staff.
And he had. He had managed to keep one step ahead of her for months. This was now making her meaner than a cat with its tail in a rattrap.
Philippe was a sought-after professional, not some young trainee. He had international experience as a chef and deserved the respect his position demanded. If Madeline was determined to make him a pawn, there was little Jase could do. Wangling Philippe a job as assistant grounds keeper on the golf course—like the porter Madeline had fired—wasn’t an option this time.
Jase flung himself back into his chair, his momentum almost tipping both the seat and himself onto the floor. If only people weren’t depending on him he could just pack up and leave. But where would that leave his workmates, his family, and the children?
****
“Quit the bloody job if it’s getting to you so much,” Maata McEwan snapped over her shoulder as she drained a huge pot of vegetables. “Lord knows we can give you enough to do around here to stop you from getting bored.”
Jase fiddled with the cutlery box lying on the bench before scooping it up and absently moving around the elongated table laying down the required settings.
“You’ll give yourself an ulcer, Jase.” His sister-in-law frowned and wiggled her index finger. “Or something much worse, if you don’t watch out.”
Jase sent her a crooked smile. “Like Madeline Murphy in my bed, you mean?”
Maata exaggerated a shiver. “A fate worse than death, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
Jase thumped the empty box back onto the bench, wincing at the echo bouncing back off the walls. “She’s away for a week. I’ve got that long to sort this out.” His fists clenched. “She’s gone too far this time, threatening to fire Philippe.” He shook his head. “She’s crazy. The hotel is collapsing around us and—”
“Stop being such a bloke and call your head office. You never know. They might ditch her and promote you to manager.”
Jase glared a response that was met with a shrug and an I-give-up-on-you shake of her head. He slumped onto a barstool, raking his hands through his hair.
His family didn’t understand his reluctance to report the problems facing the hotel. It wasn’t just a matter of snitching on someone, which just wasn’t him, but his lack of faith in the recent instructions from Head Office consolidated his hesitation. He had to find some other way.
“What’s she done now?” Jase’s father, Barry, asked as he and Jase’s older brother joined them. The three men automatically each picked up a steaming pot and began dishing food onto the plates lining the bench.
Jase grimaced. How come everyone could read him so easily? He dipped his head and concentrated on placing a piece of pumpkin on each plate.
“Threatened to sack the head chef.” Maata provided the answer just before clanging what substituted for a dinner bell.
Perfect timing. Jase breathed easier.
Pounding feet and squabbling children’s voices destroyed his need to continue this conversation. The door burst open and the crescendo increased. Children of every shape and size pushed and shoved at each other before they managed to settle themselves at the table.
His own problems were sidelined. Watching this mixed array of humanity join hands and thank the Lord for another day, for each other, and for their food, the magnitude of Jase’s problems shrunk.
The foster children living with Tim and Maata had faced real problems in their lives—parental death, physical and sexual abuse, neglect, abandonment. Jase felt humbled every time he looked at them.
Helping with finance from afar had been easy, but returning home had broadened his comfort zone. He’d envied the ease and certainty of his parents and brother as they established the home and knew he must help. He needed a job in the immediate area to provide what little moral support he could.
****
A sloth went faster than time ticked by since Debra had escaped from the lift. Locking
And he had. He had managed to keep one step ahead of her for months. This was now making her meaner than a cat with its tail in a rattrap.
Philippe was a sought-after professional, not some young trainee. He had international experience as a chef and deserved the respect his position demanded. If Madeline was determined to make him a pawn, there was little Jase could do. Wangling Philippe a job as assistant grounds keeper on the golf course—like the porter Madeline had fired—wasn’t an option this time.
Jase flung himself back into his chair, his momentum almost tipping both the seat and himself onto the floor. If only people weren’t depending on him he could just pack up and leave. But where would that leave his workmates, his family, and the children?
****
“Quit the bloody job if it’s getting to you so much,” Maata McEwan snapped over her shoulder as she drained a huge pot of vegetables. “Lord knows we can give you enough to do around here to stop you from getting bored.”
Jase fiddled with the cutlery box lying on the bench before scooping it up and absently moving around the elongated table laying down the required settings.
“You’ll give yourself an ulcer, Jase.” His sister-in-law frowned and wiggled her index finger. “Or something much worse, if you don’t watch out.”
Jase sent her a crooked smile. “Like Madeline Murphy in my bed, you mean?”
Maata exaggerated a shiver. “A fate worse than death, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
Jase thumped the empty box back onto the bench, wincing at the echo bouncing back off the walls. “She’s away for a week. I’ve got that long to sort this out.” His fists clenched. “She’s gone too far this time, threatening to fire Philippe.” He shook his head. “She’s crazy. The hotel is collapsing around us and—”
“Stop being such a bloke and call your head office. You never know. They might ditch her and promote you to manager.”
Jase glared a response that was met with a shrug and an I-give-up-on-you shake of her head. He slumped onto a barstool, raking his hands through his hair.
His family didn’t understand his reluctance to report the problems facing the hotel. It wasn’t just a matter of snitching on someone, which just wasn’t him, but his lack of faith in the recent instructions from Head Office consolidated his hesitation. He had to find some other way.
“What’s she done now?” Jase’s father, Barry, asked as he and Jase’s older brother joined them. The three men automatically each picked up a steaming pot and began dishing food onto the plates lining the bench.
Jase grimaced. How come everyone could read him so easily? He dipped his head and concentrated on placing a piece of pumpkin on each plate.
“Threatened to sack the head chef.” Maata provided the answer just before clanging what substituted for a dinner bell.
Perfect timing. Jase breathed easier.
Pounding feet and squabbling children’s voices destroyed his need to continue this conversation. The door burst open and the crescendo increased. Children of every shape and size pushed and shoved at each other before they managed to settle themselves at the table.
His own problems were sidelined. Watching this mixed array of humanity join hands and thank the Lord for another day, for each other, and for their food, the magnitude of Jase’s problems shrunk.
The foster children living with Tim and Maata had faced real problems in their lives—parental death, physical and sexual abuse, neglect, abandonment. Jase felt humbled every time he looked at them.
Helping with finance from afar had been easy, but returning home had broadened his comfort zone. He’d envied the ease and certainty of his parents and brother as they established the home and knew he must help. He needed a job in the immediate area to provide what little moral support he could.
****
A sloth went faster than time ticked by since Debra had escaped from the lift. Locking
Similar Books
