The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(5)

The riverboat had tiny balconies on the upper storeys, with hanging baskets affixed to the walls, frothing over with blue, red, green and yellow. Its brass fixtures gleamed like gold. Its planked decking was dry and clean, and a light gold in colour. The windows on both floors were wide and pristine, and glass sliding doors led out onto the lower deck. It was most definitely a rich man’s toy.

‘Isn’t she summat?’ Lucas Finch asked with masterly understatement and beaming pride, and Jenny nodded.

‘Oh yes,’ she agreed, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘She certainly is summat.’

‘Want the guided tour?’

Jenny nodded. If she was to spend the weekend cooking on this lovely vessel, she most certainly did want the guided tour. Especially of the kitchen. Or, she supposed she should say, the galley.

The Stillwater Swan didn’t so much as bob at her mooring as they stepped from the jetty, through the open boarding gate and onto its lower deck. Jenny went straight to the rear and looked at the large paddles below.

Long, elegantly curved paddles rested in the still, clear water of the Thames. She could just imagine them turning, gently and smoothly pushing the boat along. What was it about paddle steamers, she mused meltingly, that so boggled the imagination? She felt like a giddy schoolgirl about to go to her first dance. She’d cooked in castles, in colleges, and indeed in some of the stateliest homes of England in her time. But this was something special. Perhaps it was the magic of steam, or simply the call and romance of a bygone era that made her heart flutter.

‘This here’s the engine room.’ Lucas briefly opened the door, giving her a glimpse of a large but modern boiler, and a row of technical-looking, state-of-the-art dials. ‘The coal and water are stored here.’ He nodded to the side, where a small door led off to the storerooms. ‘We also have another freshwater butt on the starboard side, in case of fires, or if the tanks run low.’

Jenny nodded but in fact knew nothing about the mechanics of how such a boat must work. Nor was she particularly interested. Just so long as when she turned on the taps in her kitchen — no, her galley — the water came on, then she was happy.

‘But the guests, of course, have nothing to do with the dirty, smelly end,’ Lucas laughed. ‘Up there—’ he nodded above, to the balconies on the second storey ‘—are three bedrooms and a bathroom. Double beds, mind. And thick carpets. And real antiques. When I had the Swan built, must be over ten years ago now, I had her fitted out with nothing but the best.’

Jenny ignored the boasting, having got her measure of the man by now.

She didn’t doubt that Lucas always had to have the best of everything, and for once she was not amused or touched by his extravagance. The Stillwater Swan, it was plain, simply deserved the best of everything.

She followed him as he led her to the main salon, which also served, she saw at once, as the dining room.

In the centre of the room was a large, gleaming mahogany table that could easily have seated twenty. The cook could just imagine it set with a snowy white cloth (what other colour for the Stillwater Swan?) and awash with gleaming crystal, a towering candle-and-flower centrepiece, and silver cutlery set for a seven-course feast.

She began to practically quiver in anticipation.

Lucas Finch watched her reaction with a smile of satisfaction, and nodded. In that instant, he knew that this surprising cook would not let him down. His guests would be treated to nothing but the best. ‘I’ve got flowers arriving later on tonight, plus the delivery of food.’

At the magical word ‘food,’ Jenny turned to him, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘Yes?’

Lucas smiled. ‘Don’t worry, love, you can check it all out for yourself, and if I’ve forgotten anything then tell me. I have an arrangement with the butchers and greengrocers around here. What I want, I get.’ And his eyes glinted, just for a moment losing their jovial, laid-back twinkle.

Jenny made a mental note to watch out for that particular gleam. Only truly ruthless men could get quite that expression in their eye. She followed with a rather wry smile as he led her to the galley, which was nowhere near as poky as she had feared and imagined.

A large gas cooker stood in one corner, surrounded by adequate worktop space. Cupboards were arranged in that very neat way that was peculiar to boats, taking up the minimum amount of space, whilst at the same time making the most of every square inch. A large sink and a small table completed the ensemble. All in all, not too shabby.

She made a quick inspection of the utensils — plenty of pots, pans, and cutlery. She had with her, of course, packed securely in the van, her own portable set of knives, spoons, spatulas, etc. No cook worth her salt travelled without them.

After a long, thorough inspection, she nodded, turned to look at him, and smiled. ‘This will do nicely,’ she said judiciously.

Lucas Finch grinned.

The parrot on his shoulder coughed.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to kip in the adjoining cook’s bunkhouse,’ he said, and went to a small door set in one bulkhead. It opened into a tiny bedroom, which contained a single bed and a narrow wardrobe with one drawer at the bottom. There wasn’t so much as a porthole, and Lucas pulled on a cord that turned on a rather weak light. Jenny eyed the bed with a jaundiced eye, and then shrugged her massive shoulders. It was only for one night, after all.

‘It’ll do,’ she said shortly, and turned back to her galley. ‘So you’ll be wanting a full English breakfast for Saturday and Sunday mornings?’