Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

suddenly her nerves seemed to be gone. She gazed around in unmistakable awe. ‘Wow!’

‘Wow’ was right. Ramon had no trouble agreeing with Jenny there. Marquita was a gracious old lady of the sea, built sixty years ago, a wooden schooner crafted by boat builders who knew their trade and loved what they were doing.

Her hull and cabins were painted white but the timbers of her deck and her trimmings were left unpainted, oiled to a warm honey sheen. Brass fittings glittered in the evening light and, above their heads, Marquita’s vast oak masts swayed majestically, matching the faint swell of the incoming tide.

Marquita was a hundred feet of tradition and pure unashamed luxury. Ramon had fallen in love with her the moment he’d seen her, and he watched Jenny’s face now and saw exactly the same response.

‘What a restoration,’ she breathed. ‘She’s exquisite.’

Now that was different. Almost everyone who saw this boat looked at Ramon and said: ‘She must have cost a fortune.’

Jenny wasn’t thinking money. She was thinking beauty.

Beauty… There was a word worth lingering on. He watched the delight in Jenny’s eyes as she gazed around the deck, taking in every detail, and he thought it wasn’t only his boat that was beautiful.

Jenny was almost as golden-skinned as he was; indeed, she could be mistaken for having the same Mediterranean heritage. She was small and compact. Neat, he thought and then thought, no, make that cute. Exceedingly cute. And smart. Her green eyes were bright with intelligence and interest. He thought he was right about the humour as well. She looked like a woman who could smile.

But she wasn’t smiling now. She was too awed.

‘Can I see below?’ she breathed.

‘Of course,’ he said, and he’d hardly got the words out before she was heading down. He smiled and followed. A man could get jealous. This was one beautiful woman, taking not the slightest interest in him. She was totally entranced by his boat.

He followed her down into the main salon, but was brought up short. She’d stopped on the bottom step, drawing breath, seemingly awed into silence.

He didn’t say anything; just waited.

This was the moment for people to gush. In truth, there was much to gush about. The rich oak wainscoting, the burnished timber, the soft worn leather of the deep settees. The wonderful colours and fabrics of the furnishing, the silks and velvets of the cushions and curtains, deep crimsons and dark blues, splashed with touches of bright sunlit gold.

When Ramon had bought this boat, just after the accident that had claimed his mother and sister, she’d been little more than a hull. He’d spent time, care and love on her renovation and his Aunt Sofia had helped as well. In truth, maybe Sofia’s additions were a little over the top, but he loved Sofia and he wasn’t about to reject her offerings. The result was pure comfort, pure luxury. He loved the Marquita-and right now he loved Jenny’s reaction.

She was totally entranced, moving slowly around the salon, taking in every detail. This was the main room. The bedrooms were beyond. If she was interested, he’d show her those too, but she wasn’t finished here yet.

She prowled, like a small cat inspecting each tiny part of a new territory. Her fingers brushed the burnished timber, lightly, almost reverently. She crossed to the galley and examined the taps, the sink, the stove, the attachments used to hold things steady in a storm. She bent to examine the additional safety features on the stove. Gas stoves on boats could be lethal. Not his. She opened the cupboard below the sink and proceeded to check out the plumbing.

He found he was smiling, enjoying her awe. Enjoying her eye for detail. She glanced up from where she was inspecting the valves below the sink and caught him smiling. And flushed.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s just so interesting. Is it okay to look?’

‘It’s more than okay,’ he assured her. ‘I’ve never had someone gasp at my plumbing before.’

She didn’t return his smile. ‘This pump,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve seen one in a catalogue. You’ve got them all through the boat?’

‘There are three bathrooms,’ he told her, trying not to sound smug. ‘All pumped on the same system.’

‘You have three bathrooms?’ She almost choked. ‘My father didn’t hold with plumbing. He said real sailors used buckets. I gather your owner isn’t a bucket man.’

‘No,’ he agreed gravely. ‘My owner definitely isn’t a bucket man.’

She did smile then, but she was still on the prowl. She crossed to the navigation desk, examining charts, checking the navigation instruments, looking at the radio. Still seeming awed.

Then… ‘You leave your radio off?’

‘I only use it for outgoing calls.’

‘Your owner doesn’t mind? With a boat like this, I’d imagine he’d be checking on you daily.’

Your owner…

Now was the time to say he was the owner; this was his boat. But Jenny was starting to relax, becoming companionable, friendly. Ramon had seen enough of other women’s reactions when they realised the level of his wealth. For some reason, he didn’t want that reaction from Jenny.

Not yet. Not now.

‘My owner and I are in accord,’ he said gravely. ‘We keep in contact when we need to.’

‘How lucky,’ she said softly. ‘To have a boss who doesn’t spend his life breathing down your neck.’ And then she went right on prowling.

He watched, growing more fascinated by the moment. He’d had boat fanatics on board before-of course he had-and most of them had checked out his equipment with care. Others had commented with envy on the luxury of his fittings and furnishings. But Jenny was seeing the whole thing. She was assessing the boat, and he knew a part of her was also assessing him. In her role as possible hired hand? Yes, he thought, starting to feel optimistic. She was now under the impression that his owner trusted him absolutely, and such a reference was obviously doing him no harm.

If he wanted her trust, such a reference was a great way to start.

Finally, she turned back to him, and her awe had been replaced by a level of satisfaction. As if she’d seen a work of art that had touched a chord deep within. ‘I guess now’s the time to say, Isn’t she gorgeous?’ she said, and she smiled again. ‘Only it’s not a question. She just is.’

‘I know she is,’ he said. He liked her smile. It was just what it should be, lighting her face from within.

She didn’t smile enough, he thought.

He thought suddenly of the women he worked with in Bangladesh. Jenny was light years away from their desperate situations, but there was still that shadow behind her smile. As if she’d learned the hard way that she couldn’t trust the world.

‘Would you like to see the rest of her?’ he asked, suddenly unsure where to take this. A tiny niggle was starting in the back of his head. Take this further and there would be trouble…

It was too late. He’d asked. ‘Yes, please. Though…it seems an intrusion.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ he said and he meant it. Then he thought, hey, he’d made his bed this morning. There was a bonus. His cabin practically looked neat.

He took her to the second bedroom first. The cabin where Sofia had really had her way. He’d restored Marquita in the months after his mother’s and sister’s death, and Sofia had poured all her concern into furnishings. ‘You spend half your life living on the floor in mud huts in the middle of nowhere,’ she’d scolded. ‘Your grandmother’s money means we’re both rich beyond our dreams so there’s no reason why you should sleep on the floor here.’

There was certainly no need now for him, or anyone else on this boat, to sleep on the floor. He’d kept a rein on his own room but in this, the second cabin, he’d let Sofia have her way. He opened the door and Jenny stared in stunned amazement-and then burst out laughing.

‘It’s a boudoir,’ she stammered. ‘It’s harem country.’

‘Hey,’ he said, struggling to sound serious, even offended, but he found he was smiling as well. Sofia had indeed gone over the top. She’d made a special trip to Marrakesh, and she’d furnished the cabin like a sheikh’s