The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(12)

Perhaps, she thought rather dourly, he was one of those obstinate individuals who did nothing more than what was strictly their job, and resented doing even that. She hoped not. She was looking forward to this cruise, and didn’t want anything to spoil the ambience.

By seven, her galley was fully stocked. She’d added plenty of herbs and some more fresh vegetables from the kitchen garden to the final tally, and her last act was to place her knives and assorted instruments reverently into a drawer. She gave the oven another look over, although she’d already tested it thoroughly yesterday afternoon. One of the disadvantages of being a travelling cook was that you were always using ovens that you didn’t know. And, as every cook knew, sometimes to their cost, all ovens had their own idiosyncrasies and funny little ways that could trip you up. Flat soufflés and burnt duck were amongst the worst that could happen. But Jenny was confident that the specimen on the Swan didn’t have too many surprises in store for her now.

One of Jenny’s worst nightmares was the thought of an oven giving up the ghost altogether. Although she was perfectly capable of producing a good meal using rings and grill alone, she didn’t much care to have her ingenuity put to the test. (Using microwaves didn’t even cross her mind.) But the gas bottles were full and the cooker was a relatively new and trustworthy brand. She nodded, gave the boiler room a passing look as she left, and returned to the house.

Mrs Jessop looked surprised to see her, and then looked faintly approving as she realized that the cook must have already been hard at work for some time. The younger generation didn’t know they’d been born, Mrs Jessop was wont to say. Not that she’d say it to this Miss Starling. She had infinitely better sense than that!

The two women were cosily drinking tea together when the parrot, in a flurry of scarlet and blue excitement, fluttered by and landed squarely on the teapot lid. Apparently the creature had little feeling in its scaly feet, for instead of squawking and hopping off the hot ceramic rather smartly, it merely turned, cocked its head to one side, and fixed Jenny with a curious, pale eye.

‘Wotcha,’ the parrot said amiably.

Jenny blinked. ‘Good morning,’ she replied.

Lucas Finch came in at that moment, yawning mightily. It was an experience somewhat similar, Jenny mused, to that of peering down the Mersey tunnel on a smoggy day.

‘Mornin’, ladies,’ Lucas said, and scratched himself vigorously under his left armpit before fixing the teapot with an avaricious stare.

Mrs Jessop quickly and competently shooed the bird off, and poured him a cup.

Jenny wondered what the oh-so-correct Francis would make of this cosy little domestic scene. She somehow doubted that he would approve.

Lucas pulled out a chair and sat amicably next to his temporary cook, took a hearty slurp of tea, and then sighed blissfully. ‘The gannets will be arriving in another half an hour or so, love,’ he warned her cheerfully. ‘David and Dot only live down the road, and old Gab and Jasmine like to be on time. He’s an ex-soldier, you know,’ he informed her a trifle glumly, then rolled his eyes. There was something about the way he spoke that roused the cook’s instinct for trouble.

Jenny glanced at him curiously. ‘Were you once in the army, Mr Finch?’ She fished for information gently and was somehow not surprised to find that she had hit some kind of nail right on the head.

Lucas jumped as if he’d just been goosed, and Mrs Jessop began to study her teacup. She stared at it so hard that Jenny wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been attempting to read the tea leaves, which was definitely a fine art in this day of the ubiquitous teabag. So long as there were no tall, dark, handsome strangers lurking about in the bottom of her cup, Jenny wished her luck. Tall, dark, handsome strangers, in her opinion, were far more trouble than they were worth.

‘Yeah, I was in the army a lifetime ago,’ Lucas finally and rather reluctantly admitted. ‘A soldier, too. Saw action in the Falklands.’ He sounded definitely defensive about it — a strange reaction for a man most people would automatically call a hero. He slurped another great mouthful of tea. ‘Well, I’d better make sure Brian and Toby are on the ball. Er . . . you all set then, love?’

Jenny nodded, and promptly outlined the varied and substantial breakfast menu she had planned. ‘When would you like it served?’ she added, and watched him swallow the last of his tea, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Far from finding his coarse mannerisms off-putting, they roused in her a sort of amused affection.

‘About nine will do,’ he said, after thinking about it for a moment or so. ‘We don’t want too early a start. We’ll take an hour, have a leisurely breakfast on board, and then set off about ten. I don’t like to eat and cruise at the same time — you miss too much, stuck in the main salon.’

Jenny, who didn’t like anything to compete with her food (including a paddle steamer), smiled happily. ‘I quite agree. That sounds like a very good idea.’

She watched him leave, looking rather better for his morning slurp of tea, and smiled wistfully. For all his uncouth ways, she rather liked Lucas Finch. She would bet a fairly substantial amount of her wages that he was not half as bad as he’d like people to think. Or maybe not, she added mentally, after another moment’s thought.

‘If you don’t mind me giving you a piece of advice,’ Mrs Jessop’s tentative voice broke in, and Jenny quickly turned back to her.