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Chapter Five

The next morning Bosley was fixing breakfast.

Sabrina struggled in, one hand over her forehead.

"Good morning," Bosley said cheerfully.

She placed both hands over her ears and winced. "Please! Not so loud."

"Sorry," he said in a softer voice. "Head hurt?"

She nodded slowly, then wished she hadn't. Her head felt like it wanted to explode. "Remind me not to drink so much. What was in that stuff, anyway?"

"That's a secret. You hungry?"

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "I'd rather not think about food right now." She lowered herself painfully into a chair. "What's a good cure for a hangover?"

"A few raw eggs or a bloody Mary."

"Raw eggs?" She repeated, turning pale.

He nodded.

"I think I'd rather keep the hangover."

He laughed. "Do you remember anything about last night?"

"I was hoping it was all part of a dream," she answered. Her stomach started churning alarmingly as she thought about the night before and the smell of cooking food was definitely not helping. "Was I really that embarrassing?"

"You sure were," he answered emphatically. When he saw the look on her face he hastened to add, "We all were. Don't worry about it."

She swallowed hard and stood up shakily. "I think I'll go lie down for a while," she whispered.

"Something I said?" He asked apprehensively.

"No. I don't think I can stand the smell of food right now. Maybe I'll feel better after I rest for a while." She had to get out of that room before everything overwhelmed her. "I'll see you later." She hurried to the door as fast as she was able to move (which was none too fast in her condition).

"Jonathan called," he called after her brightly.

She froze and slowly turned to face him. "Are we being asked to leave?" She whispered. Surely she wasn't that outrageous. She didn't really remember much so she couldn't be positive.

"Not at all. He asked if we'd like to go out to lunch." He hoped she'd relax with that bit of news.

"Lunch?" She whispered, stomach rolling harder. That didn't make her feel better at all. She swallowed again and put her hand up to cover her mouth as the nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself.

"Late lunch," he amended sympathetically. "Very late lunch. Almost dinner. What do you say?"

"I don't know," she said slowly, not sure if she could face them again any time soon.

"Come on. You'll enjoy yourself," he cajoled.

"All right," she agreed reluctantly. "As long as it's closer to dinner." She turned and went back into her bedroom. She crawled back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, hoping that things would settle down to normal soon.

After a few minutes Bosley came in, cool cloth in hand. He placed it on her forehead.

She sighed appreciatively. "That feels so good," she whispered. Suddenly her stomach lurched again and she moaned softly.

"Can I get you anything?" He asked sympathetically. After all, he'd been on a few benders in his time and he understood exactly where she was coming from.

"Is there any alka-seltzer around?"

"I'll get some from next door," he promised.

"Would you mind?" Normally she'd be too proud to let anyone know how she was feeling, but she felt so miserable she didn't care who knew how foolish she was.

"Not at all."

She closed her eyes. "While you're there ask if it's a formal lunch."

"There's no such thing as a formal lunch," he replied in confusion. Surely she knew that as well as he did.

"You never know," she whispered, wishing the room would stop spinning. A groan slipped out.

"Will you be all right by yourself for a few minutes?" He asked worriedly.

She nodded slowly.

"Okay. I'll be right back." He left the room and hurried to the Hart's. He knocked on the front door.

Max answered the door. "Come on in, Mr. Bosley."

Bosley went into the foyer. "Thanks, Max."

Jonathan had heard the bell and was coming down the stairs. "John," he said, coming into to talk. "You're looking well recovered." He looked around. "Where's Sabrina?"

"Resting," Bosley answered. "Do you have any bicarbonate of soda?"

"Not doing too well, then?" Jonathan observed.

"No," Bosley admitted. "She's not a big drinker."

"I'll go get the bicarbonate," Max announced. He'd pulled a few all nighters himself and felt sympathy for her. He went upstairs to the medicine cabinet.

"By the way," Bosley asked absently. "Do you dress for lunch?"

"Usually. It wouldn't do to go naked into a restaurant. Some of us do have reputations to consider, old boy." He thought for a minute, considering the possibilities. "Then again, we could always experiment one night when Max is out," he said to himself.

"I meant formally," Bosley said patiently, trying to get his mind back on the current subject.

Jonathan laughed. "No, we don't. Whoever heard of dressing formally for lunch?"

"I promised I'd ask," Bosley explained sheepishly. "Be a little patient, Jonathan. She's got a lot on her mind. She was attacked the other night."

"Is she all right?" Jonathan asked, concerned.

"She'll be fine. We're just trying to figure out what they wanted."

"What's missing?" Jonathan asked curiously.

"Nothing. That's part of the puzzle."

Max came back downstairs and handed Bosley a bottle. "Here you are, Mr. Bosley."

Bosley took the bottle from him. "Thanks, Max."

"Are you coming to lunch?" Jonathan asked as Max headed into the kitchen.

"We are if you can make it nearer dinnertime."

"How about 6:00?"

"That should be fine." He looked around for the first time. "Hey, where's Jennifer? Cooking?"

Jonathan laughed. "Cooking, Jennifer? No, she's out shopping. She'll be back long before then. Did you need anything else?"

"Not yet. We'll see you later."

Bosley nodded and left. He hurried back to the guest house and to Sabrina's room. He walked in quietly. "Still awake?"

She opened her eyes. "Uh huh."

He went into the bathroom and put two tablets in a glass of water. He then went back to her side and put the glass on the table. "They don't dress for lunch," he said, helping her sit up slowly.

The room was spinning crazily. "Not so fast," she gasped anxiously. She vowed there and then to never drink that much again.

He moved slower until she was sitting up. He then sat beside her and held the cup to her lips.

She managed a few small sips gratefully. "Oh, that hits the spot."


"Much." She drained the glass. "What time is lunch?"

"Six. Can I fix you some eggs or something?"

"No, thanks," she answered quickly as her stomach protested. "It's a pity we're not dressing. I brought a lovely outfit."

"Wear it anyway," he suggested philosophically, taking the empty glass from her and putting it on the nightstand.

"What, and be overdressed?" She asked in a scandalous voice, grateful that her stomach seemed to be settling down at last.

"Why not?"

"Not unless you wear your suit," she countered.

"Nope. You packed it, you wear it."

She smiled. "I don't think it will fit."

"You can always take it in." He looked at his watch. "I have an idea. Why don't we go shopping?"

"For what?" She asked curiously.

"I don't know," Bosley answered. "We need to get a housewarming gift and I need a woman's input. You up to it?"

She nodded. "They're both very nice. They make you feel right at home."

"I told you that you didn't have to worry."

"I know. What did you have in mind?"

"I needed a woman's input for a reason, Bri," he answered pointedly.

"Oh." She thought for a minute. "Something for the house, I guess. We'll have to look around." She tried to get up out of bed and her knees got weak. She grabbed the edge of the bed frame for support.

He hurried to her side and helped her stand up, studying her for a minute. "You sure you're up to it?"

She took a few deep breaths. "I'll be fine." She took a step away from him, waiting to see if she could stand on her own. Pleased that the weakness seemed to be gone she said, "I'll only be a few minutes." She went into the bathroom. "Don't you dare leave without me," she called out through the door.

"I'll go get dressed and meet you in the living room. Shout if you need anything."

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