‘Mm … ’ Mrs Traynor held it up and squinted. ‘Your previous employer says you are a “warm, chatty and life-enhancing presence”.’
‘Yes, I paid him.’
That poker face again.
Oh hell, I thought.
It was as if I were being studied. Not necessarily in a good way. My mother’s shirt felt suddenly cheap, the synthetic threads shining in the thin light. I should just have worn my plainest trousers and a shirt. Anything but this suit.
‘So why are you leaving this job, where you are clearly so well regarded?’
‘Frank – the owner – sold the cafe. It’s the one at the bottom of the castle. The Buttered Bun. Was,’ I corrected myself. ‘I would have been happy to stay.’
Mrs Traynor nodded, either because she didn’t feel the need to say anything further about it, or because she too would have been happy
