Their Scandalous Affair. CATHERINE GEORGE
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as usual. But there’s a jacket to alter for you, Frances, and an evening gown and a very pricey knitted coat in need of your particular magic touch, Avery. No sweat; the customer is willing to wait. Charge what you like.’
Avery sighed. ‘I may have to if it takes time. Want some coffee?’
Christine declined regretfully. ‘Must go back now I know you’re all fine. I’m glad there wasn’t too much damage to your shop,’ she added, and gave a little shiver. ‘Thank heavens the little devils didn’t fire a rocket through my place.’
Avery took the garments up to the dress rail she kept in her sewing room, and groaned as she hung up a bead-encrusted evening gown with layers of chiffon skirt and a white knitted coat—both of which would take hours of work to shorten by hand. She went to her bedroom to renew the lipstick she’d chewed off during the morning, and spun round in alarm when Frances burst into her room without knocking.
‘Come down quickly. He’s here!’ she hissed, pulling Avery from the room.
‘Who’s here?’
‘Mr Mercer, the representative from Mercom, has just arrived,’ said Frances, in tones meant to carry to the man standing in the hall below. She gave Avery a dig in the ribs and whispered, ‘Grovel!’
Avery strolled downstairs, smiling brightly as Jonas moved forward to meet her, immaculate and imposing in a suit which fitted so perfectly it was obviously custom-made. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning, Miss Crawford,’ he said briskly. ‘I hoped you could spare an hour for a working lunch.’
‘Now?’
His lips twitched as the long-case clock beside him chimed the half-hour after noon. ‘As good a time as any.’
‘Of course,’ she said politely. ‘Will you hold the fort, Frances?’
‘With pleasure,’ said her friend promptly.
Avery walked out of the house telling herself that she was twenty-eight—well, twenty-nine—years old, and it was utterly stupid to behave like such a girl because Jonas Mercer had turned up out of the blue to surprise her instead of ringing to make an appointment. She wasn’t a dentist.
‘How are you, Avery?’ he asked, as he handed her into a sleek, dangerous-looking piece of machinery very different from the modest estate car she’d bought to accommodate dress rails full of garments.
‘I’m fine now. It’s surprising what a good night’s sleep will do. I had very little on Saturday night.’
‘I can well believe it.’
‘I’m glad of this opportunity to thank you,’ she told Jonas later, as they turned into the cobbled courtyard of the Fleece. ‘Your plans for Stow Street, I mean. I apologise for jumping to the wrong conclusion last time we met.’
‘You were one angry lady,’ he said wryly, and casually reversed the car into a space Avery would never have attempted. ‘I’ve booked a room here this time.’
So he was here for one night, at least. ‘I’ve heard that it’s very comfortable.’
‘It’s bound to have one disadvantage,’ he said blandly. ‘I doubt that a beautiful woman will ask to share my table tonight.’
Not this one, anyway, thought Avery with regret. ‘You never know your luck.’
Jonas reached into the back of the car for a newspaper, and brandished it at her as they crossed the cobbles. ‘I left the crossword for you. Or have you solved it already?’
Avery eyed him with scorn. ‘With the kind of day I’m having?’
He glanced down at her. ‘You’re wound up pretty tight, Ms Crawford.’
‘With good reason,’ she reminded him as they reached the bar.
‘Red wine?’ asked Jonas.
‘Not during a working day. Mineral water and a ham sandwich, please. I’d better grab that table over there. I can’t stay too long.’
From her seat by the window Avery watched him chatting to the barman, amused when she realised that her grey pinstriped trouser suit was almost the twin of the one worn by Jonas. For once fate had been kind enough to let her look well groomed before he arrived, if not in the best of tempers. Waiting for his phone call had put her in a bad mood.
Frances’s order to grovel had been timely. Avery gave a mental shrug. Her apology had not been exactly impassioned, but she’d made it. And now, with time to view Jonas Mercer objectively, she felt the same irresistible tug of attraction. His tan had faded, and his hair was darkening to what was probably its winter shade of tawny brown. It was thick and glossy, and had been expertly cut since she last saw him. Unlike hers, it curled only at the tips. Also he was taller than any other man in sight, which was a huge point in his favour on a day when she’d chosen to wear boots with four-inch heels.
‘Is it difficult today?’ asked Jonas, eyeing the blank crossword as he sat down beside her.
‘I’m not in the mood.’
‘You’re still angry with me,’ he observed.
‘Not still. Again,’ she corrected.
‘Because I didn’t ring before I arrived?’
‘In the circumstances, yes,’ she said, and drank some of the water he’d poured for her.
‘I tried. You were on the phone. I left a message,’ he informed her succinctly. ‘Did you check?’
Avery flushed guiltily.
‘You’ve obviously had a busy, stressful morning,’ he said kindly, like a parent to a fractious child.
‘Which doesn’t excuse my bad manners. Sorry!’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Have you inspected the damage to Stow Street yet?’
‘No. I came straight to you. You can walk me through the repairs you need before I drive you back.’
‘Right.’ She sighed. ‘I know I’m lucky to have a business I can run from home, but I’ll be glad to have the house to myself again.’
‘Has the fire affected trade?’
‘Not yet. We get a regular supply of work from the dress shop, and the main department store, and I travel to private homes for fittings—so that side of things shouldn’t suffer. But I’ll miss out on the jobs people pop in on their way into town from the car park.’
They were interrupted several times during lunch, by people sympathising about the fire, and Avery introduced Jonas each time, purposely omitting any qualifying description.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d want your official capacity broadcast to all and sundry,’ she said in an undertone.
‘It’s not a problem,’ he assured her, and gave her a look which brought her antennae erect. ‘I don’t mind who knows I represent Mercom—or the conclusions your friends jump to about our relationship, either. Just for the record,’ he added, ‘is there someone likely to resent me as a possible usurper?’
‘No,’ she said flatly, pouring coffee with a steady hand. ‘I told you that early on in our brief acquaintance.’
‘It still surprises me.’
‘Why?’
Jonas leaned nearer, a look in his eyes which caused her considerable unrest. ‘Because, Avery Crawford, I was attracted to you the first time I laid eyes on you—even in no-nonsense clothes with your hair scraped back.’
‘And despite the fact that I was trying to pick you up?’ she said, her voice tart to hide her pleasure.
‘That too,’ he admitted with a grin. ‘But one look at you the following night, with that glorious hair loose and those lips painted red as sin, and I thought