Marion Lennox: Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

‘If you made the muffins I ate this morning you’re very, very good at your job,’ he told her. ‘If you’re available as crew, a man’d be crazy not to take you on.’

‘Well, I’m not.’ He had her rattled and she’d snapped again. Why? He was a nice guy offering her a job. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But no.’

‘Do you have a passport?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘I’m sailing for Europe just as soon as I can find some company. It’s not safe to do a solo where I’m going.’

‘Round the Horn?’ Despite herself, she was interested.

‘Round the Horn,’ he agreed. ‘It’s fastest.’

That’d be right. The boaties in charge of the expensive yachts were usually at the call of owners. She’d met enough of them to know that. An owner fancied a sailing holiday in Australia? He’d pay a guy like this to bring his boat here and have it ready for him. Maybe he’d join the boat on the interesting bits, flying in and out at will. Now the owner would be back in Europe and it’d be up to the employed skipper-this guy?-to get the boat back there as soon as he could.

With crew. But not with her.

‘Well, good luck,’ she said, and started to walk away, but he wasn’t letting her leave. He walked with her.

‘It’s a serious offer.’

‘It’s a serious rejection.’

‘I don’t take rejection kindly.’

‘That’s too bad,’ she told him. ‘The days of carting your crew on board drugged to the eyeballs is over. Press gangs are illegal.’

‘They’d make my life easier,’ he said morosely.

‘You know I’m very sure they wouldn’t.’ His presence as he fell into step beside her was making her thoroughly disconcerted. ‘Having a press-ganged crew waking up with hangovers a day out to sea surely wouldn’t make for serene sailing.’

‘I don’t look for serenity,’ he said, and it was so much an echo of her day’s thoughts that she stopped dead.

But this was ridiculous. The idea was ridiculous. ‘Serenity’s important,’ she managed, forcing her feet into moving again. ‘So thank you, but I’ve said no. Is there anything else you want?’

‘I pay well.’

‘I know what deckies earn.’

‘You don’t know what I pay. Why don’t you ask?’

‘I’m not interested.’

‘Do you really sail?’ he asked curiously.

He wasn’t going away. She was quickening her steps but he was keeping up with ease. She had the feeling if she broke into a run he’d keep striding beside her, effortlessly. ‘Once upon a time, I sailed,’ she said. ‘Before life got serious.’

‘Your life got serious? How?’ Suddenly his eyes were creasing in concern. He paused and, before she could stop him, he lifted her left hand. She knew what he was looking for.

No ring.

‘You have a partner?’ he demanded.

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Yes, but I want to know,’ he said in that gorgeous accent, excellent English but with that fabulous lilt-and there was that smile again, the smile she knew could get him anything he wanted if he tried hard enough. With these looks and that smile and that voice… Whew.

No. He couldn’t get anything from her. She was impervious.

She had to be impervious.

But he was waiting for an answer. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell him enough to get him off her back. ‘I’m happily single,’ she said.

‘Ah, but if you’re saying life’s serious then you’re not so happily single. Maybe sailing away on the next tide could be just what you want.’

‘Look,’ she said, tugging her hand away, exasperated. ‘I’m not a teenager looking for adventure. I have obligations here. So you’re offering me a trip to Europe? Where would that leave me? I’d get on your boat, I’d work my butt off for passage-I know you guys get your money’s worth from the kids you employ-and then I’d end up wherever it is you’re going. That’s it. I know how it works. I wouldn’t even have the fare home. I’m not a backpacker, Mr Whoever-You-Are, and I live here. I don’t know you, I don’t trust you and I’m not interested in your job.’

‘My name’s Ramón Cavellero,’ he said, sounding not in the least perturbed by her outburst. ‘I’m very trustworthy.’ And he smiled in a way that told her he wasn’t trustworthy in the least. ‘I’m sailing on the Marquita . You’ve seen her?’

Had she seen her? Every person in Seaport had seen the Marquita . The big yacht’s photograph had been on the front of their local paper when she’d come into port four days ago. With good reason. Quite simply she was the most beautiful boat Jenny had ever seen.

And probably the most expensive.

If this guy was captaining the Marquita then maybe he had the funds to pay a reasonable wage. That was an insidious little whisper in her head, but she stomped on it before it had a chance to grow. There was no way she could walk away from this place. Not for years.

She had to be sensible.

‘Look, Mr Cavellero, this has gone far enough,’ she said, and she turned back to face him directly. ‘You have the most beautiful boat in the harbour. You can have your pick of any deckie in the market-I know a dozen kids at least who would kill to be on that boat. But, as for me… My friend was making a joke but that’s all it was. Thank you and goodbye.’

She reached out and took his hand, to give it a good firm handshake, as if she was a woman who knew how to transact business, as if she should be taken seriously. He took it, she shook, but, instead of pulling away after one brief shake, she found he was holding on.

Or maybe it was that she hadn’t pulled back as she’d intended.

His hand was strong and warm and his grip as decisive as hers. Or more. Two strong wills, she thought fleetingly, but more…

But then, before she could think any further, she was aware of a car sliding to a halt beside them. She glanced sideways and almost groaned.

Charlie.

She could sense his drunkenness from here. One of these days he’d be caught for drink-driving, she thought, and half of her hoped it’d be soon, but the other half knew that’d put her boss into an even more foul mood than he normally was. Once upon a time he’d been a nice guy-but that was when he was sober, and she could barely remember when he’d been sober. So she winced and braced herself for an explosion as Charlie emerged from the car and headed towards them.

Ramón kept on holding her hand. She tugged it back and he released her but he shifted in closer. Charlie’s body language was aggressive. He was a big man; he’d become an alcoholic bully, and it showed.

But, whatever else Ramón might be, it was clear he knew how to protect his own. His own? That was a dumb thing to think. Even so, she was suddenly glad that he was here right now.

‘Hey, I want to speak to you, you stupid cow. Lose your friend,’ Charlie spat at her.

Jenny flinched. Uh oh. This could mean only one thing-that one of the patrons of the café had told Charlie of Cathy’s outburst. This was too small a town for such a joke to go unreported. Charlie had become universally disliked and the idea that one of his staff was advertising for another job would be used against him.

At her expense.

And Ramón’s presence here would make it worse. Protective or not, Charlie was right; she needed to lose him.

‘See you later,’ she said to Ramón, stepping deliberately away and turning her back on him. Expecting him to leave. ‘Hello, Charlie.’

But Charlie wasn’t into greetings. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, making personal announcements in my café, in my time?’ He was close to yelling, shoving right into her personal space so she was forced to step backward. ‘And getting another job? You walk away from me and I foreclose before the day’s end. You know what you owe me, girl. You work for me for the next three years or I’ll have you bankrupt and your friend with you. I could toss you out now. Your friend’ll lose her house. Great mess that’d leave her in. You’ll work the next four weekends with no pay to make up for this or you’re out on your ear. What do you say to that?’