with her, he was looking at Gabriel Olney as if …
Well, as if he’d like to kill him.
‘My father worked on building sites for most of his life,’ Dorothy answered Gabriel’s question as if he’d been serious. She seemed unaware of the undercurrents passing around them, and her voice was still rather matter-of-fact. ‘He owned his own construction company. I often used to meet him at work in the summer holidays,’ she recalled, her face softening in remembrance of those happy days. ‘He used to let me help to mix the cement and put some bricks in place. He even let me use the crane once. I sat on his knee, of course, and he guided my hands. It was great fun,’ she finished, with a seemingly genuine, carefree laugh.
Gabriel smiled. ‘You could sit on my knee any time, my dear,’ he purred, so archly à la Terry Thomas that Jenny almost expected him to caress his moustache villainously as well.
Dorothy gave him a rather furious look.
‘Well, let’s get at this breakfast,’ Lucas Finch said, a touch icily, giving Olney a rather speaking glance as he moved past him. Then, just as everyone, with varying shades of relief, turned to follow, he suddenly stopped and gave a loud piercing whistle.
Jenny was not the only one who jumped.
From the direction of the house came a long, scarlet and blue streak of colour, and a moment later the parrot headed unerringly for Lucas Finch’s shoulder. Jenny felt the slight breeze on her face as its wings whirled past her.
‘Oh Lucas, do you have to bring that filthy thing along with you?’ Jasmine asked petulantly. ‘I’m sure I read somewhere that they carry some horrible, unpronounceable disease or something.’
The parrot, firmly settled on its master’s shoulder, turned and eyed Jasmine keenly. It cocked its head to one side.
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, love,’ it advised.
Everybody laughed. Including Jasmine.
Jenny added a sprig of basil as a finishing touch to the plate of omelettes and then turned around, only to find Francis standing right behind her in the doorway. Once again, she hadn’t heard him enter. She managed not to jump.
He was dressed in white trousers (impeccably creased), a white jacket (impeccably ironed) and white tennis shoes (impeccably clean).
‘This is for Mrs Leigh,’ she said shortly, thrusting the tray into his waiting hands, then turned back, retrieved and deposited a huge bowl of steaming porridge onto the tray. ‘And this is for Mr Olney. Cream is already on the table.’
Francis didn’t bother to even nod, but turned silently and left. Jenny angrily dismissed the man from her thoughts. He was simply too pesky to be bothered with.
She checked her sausages, put the bread in to fry, and squeezed some more oranges. She added ice to the jug, and put it to one side. It wouldn’t be long before Francis discovered it and bore it away to table. In fact, she was rather glad that she wouldn’t have to serve at table. Jenny felt far happier in her kitchen. So even Francis had his uses, she reminded herself philosophically, and warned herself not to start making mountains out of molehills. There was no reason why they shouldn’t all have a perfectly pleasant river cruise.
The men chose to have both porridge and the full English breakfast, and after dishing these out, Jenny heaped a plate up for the captain, adding to his tray a mug of tea and some cutlery.
Since the galley was just to the left of the bridge (which was situated right at the front of the boat, on the lower deck), Jenny had the perfect excuse to take a look at it. It was the only part of the boat she hadn’t yet seen.
A tiny door in one corner led to the all-important room, and she knocked and opened it rather timidly.
Tobias Lester looked up, his face breaking into a smile at the sight of the steaming food. He was sitting in the room’s sole chair, which was at that moment tucked behind a tiny desk in one corner.
Jenny handed over the tray,
Well, as if he’d like to kill him.
‘My father worked on building sites for most of his life,’ Dorothy answered Gabriel’s question as if he’d been serious. She seemed unaware of the undercurrents passing around them, and her voice was still rather matter-of-fact. ‘He owned his own construction company. I often used to meet him at work in the summer holidays,’ she recalled, her face softening in remembrance of those happy days. ‘He used to let me help to mix the cement and put some bricks in place. He even let me use the crane once. I sat on his knee, of course, and he guided my hands. It was great fun,’ she finished, with a seemingly genuine, carefree laugh.
Gabriel smiled. ‘You could sit on my knee any time, my dear,’ he purred, so archly à la Terry Thomas that Jenny almost expected him to caress his moustache villainously as well.
Dorothy gave him a rather furious look.
‘Well, let’s get at this breakfast,’ Lucas Finch said, a touch icily, giving Olney a rather speaking glance as he moved past him. Then, just as everyone, with varying shades of relief, turned to follow, he suddenly stopped and gave a loud piercing whistle.
Jenny was not the only one who jumped.
From the direction of the house came a long, scarlet and blue streak of colour, and a moment later the parrot headed unerringly for Lucas Finch’s shoulder. Jenny felt the slight breeze on her face as its wings whirled past her.
‘Oh Lucas, do you have to bring that filthy thing along with you?’ Jasmine asked petulantly. ‘I’m sure I read somewhere that they carry some horrible, unpronounceable disease or something.’
The parrot, firmly settled on its master’s shoulder, turned and eyed Jasmine keenly. It cocked its head to one side.
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, love,’ it advised.
Everybody laughed. Including Jasmine.
Jenny added a sprig of basil as a finishing touch to the plate of omelettes and then turned around, only to find Francis standing right behind her in the doorway. Once again, she hadn’t heard him enter. She managed not to jump.
He was dressed in white trousers (impeccably creased), a white jacket (impeccably ironed) and white tennis shoes (impeccably clean).
‘This is for Mrs Leigh,’ she said shortly, thrusting the tray into his waiting hands, then turned back, retrieved and deposited a huge bowl of steaming porridge onto the tray. ‘And this is for Mr Olney. Cream is already on the table.’
Francis didn’t bother to even nod, but turned silently and left. Jenny angrily dismissed the man from her thoughts. He was simply too pesky to be bothered with.
She checked her sausages, put the bread in to fry, and squeezed some more oranges. She added ice to the jug, and put it to one side. It wouldn’t be long before Francis discovered it and bore it away to table. In fact, she was rather glad that she wouldn’t have to serve at table. Jenny felt far happier in her kitchen. So even Francis had his uses, she reminded herself philosophically, and warned herself not to start making mountains out of molehills. There was no reason why they shouldn’t all have a perfectly pleasant river cruise.
The men chose to have both porridge and the full English breakfast, and after dishing these out, Jenny heaped a plate up for the captain, adding to his tray a mug of tea and some cutlery.
Since the galley was just to the left of the bridge (which was situated right at the front of the boat, on the lower deck), Jenny had the perfect excuse to take a look at it. It was the only part of the boat she hadn’t yet seen.
A tiny door in one corner led to the all-important room, and she knocked and opened it rather timidly.
Tobias Lester looked up, his face breaking into a smile at the sight of the steaming food. He was sitting in the room’s sole chair, which was at that moment tucked behind a tiny desk in one corner.
Jenny handed over the tray,
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