Jason’s only just out of nappies and none too reliable. We didn’t have any money when we had kiddies but we have now, what with superannuation and all, so the least we can do is pay for central heating. So we did, and now…what does my Em want with a great hulking tumble-dryer when there’s a whole new airing cupboard that can take three times as many nappies? You’re very welcome to it.’
Max’s accent might be French, but he had Mrs Aston’s voice down to a T. Pippa stared-and then she giggled.
‘You bought us Emma’s tumble-dryer.’
‘Applause?’
She smiled and even raised her hands to clap-but then her smile died and her hands dropped. ‘Max, this is crazy. We really can’t accept.’
‘My clothes go in first,’ he said. ‘That’s the price I’m demanding. Oh, and I need something to keep me decent while they dry. Can you find me something?’
She gave up. ‘I…sure.’
‘Two minutes,’ he said. ‘Me and Dunc are hauling this thing into your laundry and then I want another hot shower. I’ll throw my clothes out; you put them in your brand new tumble-dryer and Bob’s your uncle.’
‘Bob?’
He frowned, intent. ‘Bob’s your uncle? I don’t have that right?’
‘It’s not a French idiom.’
‘I’m not French.’
‘You’re from Alp d’Estella?’
‘Let’s leave discussion of nationalities until I’m dry. I only brought one change of clothes and now everything’s wet. Can you find me something dry to wear in two minutes?’
It was more than two minutes. Duncan helped Max cart in the dryer, but as Max disappeared towards the shower Duncan headed for the kitchen and a gossip.
‘Who is he?’ he wanted to know.
‘He’s a relation of Gina’s from overseas,’ she told Duncan. ‘Gina never heard a word from that side of the family and they surely didn’t help when Gina and Donald were killed. If he’s being generous now then maybe it’s a guilty conscience.’
‘You didn’t tell Mr Stubbins that Max might be a prince,’ Marc whispered as Duncan finally departed with as much information as she was prepared to give.
‘Rain or no rain, if I said that we’d have every busybody in the district wanting to visit.’ Pippa lifted a packet of crumpets from the table and carried it reverently to the toaster. ‘And I’m not feeling like sharing. There’s crumpets and there’s butter and honey and I’m thinking I’m having first crumpet.’
‘Max says there’s fish and chips coming.’
‘I have crumpets right here,’ she said reverently. ‘Food now-or food later? There’s no choice.’
‘Don’t you want fish and chips?’
‘You think I can’t fit both in? Watch.’
‘Don’t you have to find Max some clothes?’ Marc said, starting to sound worried.
‘Yes,’ Pippa said, popping four crumpets into their oversized toaster. ‘But crumpets first.’ She handed plates to Sophie, butter to Claire and a knife to Marc. ‘Let’s get our priorities straight.’ She chuckled, but she didn’t say out loud her next thought. Which was that she had a hunk of gorgeous near-to-royalty naked in her bathroom right now-but what she wanted first was a crumpet.
Priorities.
A crumpet dripping with butter and honey and the arrival of fish and chips later, her conscience gave a sharp prod. She did a quick search for something Max could wear, but came up with nothing. She’d kept Donald’s waterproofs because the oversized garments were excellent for milking, but the rest of his clothes had gone to welfare long since. She hesitated, then grabbed a pair of her oversized gym pants-and a blanket.
The bathroom door was open a crack.
‘Mr de Gautier?’
‘It’s Max if you have clothes,’a voice growled. ‘If not go away.’
‘I sort of have clothes.’
‘What do you mean sort of?’
‘They might be a bit small.’
A hand came out, attached to a brawny arm. It looked a work hand, she thought, distracted. These weren’t the soft, smooth fingers of a man unused to manual work. She thought back to the deft way Max had caught and loaded the wood. Royalty? Surely not. She’d seen bricklayers catch and stack like that, with maximum efficiency.
Who was he? What was he?
She stared for a moment too long and his fingers beckoned imperatively. She gasped, put the clothes in his hand and the fingers retreated.
There was a moment’s silence. Then…
‘These aren’t just too small,’ he growled. ‘These are ridiculous.’
‘It’s all I have. That’s why I brought the blanket.’
‘The waterproofs?’
‘Belonged to Donald. Donald’s dead. We gave the rest of his stuff to charity.’
‘I need charity now.’
‘We have a tumble-dryer,’ she told him. ‘Thanks to you. If you hand out your clothes I’ll put them in.’
‘And I’ll sit in here until they dry?’
‘If you’re worried about your dignity.’ He definitely couldn’t be royalty, she thought, suppressing a smile. The idea was preposterous.
‘You have the fire going?’
‘It’s already putting out heat. And the fish and chips have just arrived.’ She gave a sigh of pure heaven. ‘There’s two pieces of whiting each, and more chips than we can possibly eat. Would you like me to bring you some?’
‘It’s cold in here.’
‘Then you have my gym pant bottoms and a blanket. Come on out.’
‘Avert your eyes.’
‘Shall I tell Claire and Sophie and Marc to avert their eyes as well?’
There was a moment’s baffled silence. Then: ‘Never mind.’ There was a moment’s pause while he obviously tugged on her gym pants and then the door opened.
Whoa.
Well-brought-up young ladies didn’t stare, but there were moments in a woman’s life when it was far too hard to be well brought up. Pippa not only stared-she gaped.
He looked like a body builder, she thought. He was tanned and muscled and rippling in all the right places. He was wearing her pants and they were as stretched on him as they were loose on her. Which was pretty much stretched. His chest was bare.
He should look ridiculous.
He looked stunning.
‘You can’t be a prince,’ she said before she could stop herself and the corners of his mouth turned down in an expression of distaste.
‘I’m not.’ The rebuttal was hard and sharp and it left no room for argument.
‘What are you, then?’
He didn’t reply. He was carrying his bundle of wet clothes in one hand and the blanket in the other. He was meant to put the blanket round his shoulders, she thought. He wasn’t supposed to be bare from the waist up.
He was bare from the waist up and it left her discomforted.
She was so discomforted she could scarcely breathe.
‘What do you mean, what am I?’ he demanded at last. ‘You mean like in, “Are you an encyclopaedia salesman?”?’
‘You’re not an encyclopaedia salesman.’
‘I’m a builder.’
‘A builder.’ The thought took her aback. ‘How can you be a builder?’
