time she smiled. And she stepped over it a lot more when she called him by his name.
Maybe he was aware of it, too. His tone had become strangely stiff and formal. ‘I gather the cook pre-prepared things but essentially yes,’ he told her, ‘Henri was cooking. Maybe I can contact the cook and ask her to come back.’
‘Why?’ Jess frowned-and then sniffed. And thought about the sequence of events until now. ‘So Henri was cooking. And now he’s taken your mother up to her apartments,’ she said. Still sniffing. ‘Your Highness-sorry-Raoul, I hate to say it but we may have a mess in the kitchen.’
‘How on earth…?’
‘How on earth do I know that?’ She even managed a grin. ‘Pure intelligence,’ she told him and sniffed again. ‘Sherlock Holmes, that’s me. The Hound of the Baskervilles has nothing on my nose. And you know something else? I figure that even if you don’t know where the kitchens are…’
‘I do know that.’
‘Even if you don’t, then I can follow my nose,’ she told him. ‘There’s something burning and I’m betting it’s our dinner. Let’s go save your castle from conflagration. That seems a really essential thing to do and, in times of trouble, essentials are…essential.’
CHAPTER THREE
THEY walked down a long corridor and through four arches. ‘You know, it’s amazing the soup was still warm by the time it reached the table,’ Jess said. ‘No wonder Henri’s thin. The poor man must walk a marathon every day.’
Raoul didn’t smile. He was preoccupied, Jess knew, and all she could do was try and keep it light.
When they finally reached the kitchen there wasn’t a conflagration, but there was Jess’s predicted mess. Henri had obviously just put the steak on when their unwelcome visitor had arrived. There were three plates laid out with a salad on the side, but now the steak was sending up clouds of black smoke and a saucepan of tiny potatoes had boiled dry. The potatoes were turning black from the bottom up, and they smelled disgusting.
‘Ugh.’ Jess looked around her, taking in the vast range built to cook for an army, the huge beams overhead, the massive wooden table and the ancient flagstones on the floor. This kitchen was the size of a normal house. It was fantastic. But right now it was horrid.
Still Raoul seemed bemused. He was thinking of tragedy, Jess thought, whereas right now was the time for thinking of right now. ‘You want to open a few windows and doors, Your Highness?’ she prodded, moving toward the frying-pan with a handful of dishcloths and a martial look. ‘I’ll get rid of this.’
Raoul stared at her for a moment as if he didn’t understand-and then crossed to the sink. ‘Shove it in here,’ he told her.
She raised her brows in incredulity. He really was distracted. ‘You’re proposing we pour cold water on red-hot cast iron?’
‘Well…’
She grinned. ‘What do you do in real life, Your Highness? Don’t tell me. You’re an engineer?’
‘I’m a doctor,’ he told her and she paused.
‘A doctor. A people doctor?’
‘That’s right.’ He frowned, almost as if he was hauling himself back to the here and now. ‘Why did you think I might be an engineer?’
That was easy. ‘On account of your practicality,’ she told him, grinning. ‘My cousin’s an engineer and he has a four-inch-diameter scar on his shoulder because of just the practicality you’re proposing.’
Raoul’s brows snapped down in confusion. ‘Pardon?’
‘Patrick’s brilliant,’ she told him, folding her dishcloths into a pad. She was trying not to stare at the way his eyebrows worked when he was confused. It was sort of…sort of very attractive. ‘One late night when he was still at university, Patrick got hungry-so he did what any brilliant engineer would do, faced with a can of baked beans and hunger. He heated them on his college-room gas heater. Without opening them. When he finally applied the can opener, the can hit his shoulder and darn near passed straight through.’ Her smile was easier now, less forced. ‘And here you are, proposing to stick a red-hot cast-iron pan into cold water. You figure.’ She twisted her cloth around the pan and lifted. Doctor or not, prince or not, there was work to be done. ‘Open the door,’ she ordered. ‘Now.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He gave her a bemused look and opened the door.
The cool air of early evening washed in-and smoke rushed out. Jess carried her pan with care straight past Raoul. He stared at her for a minute as if he couldn’t work her out.
‘Spuds,’ she told him, talking back over her shoulder.
‘Spuds?’
‘You might guess,’ she said kindly. ‘The little black balls with the disgusting smell.’
He caught himself-he even managed a smile-and he followed. With spuds.
After the smoke-filled kitchen, outside was lovely. A warm sea breeze was drifting across the kitchen garden, and the setting sun was leaving a lingering halo of colour over the distant mountains.
Jess paused on the bottom step and Raoul stopped beside her. Holding his pan.
Hesitating.
This was dumb, Jess thought. It was as if there was some sort of constraining force between them. Something she didn’t understand.
Move on, Jess, she told herself firmly. She set her pan down on the stone step and Raoul followed suit. A bunch of hens who looked as if they’d been about to head for the henhouse diverted and gathered round the pots.
Raoul looked at the hens-and then looked back at the pots with indecision.
‘These guys will attack these if we leave them here,’ he said.
‘I guess that’s fine,’ Jess told him. ‘Chooks generally clean off everything edible.’
‘Chooks?
‘Australian for hens.’ She put on her broadest Australian drawl. ‘Chook, chook, chook… It’s a much better descriptor than hen, d’ya reckon?’
‘Maybe,’ he said faintly, sounding stunned. ‘Um, the…chooks…aren’t going to do so much cleaning as you’d notice. There’s not a lot there that’s edible.’
‘No.’ She smiled down at the chickens and said, ‘Sorry, guys. I’ll give you some toast in a minute to make up for it.’
‘We should put them to soak,’ Raoul said doubtfully and she sighed and put her hands on her hips.
‘Typical male. Of course we should put them to soak. When they’re cool. But…did you say Marcel was taking control of this castle in five days?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘Then I suggest we leave them to soak for, ooh, I’d say about five days,’ she said, and she grinned.
He stared at her in something akin to amazement-and then the smile returned.
It was like the sun coming out. It was a killer smile. It made Jess stare up at him and feel something inside twist.
She did not want something inside her to twist.
There was a tentative cluck and a chicken stepped forward toward the pan. It was enough to divert her. Especially as she badly needed to be diverted.
‘Don’t do it, chook,’ she told the bird. ‘It’s really hot.’ She turned to Raoul. ‘You say you’re a doctor. Have you ever treated chook burns?’
‘Um…no.’
‘Chooks are pretty dumb,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And…you’re saying that as of Monday these pans are legally in Marcel’s control?’
‘For the next eighteen years,’ he said. ‘Until Edouard turns twenty-one.’
‘Hmm. And it’s my guess he won’t be into counting pots and pans. There’s nothing for it, then.’ Her smile widened. ‘Let’s do it.’
