together with a far stronger cement than the mere shared duties of keeping the Swan in good working order.
In fact, the more they talked, the more conspiratorial their tone seemed to become – as if they were plotting some scheme, and thus needed to whisper.
The thought made her feel uneasy.
Jenny sighed, knowing she had to get away from the murmur of masculine voices, otherwise she was going to become downright paranoid. On the other hand, she had no wish to retire early. Her bedroom was a cramped space in which she could hardly turn around, and she was still roiling and simmering with righteous indignation over the fate of her feast. Perhaps a moonlit stroll along the banks of the Thames would calm her and bring about a return of her equilibrium.
As a large person, with a large personality to match, Jenny Starling cherished her equilibrium. She liked to feel centred and balanced.
She left the boat, glad of the light from the nearly full moon, and found a well-worn path that meandered through the open meadows. Buttercups had closed up their business for the night, their petals furled tightly into pale orbs. Every now and then, the perfume of clover wafted on the warm night breeze, and moths and bats winged by in a mutual, potentially fatal, ballet. After a while, Chimney’s church clock tolled out the hour of eleven. Jenny paused to listen, then, somewhat reluctantly, turned back towards the Stillwater Swan .
She wasn’t happy with the way things were going. What on earth had induced Lucas Finch to sell the boat to Gabriel Olney of all people? That afternoon’s rumpus between the two men had obviously played a big part in it – it hardly took a genius to come to that conclusion! And if she had figured out as much, so had everyone else.
One thing was for certain – no one but Gabriel himself seemed at all happy about it. Even his wife had been shooting daggers at him all evening, which was faintly surprising. She’d have thought a woman like Jasmine Olney would have relished being the mistress of such a prestigious acquisition as the swan. She could easily see the chic and stylish Jasmine holding soirees and playing the gracious hostess to a party of B-list celebs. Obviously, there was something else going on in the Olney marriage that was causing friction.
And something was seriously biting David Leigh. Every time she went near him, she could feel him practically vibrating with angst. It was scaring his sweet and devoted wife too, and that couldn’t be good for her.
Jenny sighed deeply and wearily. Things were becoming nasty, and no doubt about it. And although she’d only known them a short time, the passengers and crew of the Stillwater Swan were beginning to exert their influence over her. She’d be glad to get back to the security of Oxford, before she became even more embroiled. Still, she cheered herself up with the thought that there was only one more day to go – and a Sunday, the traditional day of peace and rest, at that.
Hah! A little voice sneered at the back of her mind, and she determinedly ignored it.
They had a long stretch of river to negotiate tomorrow, with no further villages in which to moor before their final destination of Swinford. There she would spend the night at the local pub then catch the first bus back to Wainscott House and collect her trusty little van.
Perhaps, next year, she really would take a holiday. Oh, not to the seaside, but inland somewhere. Scotland, perhaps. She could learn how to make a proper haggis.
As she approached the river, she heard the low murmur of voices from the riverbank, and stopped, in some amazement, to watch Tobias and Brian put up a fairly large tent.
As Brian rolled out some sleeping bags, the cook suddenly realized that, with all the rooms on the Swan currently occupied, the crew had no other choice but to camp out on the shore. She glanced to the right and, sure enough, pitched a good few yards away was a slightly smaller but very neat
In fact, the more they talked, the more conspiratorial their tone seemed to become – as if they were plotting some scheme, and thus needed to whisper.
The thought made her feel uneasy.
Jenny sighed, knowing she had to get away from the murmur of masculine voices, otherwise she was going to become downright paranoid. On the other hand, she had no wish to retire early. Her bedroom was a cramped space in which she could hardly turn around, and she was still roiling and simmering with righteous indignation over the fate of her feast. Perhaps a moonlit stroll along the banks of the Thames would calm her and bring about a return of her equilibrium.
As a large person, with a large personality to match, Jenny Starling cherished her equilibrium. She liked to feel centred and balanced.
She left the boat, glad of the light from the nearly full moon, and found a well-worn path that meandered through the open meadows. Buttercups had closed up their business for the night, their petals furled tightly into pale orbs. Every now and then, the perfume of clover wafted on the warm night breeze, and moths and bats winged by in a mutual, potentially fatal, ballet. After a while, Chimney’s church clock tolled out the hour of eleven. Jenny paused to listen, then, somewhat reluctantly, turned back towards the Stillwater Swan .
She wasn’t happy with the way things were going. What on earth had induced Lucas Finch to sell the boat to Gabriel Olney of all people? That afternoon’s rumpus between the two men had obviously played a big part in it – it hardly took a genius to come to that conclusion! And if she had figured out as much, so had everyone else.
One thing was for certain – no one but Gabriel himself seemed at all happy about it. Even his wife had been shooting daggers at him all evening, which was faintly surprising. She’d have thought a woman like Jasmine Olney would have relished being the mistress of such a prestigious acquisition as the swan. She could easily see the chic and stylish Jasmine holding soirees and playing the gracious hostess to a party of B-list celebs. Obviously, there was something else going on in the Olney marriage that was causing friction.
And something was seriously biting David Leigh. Every time she went near him, she could feel him practically vibrating with angst. It was scaring his sweet and devoted wife too, and that couldn’t be good for her.
Jenny sighed deeply and wearily. Things were becoming nasty, and no doubt about it. And although she’d only known them a short time, the passengers and crew of the Stillwater Swan were beginning to exert their influence over her. She’d be glad to get back to the security of Oxford, before she became even more embroiled. Still, she cheered herself up with the thought that there was only one more day to go – and a Sunday, the traditional day of peace and rest, at that.
Hah! A little voice sneered at the back of her mind, and she determinedly ignored it.
They had a long stretch of river to negotiate tomorrow, with no further villages in which to moor before their final destination of Swinford. There she would spend the night at the local pub then catch the first bus back to Wainscott House and collect her trusty little van.
Perhaps, next year, she really would take a holiday. Oh, not to the seaside, but inland somewhere. Scotland, perhaps. She could learn how to make a proper haggis.
As she approached the river, she heard the low murmur of voices from the riverbank, and stopped, in some amazement, to watch Tobias and Brian put up a fairly large tent.
As Brian rolled out some sleeping bags, the cook suddenly realized that, with all the rooms on the Swan currently occupied, the crew had no other choice but to camp out on the shore. She glanced to the right and, sure enough, pitched a good few yards away was a slightly smaller but very neat
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