Their Scandalous Affair. Catherine George
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‘I’ll go halves for the ad you put in the paper.’
Avery rushed everyone off the premises dead on time that night, to get home to give her hair time to dry into its natural mane of exuberant curls. She fussed over her face more than usual, and changed her clothes twice before settling on jeans and a velvet jacket, irritated that she was behaving like an adolescent, and even more so when she found she’d arrived at the Angel car park a minute early.
But Jonas Mercer was there before her, in a khaki reefer jacket and needlecord jeans which suited his lanky dimensions even better than the suit of the night before.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling. ‘You needn’t have waited outside. You must be cold.’
‘You said seven, and you strike me as a lady who means what she says.’ He folded himself into the passenger seat and turned to her in awe. ‘That’s a glorious head of hair you’ve got there, Ms Crawford!’
Avery pulled a face. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you had to fight it tooth and nail to make it stay up every day.’
‘Then why bother?’
‘To present a businesslike image to my clients.’
He eased his legs out of her way as she changed gear. ‘If your clients are men they’d prefer your hair the way it is now, believe me.’
‘I deal mainly with women.’ She described her morning in detail, amusing him with her tale of excited bride and stressed mother.
‘I took a stroll round town this afternoon,’ he told her, ‘and I spotted Avery Alterations in the row of shops near the main car park.’
‘That’s headquarters, where the actual work goes on, but I travel to private homes to do the initial fittings. Here we are,’ she added as the inn came into view.
She drove through an archway big enough to accommodate the coaches that had once rattled through it into the cobbled yard beyond. These days the Fleece’s courtyard was full of cars, and Avery was pleased to find a space wide enough to park in easily. As they crossed the cobbles to the back entrance Jonas sniffed the air with anticipation.
‘If the food matches the smells coming from the kitchen windows we’re obviously in for a treat. Popular place,’ he added as he followed Avery into the main bar. ‘You bag the table by the window and I’ll get the drinks. Red wine again?’
‘Yes, please.’
The inn was buzzing, as usual, and Avery sat back, prepared to enjoy herself, confident that the meal, whatever they chose from the menu, would be good. She smiled in acknowledgement as someone waved to her, amused when more than one pair of curious eyes followed Jonas as he rejoined her. Avery Crawford, dining out with a man!
‘This place has been serving food since the eighteenth century,’ she told him. ‘I had my first grown-up dinner here, as a treat for my eleventh birthday.’
‘So you’re a native of these parts? How long has Avery Alterations been functioning?’
‘In one form or another for about twenty-five years.’
Jonas eyed her in surprise. ‘The sums don’t add up.’
‘My mother started it up at home when I was small. She was a qualified tailor and taught me everything I know. Eventually I was able to make my own dresses for my university balls.’
‘Clever lady.’ Jonas leaned nearer as the noise level increased. ‘Was your degree in fine art?’
‘No, maths.’
He grinned. ‘Snap—mine too. Right, then, Ms Crawford, you’re the expert here. What do you recommend?’
Once they’d given their orders Avery eyed her companion expectantly. ‘So what did you do after you graduated?’
Jonas Mercer sat back, relaxed. ‘After a gap-year backpacking round the world, supposedly studying other people’s transport systems, I joined the family business, as I’d always intended. Once he was sure I was up to scratch, my father decided on semi-retirement. With his guiding hand, I help run the show pretty much as it’s been run for decades— independent of help from bank or City. We’re in haulage, warehousing, some construction work, and so on. Remunerative, but not exciting,’ he added.
‘I think any successful business run for that length of time with no outside financial help is very exciting indeed,’ Avery assured him. ‘I used to work in the City, once upon a time.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Did you, indeed? Why did you leave?’
‘I’ll tell you some other time—our dinner’s approaching.’
Over the meal, which was as excellent as Avery had promised, Jonas made no effort to press her about her change of career. Instead he talked about his mother’s passion for gardening and his father’s golf handicap, and the various Mercer relatives who worked with him.
‘I have plenty of help to carry the load,’ he said wryly. ‘Would you like coffee?’
Coffee had an air of finality about it. And because this type of evening was missing from her life these days Avery was reluctant to let it end yet. She hesitated for a moment, then suggested they go back to her place for the coffee.
‘If you’re willing to walk back into town afterwards,’ she added. ‘It’s not far.’
‘I’d like that very much,’ he said promptly, and signalled to a waiter for the bill.
When they arrived at the four-square Victorian villa of Avery’s birth, Jonas looked on in approval as she switched off the alarm. ‘A sensible precaution if you live alone. Do you?’ he added casually, looming tall in the narrow hallway.
‘Yes.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Or did you think I was after some light entertainment while the man in my life is away?’
He shook his head, unperturbed. ‘I was thinking more of relatives.’
Her eyes shadowed as she led the way down the long narrow hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Not any more.’
‘It’s a lot of house for one,’ Jonas commented as he followed her into the large, welcoming room.
She nodded. ‘I had thoughts about selling or letting it when it came to me. But it’s been in the family since my great-grandparents took possession of it from new, and in the end I decided to stay put because at first I ran the business from home.’ Avery switched on the kettle, and shot a look at the man lounging at ease in one of the rush-seated chairs, his endless legs stretched out under the table. ‘Would you prefer something else to coffee? Whisky, brandy—?’
He smiled. ‘Would it destroy my image forever to ask for a cup of tea?’
Which, Avery assumed, was his way of saying he had no misconceptions about what else was on offer. ‘Tea it is—in which case we ought to drink it out of my mother’s best china cups in the sitting room.’
‘I’d rather stay here. So what did you actually do in the City?’ he added as he watched her pour boiling water onto tea bags.
‘I was regarded as something of a prodigy. By the age of twenty-five I was a fund manager for one of the big insurance groups, handling billions in retail and pension-funds assets.’
‘High-flyer,’ said Jonas with respect.
‘So was Icarus! But instead of flying too near the sun, like him, I left the City because my mother was ill.’ Avery’s face was sober as she set two steaming mugs on the table. ‘So what exactly brings you to this neck of the woods, Mr Mercer?’ she asked, taking the chair opposite.
‘My father heard of some reasonable land in this area. I’m here to check it out for building purposes.’
Avery welcomed the idea if it meant return visits by Jonas Mercer. ‘And is the site suitable?’