The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(17)
There, she quickly set about making celery sauce, along with some egg and potato cutlets, an asparagus dip, and a French bean and endive salad. To supplement the snack (Jenny had never been able to think of a cold lunch as anything but) she made some cheese straws and mini frittatas. To go with it, she baked some milk loaves, as well as some wholemeal baps. All in all, a nice way to spend the morning.
It was just as well, perhaps, that she hadn’t stayed on the deck, for in the main salon, David and Dorothy Leigh were not particularly happy bunnies.
David restlessly tossed a copy of The Times onto the table, and glanced uneasily over his shoulder. It was the result of a guilty conscience, he supposed, but he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that he was always being watched. As if the others had somehow been able to pick up on his dark thoughts and had taken to keeping an eye on him, perpetually on the lookout for any tell-tale signs of imminent criminal behaviour.
But in spite of his fears, Lucas, Gabriel and his wife were all still on the port deck, playing their silly game of quoits and taking no notice of him whatsoever.
David’s hand went automatically to his breast pocket and then just as quickly moved away again. But it was proving impossible to ignore the simple, square piece of folded paper he kept there. He could have sworn he could feel it scraping his skin and, even more alarmingly, that it was creating a warmer patch over his heart. It was all psychosomatic, of course. That, and a severe case of the jitters. In fact, he felt physically sick whenever he contemplated what was to come, and as a consequence was desperately seeking some sort of distraction to keep his mind off it.
He sighed heavily and then frowned as Dorothy’s fair head turned alertly at the sound. The eyes that met his were the colour of jade, and at that precise moment, cloudy with worry.
‘Are you all right, David?’ she asked anxiously, for about the fifth time that morning.
David Leigh forced himself to smile happily. ‘I’m perfectly fine. I don’t know why you keep asking. Naturally, I’d be a lot happier if you didn’t flirt with that silly creature, Olney.’
He had to make a concerted effort not to swear roundly at the mere mention of the man’s name, but he’d never thought it possible that a human being could hate so much. He’d certainly never thought that he, David Leigh, would have such a capacity for rage. He’d always thought of himself as a modest, fairly normal sort of man.
Funny how you never really knew yourself.
Dorothy flushed. ‘I’m not flirting with him,’ she denied vehemently, feeling more and more sensitive on this matter. Ever since they’d come on board, Gabriel had been making a perfect nuisance of himself. ‘It’s just that no matter what I say, he twists it around, making it sound . . . oh, I don’t know. Smutty somehow.’ She nodded her bright head briefly in satisfaction. ‘Yes, that’s the word exactly. Smutty.’ She produced the word with a triumphant but disgusted sigh.
David snorted. ‘The man’s an animal — no, worse than that. He’s a joke.’ Once again he bit back the more ugly expletive he’d have liked to use, and forced himself to relax.
His hand lifted to check, once again, that the square piece of writing paper was still safely ensconced in his pocket. Then he suddenly realized that his wife was watching, and quickly carried on the movement upwards, determinedly lifting his hand past his chest to go on to rub the back of his neck. It was not a wholly disguising move, for his nape did indeed feel hardened with knots, and his back fairly ached with tension. He’d be glad when this was all over with. He only wished he had a more definite plan.
‘Have you noticed the way he’s been acting?’ he fumed. Like a man with a bad tooth who felt compelled to keep biting down on it, he couldn’t seem to keep off the subject of his simmering rage. ‘Buttonholing poor old Captain Lester, demanding to know how everything works, and then having the damned cheek to ask Lucas about the boat’s running costs and so forth. None of his damned business, if you ask me. I could tell Lucas didn’t like it.’ David scowled at the newspaper, unaware that his wife was becoming ever more agitated. ‘And he keeps running his hand across the deck rails, almost patting the damned thing! Anyone would think that he owned the Stillwater Swan. He was all but caressing that brass bell Lucas has had fixed on the outer wall to the bridge.’
Dorothy watched her husband, her eyes darkening anxiously. ‘You look tired, sweetheart,’ she said softly. ‘You shouldn’t work so hard. I know it’s all these extra clients you’re taking on, and I know we could do with the extra money. But you’re wearing yourself down to a frazzle — it’s no wonder things are getting on your nerves a bit.’ She moved to stand behind him, running her fingers gently through his hair. ‘You know you’ll make partner one day,’ she coaxed, ever the sweet, perfect wife. ‘Old Soames will . . .’ She paused delicately, searching for the right words that didn’t sound too mercenary, then gave a soft sigh. ‘Well, he is getting on a bit, and Archie Pringle and old Mr Ford both know that they need new blood.’
David sighed angrily. ‘It’s not that,’ he said, then could have kicked himself. If Dotty thought it was the pressures of work getting to him, why on earth hadn’t he let her go on thinking it? Instead he’d opened his mouth before thinking. If that was an example of how he was going to carry on, he was probably going to get caught. And then what would happen to Dotty and the baby?