Princess of Convenience

‘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.’

She wiped her hands on her skirt in the gesture of a woman preparing for hard work. ‘Stand back, all. In the interest of chook health there’s nothing else to do.’ She walked across to a hose attached to the tap by the back door.

Raoul watched her as if she was something that had appeared on a magic carpet.

‘Stand back,’ she told him again. ‘And whoosh those chooks away.’

‘Whoosh?’ he asked faintly and her grin deepened.

‘Like you did to Marcel,’ she told him. ‘Only don’t whoosh quite so hard.’

There was that smile again. Faint. Just.

She really liked it. They grinned at each other like fools. Then he whooshed the chooks.