Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

by Marion Lennox

  ‘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?’

  She closed her eyes. Charlie was quite capable of carrying out his threats. This man was capable of anything.

  Why had she ever borrowed money from him?

  Because she’d been desperate, that was why. It had been right at the end of Matty’s illness. She’d sold everything, but there was this treatment… There’d been a chance. It was slim, she’d known, but she’d do anything.

  She’d been sobbing, late at night, in the back room of the café. She’d been working four hours a day to pay her rent. The rest of the time she’d spent with Matty. Cathy had found her there, and Charlie came in and found them both.

  He’d loan her the money, he said, and the offer was so extraordinary both women had been rendered almost speechless.

  Jenny could repay it over five years, he’d told them, by working for half wages at the café. Only he needed security. ‘In case you decide to do a runner.’

  ‘She’d never do a runner,’ Cathy had said, incensed. ‘When Matty’s well she’ll settle down and live happily ever after.’

  ‘I don’t believe in happy ever after,’ Charlie had said. ‘I need security.’

  ‘I’ll pledge my apartment that she’ll repay you,’ Cathy had said hotly. ‘I trust her, even if you don’t.’

  What a disaster. They’d been so emotional they hadn’t thought it through. All Jenny had wanted was to get back to the hospital, to get back to Matty, and she didn’t care how. Cathy’s generosity was all she could see.

  So she’d hugged her and accepted and didn’t see the ties. Only ties there were. Matty died a month later and she was faced with five years bonded servitude.

  Cathy’s apartment had been left to her by her mother. It was pretty and neat and looked out over the har
bour. Cathy was an artist. She lived hand to mouth and her apartment was all she had.

  Even Cathy hadn’t realised how real the danger of foreclosure was, Jenny thought dully. Cathy had barely glanced at the loan documents. She had total faith in her friend to repay her loan. Of course she had.

  So now there was no choice. Jenny dug her hands deep into her pockets, she bit back angry words, as she’d bitten them back many times before, and she nodded.

  ‘Okay. I’m sorry, Charlie. Of course I’ll do the weekends.’

  ‘Hey!’ From behind them came Ramón’s voice, laced with surprise and the beginnings of anger. ‘What is this? Four weekends to pay for two minutes of amusement?’

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ Charlie said shortly. ‘Get lost.’

  ‘If you’re talking about what happened at the café, I was there. It was a joke.’

  ‘I don’t do jokes. Butt out. And she’ll do the weekends. She has no choice.’

  And then he smiled, a drunken smile that made her shiver. ‘So there’s the joke,’ he jeered. ‘On you, woman, not me.’

  And that was that. He stared defiance at Ramón, but Ramón, it seemed, was not interested in a fight. He gazed blankly back at him, and then watched wordlessly as Charlie swung himself unsteadily back into his car and weaved off into the distance.

  Leaving silence.

  How to explain what had just happened? Jenny thought, and decided she couldn’t. She took a few tentative steps away, hoping Ramón would leave her to her misery.

  He didn’t. Instead, he looked thoughtfully at the receding car, then flipped open his cellphone and spoke a few sharp words. He snapped it shut and walked after Jenny, catching up and once again falling into step beside her.

  ‘How much do you owe him?’ he asked bluntly.

  She looked across at him, startled. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You heard. How much?’

  ‘I don’t believe that it’s…’

  ‘Any of my business,’ he finished for her. ‘Your boss just told me that. But, as your future employer, I can make it my business.’

  ‘You’re not my future employer.’

  ‘Just tell me, Jenny,’ he said, and his voice was suddenly so concerned, so warm, so laced with caring that, to her astonishment, she found herself telling him. Just blurting out the figure, almost as if it didn’t matter.

  He thought about it for a moment as they kept walking. ‘That’s not so much,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘To you, maybe,’ she retorted. ‘But to me… My best friend signed over her apartment as security. If I don’t pay, then she loses her home.’

  ‘You could get another job. You don’t have to be beholden to this swine-bag. You could transfer the whole loan to the bank.’

  ‘I don’t think you realise just how broke I am,’ she snapped and then she shook her head, still astounded at how she was reacting to him. ‘Sorry. There’s no need for me to be angry with you when you’re being nice. I’m tired and I’m upset and I’ve got myself into a financial mess. The truth is that I don’t even have enough funds to miss a week’s work while I look for something else, and no bank will take me on. Or Cathy either, for that matter-she’s a struggling painter and has nothing but her apartment. So there you go. That’s why I work for Charlie. It’s also why I can’t drop everything and sail away with you. If you knew how much I’d love to…’

  ‘Would you love to?’ He was studying her intently. The concern was still there but there was something more. It was as if he was trying to make her out. His brow was furrowed in concentration. ‘Would you really? How good a sailor are you?’

  That was a weird question but it was better than talking about her debts. So she told him that, too. Why not? ‘I was born and bred on the water,’ she told him. ‘My dad built a yacht and we sailed it together until he died. In the last few years of his life we lived on board. My legs are more at home at sea than on land.’

  ‘Yet you’re a cook.’

  ‘There’s nothing like spending your life in a cramped galley to make you lust after proper cooking.’ She gave a wry smile, temporarily distracted from her bleakness. ‘My mum died early so she couldn’t teach me, but I longed to cook. When I was seventeen I got an apprenticeship with the local baker. I had to force Dad to keep the boat in port during my shifts.’

