Master of the House - Page 75

Joss didn’t draw attention to it, but he had this kind of falsely modest, preening air about him that made it obvious he wanted me to notice.

‘Have the fairies been here?’ I asked, bending over the table to see my face in its polished surface.

‘What do you mean? What are we doing for supper? I’ve been to Waitrose.’

‘You’ve been to Waitrose?’

‘I mean, I got Fran to go. She got all sorts of things. Shall I cook?’

‘Can you cook?’ We had lived on bacon sandwiches and porridge for about three weeks – when we could drag ourselves out of bed, that is.

‘I’ve got a recipe book,’ he said.

‘I’ll help you.’

The kitchen was a revelation. Shiny and sparkly and free of the cobwebs and grunge that had lurked in every corner.

‘You’ve been busy,’ I exclaimed, turning to him.

‘Oh, it’s easy, isn’t it? I don’t know why everyone complains about it so much. It took less than an hour.’

‘Less than an hour?’

Looking more closely, there was a certain streakiness about the metallic surfaces, and the floor had been swept but not mopped. It was better than it had looked in some time, though, it must be acknowledged.

‘This is history in the making,’ I said. ‘Lord Lethbridge turns scullery maid for his cleaner’s daughter.’

‘That’d better not be the headline in tomorrow’s Voice,’ he said, looking up from the cupboard he was peering into.

‘Perish the thought.’

‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘you’re doing the washing up tonight.’

‘Am I?’

‘Yes. In this.’ And he threw a white apron at me, along with a tea towel.

‘Is this vintage?’ I asked, inspecting the starchy, stiffly frilled garment.

‘I rather think it is,’ he said. ‘Can’t wait to see you in it. And nothing else.’ He winked.

‘Sounds like you’re cooking then.’

‘Yes, er …’ He wandered over to the freezer and pulled out a large foil tray with cardboard cover. ‘Cottage pie?’

‘Oh, you’ve bought a stack of ready meals! I might have known.’

‘I think they’re a brilliant idea,’ he objected. ‘Nice food without any work, and cheaper than a takeaway. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Salt. Fat,’ I said. ‘Never mind. What veg are we having with it?’

‘Veg?’

‘Yes, you know, green stuff, sometimes orange or red, often leafy …’ I left it open, eyebrows raised in question.

‘Oh. Do you know? I don’t think I bought any.’

I laughed hollowly.

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