The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(20)
Jasmine stamped her foot. It was a ridiculous habit, she knew, and one left over from her rather spoilt childhood, but she had never managed to break it. ‘I’m warning you, Gabby,’ she said, her voice lowering to a hiss. ‘I need that money. I like buying clothes and jewellery. I like going to Ascot, and Stratford for the Shakespeare. I like taking holidays in France and the Caribbean, and I won’t give it all up just so that you can go and play captain.’
Gabriel smiled. ‘I don’t intend to “play” at all. Once the Swan is mine, I intend to learn to navigate her and overhaul her myself. No namby-pamby crew for me. This is a man’s boat. It needs a man who can appreciate her, nuts and bolts and all. Lucas is no man. He just plays at being her master. He doesn’t deserve a queen like this.’
He laughed openly at the look of chagrin that crossed his wife’s face. ‘What’s the matter, Jasmine?’ he scoffed softly, his voice becoming deliberately cruel now. ‘Afraid that that young lad of yours will leave you if you can no longer afford to keep him in the manner to which you’ve allowed him to become accustomed? After all, there are plenty of other women around who can afford to buy him fancy watches and little runabouts, aren’t there?’
Jasmine felt the breath leave her lungs in a quick ‘whoosh.’ She hadn’t realized Gabby knew about Matthew. ‘You . . . you . . .’ she spluttered, and then couldn’t think of anything suitably scathing to tack onto the end of it.
Gabriel threw back his head and laughed. ‘It’s your own fault, Jasmine,’ he said at last, his face settling into a harsh, unyielding mask. ‘You reneged on our agreement first. There was nothing in our “understanding” that allowed you to be unfaithful. I never agreed to being made a laughing stock!’ he all but roared. ‘If the good life wasn’t good enough for you, then you’ve got no one else to blame now that I’m taking it all away again.’
Jasmine’s hands clenched into fists. She could feel her nails digging into her palms, threatening to draw blood, but she continued to stare at her husband helplessly with her smouldering tiger eyes.
‘Never mind, darling,’ Gabriel commiserated with patent insincerity. ‘It won’t be so bad living on the Swan. Oh, I’m going to sell the house, didn’t I tell you?’ he added, seeing her look of astonishment. ‘I’ll need the capital to keep the Swan running. The old gal needs a lot of money to keep her looking her best. A bit like you in that respect.’
Jasmine drew in a deep shaky breath. ‘If you think I’m going to let you ruin my life . . .’ she said, then abruptly clamped her lips together to prevent herself from saying something she might have cause to regret later. Instead, she turned and, walking on legs that felt distinctly unsteady, crossed the room and slammed the door shut viciously behind her.
Down in the galley, Jenny heard the bang, but was too busy preparing her lobster patties to wonder about it.
Later, of course, she would wonder about that, and so much more. In fact, she would minutely ponder on everything that anybody on the Stillwater Swan did, said or arranged that day.
Simply because it was about to become so very, very important.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jenny piled up a plate of salads and bread and took it to the boiler room. The cruise had not stopped at the village of Kelmscott as they’d originally planned, since the Stillwater Swan had made such excellent time, but had carried on instead to a lock near Radcot.
Once safely moored, Brian O’Keefe had turned off the engines, but had not emerged from the boiler room. Jenny, who had a phobia about anybody in her vicinity not being properly fed, had reminded herself of the old adage about Mohammed and the mountain, and promptly made like a waitress.
With the rest of the guests in the dining room, imbibing chilled white wine as if it was going out of fashion, the cook felt perfectly safe in taking a loaded plate out onto the port deck and down to the boiler-room door. Besides, if any little dining crisis did arise, she had no doubt at all that Lucas Finch’s silent manservant would be more than capable of dealing with it. He was the kind of individual you could imagine dealing with any situation — from a social faux pas to nuclear war.
Brian O’Keefe answered the smartly rapped knock at once. He glanced at the cook, then at the plate, and smiled. It was one of those smiles that transformed a face. Instantly the dour, brooding Irishman was gone, and a happy-go-lucky charmer took his place, as if by magic.
‘Thanks, missus,’ he said. He took the plate and backed into the room, like a tortoise retreating into its shell.
The door closed firmly in her face.
Jenny looked at the wooden planks, barely an inch from her nose, and slowly raised one eyebrow. Then she shrugged. So long as he cleared his plates, the rest of his manners could go hang, as far as she was concerned. She wandered slowly along the rear decking, glad of the lightly freshening breeze.
The flight of stairs that led to the upper floor was located on the rear deck, as was the outdoor games area, with a small corridor leading to the starboard deck, and doors off it into the games room and main salon. The port deck that ran the entire length of that side of the boat doubled as a curling deck.
Jenny wandered over to the railings and looked out across the river, thinking what a very well designed boat the Stillwater Swan truly was. She could quite see why Lucas Finch loved it so.