The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters: a laugh-out-loud romcom!. Jaimie Admans

of humour is equivalent to a childish six-year-old’s and you’re quite happy to show that off.’

      I glance at his smirking face. ‘Just so you know, you can try to offend me all you like, but I’ve met men who are far worse than you’ll ever be, and nothing you do will work.’

      ‘Ah, but it won’t hurt to make sure, will it?’ He winks at me.

      I’ve never had violent tendencies before, but I’ve suddenly started wondering how difficult it would be to dig up this floor and bury the body.

      I smile at him instead, forcing my eyes to stay upwards and not start wandering down his smooth chest… Focus, Wendy. Focus.

      ‘Wow.’ I tear my eyes away from the vast expanse of bare skin and look around the room instead. It’s the biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen.

      He laughs. ‘Yeah. I thought you might like it… Well, you’re probably used to big kitchens, but this is off the scale. There’s a big cook-y thing over there, and…’

      ‘A cook-y thing?’ I ask, trying not to let out the giggle that wants to escape. ‘Are you really so undomesticated that you can’t identify an oven?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      I follow the direction he waves his hand in and gasp in delight. ‘An Aga!’

      He scratches the back of his neck. ‘Aye, one of them.’

      Just as I’m about to go over to it, I catch sight of something else out of the corner of my eye. Familiar red and green lettering on a white box. I dump my shopping in a heap and grab it, cuddling it to my chest like a golden chalice. ‘Where did you get these?’ I ask in delight. ‘And a kettle!’ I let out a noise so squeaky that a mouse would be embarrassed to make it.

      He raises an eyebrow and looks at me like I’m not a full loaf, but I don’t care. He’s found PG Tips and a kettle. Eulalie probably had them all along, although they both look new and modern. I look at the kettle out the corner of my eye. It’s shiny white plastic with no hint of two-decade-old grime on it, and there’s no way Julian’s that good a cleaner.

      ‘I brought them with me,’ he says, confirming my worst fears.

      ‘What kind of person brings a kettle on holiday with them?’ I snap, instead of begging him to let me borrow a teabag.

      ‘The kind who’s ever tried to find a cup of British tea in France before.’ His voice is so smug it could hold up wallpaper. ‘From your reaction, I take it you didn’t bring any with you.’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Oh, what a shame. I wouldn’t like it to be awkward when I’m drinking my lovely, delicious cups of tea and you can’t have any.’

      ‘Surely you wouldn’t be that cruel?’ I know there’s hope in my voice, but even as I say it, I have to wonder why he’d share anything with me. I haven’t said one nice word to him yet; he’s not going to give me a teabag every morning, is he?

      ‘Ah, but we don’t share things, do we? How convenient that someone who’s got such a big problem sharing a house with me suddenly wants to share something when it suits her.’

      ‘A mansion and a box of PG Tips are not the same thing.’

      ‘Both are a valuable commodity, are they not?’

      I glare at him so hard that it makes him laugh. ‘Is it my fault you didn’t prepare for coming here? Is it my responsibility to provide you with things you forgot in your rush to beat me here?’

      ‘Well, no, but…’

      He makes a noise that says I’ve proved his point.

      I’m trying to have a reasonable conversation with a naked man. The reasonable train clearly left his station a long time ago. I’ll have to try a different approach. ‘Look, I’m practically having withdrawal symptoms here and it’s only been a day. Surely we can work something out. I’ll do anything.’

      ‘Anything?’ He waggles his eyebrows.

      ‘Anything within reason. I’m not doing you bloody sexual favours for a cup of tea.’

      ‘Firstly, what makes you think I’d want that sort of thing from you? You’ve got all the sexual charisma of a coffee table with a wonky leg. And secondly, what makes you think I’m the kind of man who’d ask for sexual favours in exchange for tea?’

      ‘You’re a git. I wouldn’t put anything past you.’

      ‘Trying to get round me with insults. Not the best approach.’

      ‘Sorry,’ I mutter. Insulting him has already become second nature. ‘A swap then? Look, I have all these lovely baked goods from Kat this morning.’ I wave my hand in the direction of my heap of shopping. ‘Wouldn’t you like a nice flaky croissant or a brioche round with a hint of lemon icing?’

      ‘Nope, I’d like my PG Tips. In fact, I might just put the kettle on now and have one. Can I get you something like, oh I don’t know, a glass of hot water?’

      ‘Please, Julian. Surely you can spare one? There are two hundred and forty teabags in this box!’

      ‘That’s two hundred and forty lovely cups of tea for me then, isn’t it?’

      My nails dig into my palms as I clench my fists to stop myself from throwing the box at his head. I wonder if anyone’s ever been killed by teabags before…

      ‘I can’t believe how big this kitchen is,’ I say instead, looking around to take my mind off caving his head in with a box of PG Tips. ‘That sink is the size of my bathtub at home.’

      ‘Yeah, and the spider living in it is the size of a small cat. It should be paying rent and its fair share of the household bills.’

      I shiver as I peer into it from a safe distance.

      Julian’s suddenly much too near. He nudges me with his elbow. ‘Ask it to get the Mr Sheen out, will you? The place needs a good clean and it’s obviously not been pulling its weight around the house.’

      ‘Don’t nudge me when you have no clothes on.’

      I see a flash of something cross his face, maybe guilt, and he walks to the other side of the kitchen, giving me space.

      ‘Whoever lived here would’ve thrown big, lavish parties for big, lavish people,’ he says. ‘Their servants’ quarters had to be big enough for the servants to cook and prepare food for a lot of important people. You’re probably talking twenty or so people in here at once if there was a party going on, cooking, serving, bussing food up and down. Most of them probably lived here too. There’s a laundry room in there.’ He points to a door at the opposite end of the kitchen. ‘It’s full of tin baths and mangles and fun stuff like that, but thankfully someone’s installed a washing machine in more recent years. Off the main room, there’s a bathroom and a massive bedroom where the servants must’ve slept. This was probably the liveliest part of the house once.’

      When he’s talking like this, I see a glimpse of a real person under the git persona. His accent is soft, his voice deep, and he sounds genuinely interested in what he’s saying. ‘You like this sort of thing then? Old houses and stuff?’

      He looks at me and his mouth curves up. ‘Yeah. This place is fascinating. It’s a snapshot of times gone by. Houses aren’t built like this any more. They haven’t been for over a century, and even though it needs a lot of work, it’s still beautiful.’