  ‘And your boat? What was she?’

  ‘A twenty-five footer, fibreglass, called Wind Trader. Flamingo, if you know that class. She wasn’t anything special but we loved her.’

  ‘Sold now to pay debts?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘How did you know?’ she said, crashing back to earth. ‘And, before you ask, I have a gambling problem.’

  ‘Now why don’t I believe that?’

  ‘Why would you believe anything I tell you?’ She took a deep breath. ‘Look, this is dumb. I’m wrecked and I need to go home. Can we forget we had this conversation? It was crazy to tell you my troubles and I surely don’t expect you to do anything about them. But thank you for letting me talk.’

  She hesitated then. For some reason, it was really hard to walk away from this man, but she had no choice. ‘Goodbye, Mr Cavellero,’ she managed. ‘Thank you for thinking of me as a potential deckhand. It was very nice of you, and you know what? If I didn’t have this debt I’d be half tempted to take it on.’

  Once more she turned away. She walked about ten steps, but then his voice called her back.

  ‘Jenny?’

  She should have just kept on walking, but there was something in his voice that stopped her. It was the concern again. He sounded as if he really cared.

  That was crazy, but the sensation was insidious, like a siren song forcing her to turn around.

  ‘Yes?’

  He was standing where she’d left him. Just standing. Behind him, down the end of the street, she could see the harbour. That was where he belonged, she thought. He was a man of the sea. He looked a man from the sea. Whereas she…

  ‘Jenny, I’ll pay your debts,’ he said.

  She didn’t move. She didn’t say anything.

  She didn’t know what to say.

  ‘This isn’t charity,’ he said quickly as she felt her colour rise. ‘It’s a proposition.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s a very sketchy proposition,’ he told her. ‘I’ve not had time to work out the details so we may have to smooth it off round the edges. But, essentially, I’ll pay your boss out if you promise to come and work with me for a year. You’ll be two deckies instead of one-crew when I need it and cook for the rest of the time. Sometimes you’ll be run off your feet but mostly not. I’ll also add a living allowance,’ he said and he mentioned a sum that made her feel winded.

  ‘You’ll be living on the boat so that should be sufficient,’ he told her, seemingly ignoring her amazement. ‘Then, at the end of the year, I’ll organise you a flight home, from wherever Marquita ends up. So how about it, Jenny?’ And there was that smile again, flashing out to warm parts of her she hadn’t known had been cold. ‘Will you stay here as Charlie’s unpaid slave, or will you come with me, cook your cakes on my boat and see the world? What do you say? Marquita’s waiting, Jenny. Come sail away.’

  ‘It’s three years’ debt,’ she gasped finally. Was he mad?

  ‘Not to me. It’s one year’s salary for a competent cook and sailor, and it’s what I’m offering.’

  ‘Your owner could never give the authority to pay those kind of wages.’

  He hesitated for a moment-for just a moment-but then he smiled. ‘My owner doesn’t interfere with how I run my boat,’ he told her. ‘My owner knows if I…if he pays peanuts, he gets monkeys. I want good and loyal crew and with you I believe I’d be getting it.’

  ‘You don’t even know me. And you’re out of your mind. Do you know how many deckies you could get with that money?’

  ‘I don’t want deckies. I want you.’ And then, as she kept right on staring, he amended what had been a really forceful st
atement. ‘If you can cook the muffins I had this morning you’ll make my life-and everyone else who comes onto the boat-a lot more pleasant.’

  ‘Who does the cooking now?’ She was still fighting for breath. What an offer!

  ‘Me or a deckie,’ he said ruefully. ‘Not a lot of class.’

  ‘I’d…I’d be expected to cook for the owner?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Dinner parties?’

  ‘There’s not a lot of dinner parties on board the Marquita,’ he said, sounding a bit more rueful. ‘The owner’s pretty much like me. A retiring soul.’

  ‘You don’t look like a retiring soul,’ she retorted, caught by the sudden flash of laughter in those blue eyes.

  ‘Retiring or not, I still need a cook.’

  Whoa… To be a cook on a boat… With this man…

  Then she caught herself. For a moment she’d allowed herself to be sucked in. To think what if.

  What if she sailed away?

  Only she’d jumped like this once before, and where had it got her? Matty, and all the heartbreak that went with him.

  Her thoughts must have shown on her face. ‘What is it?’ Ramón asked, and his smile suddenly faded. ‘Hey, Jenny, don’t look like that. There’s no strings attached to this offer. I swear you won’t find yourself the seventeenth member of my harem, chained up for my convenience in the hold. I can even give you character references if you want. I’m extremely honourable.’

  He was trying to make her smile. She did smile, but it was a wavery smile. ‘I’m sure you’re honourable,’ she said-despite the laughter lurking behind his amazing eyes suggesting he was nothing of the kind-‘but, references or not, I still don’t know you.’ Deep breath. Be sensible. ‘Sorry,’ she managed. ‘It’s an amazing offer, but I took a loan from Charlie when I wasn’t thinking straight, and look where that got me. And there have been…other times…when I haven’t thought straight either, and trouble’s followed. So I don’t act on impulse any more. I’ve learned to be sensible. Thank you for your offer, Mr Cavellero…’