firm note to pile Gabriel Olney’s plate with extra sausage and black pudding.
Jasmine Olney made no comment on her husband’s starvation, real or otherwise. Her eyes had gone straight to Brian O’Keefe, and had stayed there.
It was not surprising. With his shirt undone all the way to his waist in an effort to beat the heat, he was really something to look at. Especially since, with the block and tackle slung casually over his shoulder like a bag of swag, he reminded the cook of a pirate from one of those 1940s films, the kind that Errol Flynn had done so well.
Nor was O’Keefe himself unaware of his new audience, she noticed, with a wry twist of her lips, for he turned on Jasmine Olney the same kind of quick but comprehensive glance that he’d given the cook just a few moments earlier.
His own lips, Jenny noticed, turned up into a twisted smile that was almost, but not quite, downright insolent. Jasmine Olney flushed. She looked annoyed. And pleased. The sexual tension between them was so rife that Jenny wished she had a knife about her person, just to see if she could actually cut it.
Lucas Finch was too busy ogling Dorothy Leigh to notice, but Dorothy had seen the speaking look that had passed between the dirty, sweating engineer and the impeccably groomed Jasmine Olney, and she quickly looked away in embarrassment.
Her eyes skidded to a halt as they met Jenny’s probably equally embarrassed expression, and the two women promptly pretended not to notice that there was anything at all amiss.
‘I’ve cooked some porridge as well as some tomato and herb omelettes, for those who might not prefer a full English breakfast,’ Jenny said, clearing her throat. In her opinion, food was an excellent choice of conversation whenever a social gaffe had been committed. It was so comfortingly safe.
‘Hmm, lovely,’ Dorothy quickly said.
Jasmine Olney merely smiled.
Brian O’Keefe nodded and strode off, rudely not saying a single word to anybody.
Gabriel Olney’s lips tightened a mere fraction. ‘A surly fellow, that,’ he muttered, to nobody in particular.
Lucas tore his eyes from Dorothy, and met those of his guest. ‘Hmm? Oh, yes, I dare say he is. But he’s a damn good engineer.’
‘Did you see that positively torturous thing he was holding?’ Jasmine purred. ‘It looked like he was taking off to a dungeon with it. I do hope you don’t have a prisoner’s brig on this boat, Lucas,’ she laughed, and gave her husband a highly amused glance.
She was, Jenny thought with some surprise, deliberately baiting him. In her experience, wives with a roving eye usually tried to hide it from their spouses, not rub their noses in it.
For the first time since arriving at Buscot, Jenny began to feel distinctly uneasy.
‘It was only a block and tackle,’ Dorothy Leigh said, dampeningly.
‘And how would a pretty little thing like you know that, my dear?’ Gabriel said, allowing his words to drop to a caressing whisper. His eyes smoked over Dorothy with such undisguised approval that both David Leigh and – more comically – Lucas Finch, stiffened in anger.
Jasmine looked more amused than angry at this attempt to upstage her. No doubt, Jenny surmised, she thought her husband was merely trying to make her jealous in his turn. Getting his own back, so to speak. Jenny thought it all rather childish, and wished they’d bang it on the head.
She had good food waiting!
And then she noticed how David Leigh was looking at Gabriel Olney and caught her breath. Her unease intensified into something solid and ugly. She was beginning to think that this river cruise might not be as pleasant as she’d hoped. For there was more than mere pique in the look that David was giving the old soldier. Now, any man with a wife as pretty as Dorothy was bound to have to put up with a fair bit, Jenny supposed – men did so like to ogle after all. But whereas David Leigh had been faintly amused by Lucas Finch’s obvious infatuation
Jasmine Olney made no comment on her husband’s starvation, real or otherwise. Her eyes had gone straight to Brian O’Keefe, and had stayed there.
It was not surprising. With his shirt undone all the way to his waist in an effort to beat the heat, he was really something to look at. Especially since, with the block and tackle slung casually over his shoulder like a bag of swag, he reminded the cook of a pirate from one of those 1940s films, the kind that Errol Flynn had done so well.
Nor was O’Keefe himself unaware of his new audience, she noticed, with a wry twist of her lips, for he turned on Jasmine Olney the same kind of quick but comprehensive glance that he’d given the cook just a few moments earlier.
His own lips, Jenny noticed, turned up into a twisted smile that was almost, but not quite, downright insolent. Jasmine Olney flushed. She looked annoyed. And pleased. The sexual tension between them was so rife that Jenny wished she had a knife about her person, just to see if she could actually cut it.
Lucas Finch was too busy ogling Dorothy Leigh to notice, but Dorothy had seen the speaking look that had passed between the dirty, sweating engineer and the impeccably groomed Jasmine Olney, and she quickly looked away in embarrassment.
Her eyes skidded to a halt as they met Jenny’s probably equally embarrassed expression, and the two women promptly pretended not to notice that there was anything at all amiss.
‘I’ve cooked some porridge as well as some tomato and herb omelettes, for those who might not prefer a full English breakfast,’ Jenny said, clearing her throat. In her opinion, food was an excellent choice of conversation whenever a social gaffe had been committed. It was so comfortingly safe.
‘Hmm, lovely,’ Dorothy quickly said.
Jasmine Olney merely smiled.
Brian O’Keefe nodded and strode off, rudely not saying a single word to anybody.
Gabriel Olney’s lips tightened a mere fraction. ‘A surly fellow, that,’ he muttered, to nobody in particular.
Lucas tore his eyes from Dorothy, and met those of his guest. ‘Hmm? Oh, yes, I dare say he is. But he’s a damn good engineer.’
‘Did you see that positively torturous thing he was holding?’ Jasmine purred. ‘It looked like he was taking off to a dungeon with it. I do hope you don’t have a prisoner’s brig on this boat, Lucas,’ she laughed, and gave her husband a highly amused glance.
She was, Jenny thought with some surprise, deliberately baiting him. In her experience, wives with a roving eye usually tried to hide it from their spouses, not rub their noses in it.
For the first time since arriving at Buscot, Jenny began to feel distinctly uneasy.
‘It was only a block and tackle,’ Dorothy Leigh said, dampeningly.
‘And how would a pretty little thing like you know that, my dear?’ Gabriel said, allowing his words to drop to a caressing whisper. His eyes smoked over Dorothy with such undisguised approval that both David Leigh and – more comically – Lucas Finch, stiffened in anger.
Jasmine looked more amused than angry at this attempt to upstage her. No doubt, Jenny surmised, she thought her husband was merely trying to make her jealous in his turn. Getting his own back, so to speak. Jenny thought it all rather childish, and wished they’d bang it on the head.
She had good food waiting!
And then she noticed how David Leigh was looking at Gabriel Olney and caught her breath. Her unease intensified into something solid and ugly. She was beginning to think that this river cruise might not be as pleasant as she’d hoped. For there was more than mere pique in the look that David was giving the old soldier. Now, any man with a wife as pretty as Dorothy was bound to have to put up with a fair bit, Jenny supposed – men did so like to ogle after all. But whereas David Leigh had been faintly amused by Lucas Finch’s obvious infatuation
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