairly claimed car journeys to and from work as a deductible expense. We believe she was wrong to do so. 

Leave her alone, you stupid cow, yelled Abby. 

Abby! Eliza snapped. She turned back to the stick-thin Morag. Forgive my sister; she’s very upset. I shall have the money in a week’s time. 

In order for me to give you another week, I shall need something as collateral. Mrs. Weir’s eyes went to the laptop sitting on the coffee table. The computer will do nicely. 

No, my sister needs it for her course, Eliza said quickly. Take my car. 

But you need that car, Abby pointed out. 

I can take the bus, Eliza said, tossing the car keys to Mrs. Weir. It’s the yellow Volkswagen Beetle at the end of the street. 

Mrs. Weir smiled. 

The car it is, then, she said, getting to her feet. I will be back one week from today to collect the remaining seven thousand pounds. I’m guessing your car will fetch one thousand pounds at the most. 

Mrs. Weir left the room and the sisters heard the front door open and close. 

You love that car, Abby said. You should have let her take my computer. 

You need it to finish your degree. Anyway, I’ll buy a new car when I get a job. 

Abby winced and said, I take it the interview was unsuccessful? 

I only need someone to see my true potential. Once that happens, I will get a job. 

Abby walked over and gave Eliza a hug. 

I have faith in you, sis. 

Half an hour later, the sisters saw a truck tow the yellow Volkswagen Beetle down the street and out of their lives. 

I’ll make dinner, Eliza announced, fleeing to the kitchen. 

She placed her hands on the stainless-steel rim and lowered her eyes to the leftover breakfast items in the bowl, and gathered her scattered emotions. Tears welled up in her eyes as Abby wandered in, and she quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and started washing the dishes. 

I thought I’d make chicken pie, she said casually. 

We can always sell the house, Abby said. It’s too big for the two of us anyway. 

Eliza spun round to face her sister. 

"We are not selling this house, Eliza replied slowly. I’ll get a job."

Abby brushed her sister’s shoulder with her hand. Of course you will. 

Dinner was a muted affair where neither sister exchanged a word and Eliza barely ate the chicken pie she had slaved over. 

After dinner, Eliza traipsed upstairs to her bedroom, and checked her mobile phone to see she had a text message. 

Dear Miss James, I am sorry to say your interview was unsuccessful on this occasion. I wish you success in your future job searches. Kind regards, Mrs. Fox. 

Eliza threw the phone on the bed and burst into tears. 

What am I going to do?      

CHAPTER 2

Later that evening, Eliza trawled through the internet job sites and applied for everything and anything she could find. She spent five dogged hours at her desk and sent off forty applications, and it didn’t matter whether she was over qualified or under qualified, whether the job was one mile from home or a hundred; the need to be free of debt grew more desperate with every click of the mouse.

When she finally lifted her fingers from her sister’s laptop, it was nearly 1.00am, and she collapsed back in her chair. 

As she got up from the desk, an advertisement on the back of one of her sister’s magazines caught her eye. She pursed her lips as she noticed it was the same announcement she had seen on the side of the bus the previous afternoon. 

Open minded candidates sought for a dream job. Starting salary of £60000/annum. Initial advance of £500.   

There was no other information, only a phone number at the bottom, and contemplating the sixty thousand pound a year salary, she snatched up her phone and dialled the number. After a few rings, a man with a gruff voice answered, Thank you for your interest in the position. Please arrive at 54 Haythorne Avenue for an interview at 10:46am. Goodbye. 

The call disconnected.  

That’s it? Hello? 

Since the call had ended, she put the phone down, when it rang again. She answered it, assuming the disconnected number had called her back. 

I was wondering if there were any further instructions— 

Sweetie, are you all right? her boyfriend answered.

Lee, I’m so glad you called, Eliza said, realising her mistake. I’m fine. Are you coming over tonight? 

I said I would. 

That’s perfect. I’ll have something to look forward to after my interview. 

Haven’t you got a job yet? her boyfriend asked. 

Congratulations on getting an interview would have been more supportive, she thought. 

No, not yet. 

It might be because of the way you dress, he stated. 

Eliza bristled at the criticism and asked, What’s wrong with the way I dress? 

To be honest, he said, you don’t dress as smartly as some of the other girls I’ve gone out with. Perhaps you need a makeover...Anyway, I must go. I’ll see you tonight at seven. 

Eliza disconnected before Lee did and tossed the phone on the bedside table. She lay down on top of the bedcovers, and didn’t give her mysterious job another thought, as it would most likely be a hoax. 

xxx

When she woke six hours later, her first thoughts were that there were now only six days until Mrs. Weir’s return, and that she could not afford to ignore any job interviews, even a dubious one like this. 

After taking a shower she opened her wardrobe and decided she needed something smart, so she pulled out a dark grey trouser suit and held it up against herself. It was the suit she had worn for the Guardian newspaper interview three weeks earlier, a job she had desperately wanted, but didn’t get. She decided it was a bad omen so she put the suit back, and pulled out a pale green ensemble with black buttons on the jacket. It wasn’t the perfect choice—a bit too gaudy—but it would have to do. Hence, she slipped it on and brushed her long brown hair. 

As she met her sister at the foot of the stairs, Eliza noted that Abby’s breathing seemed laboured. You’ve lost your inhaler again, haven’t you? Eliza asked quickly. 

My inhaler’s in my pocket and my breathing’s fine, Abby replied. "I’m just excited about your interview. I wanted to wish you good