Their Scandalous Affair. Catherine George
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do you go?’
‘Friday, if all goes to plan.’
She thought about it for a moment. ‘I’m free on Thursday.’
‘I suppose it’s too much to hope for tomorrow evening as well?’
She shook her head regretfully. ‘I’m committed to a day of eye-crossing hand work tomorrow. I’ll be slaving away on it at home all day, and by evening I’ll be grumpy and tired, and no fit company for anyone.’
‘In that case—’ Jonas drained his mug and got up ‘—I’d better let you get to bed to shape up for it, and I’ll take myself off to practice patience until Thursday.’
‘I’ll look forward to that. Thank you for dinner, Jonas. I enjoyed the evening very much.’ To her surprise Avery felt flustered as she led the way to the front door. She was no schoolgirl on a first date, she reminded herself irritably. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss her goodnight.
But Jonas took her by the shoulders and bent his head to prove her wrong, with a kiss which packed such a punch her knees were trembling when he released her. He looked down at her for a long moment, and then kissed her again very thoroughly. At last he raised his head, trailed a finger down her flushed cheek, and smiled down into her startled eyes.
‘I’ll be here at seven on the dot. Goodnight, Avery Crawford.’
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN Avery made the decision to keep on her mother’s business she’d advertised for an experienced tailor and Frances White had entered her life—first as an employee, but soon as a valued friend. With Frances’s input the business had rapidly expanded enough to need premises in town, at which point Avery had engaged two former schoolfriends as skilled part-time help. This new arrangement had left Avery free to concentrate on the financial and advertising side, and on visits to clients for fittings. She had also been able to fine-tune her own particular talent for the embroidery and delicate hand repairs Avery Alterations had soon become known for in the neighbourhood. And if she sometimes yearned for the buzz and adrenaline of her past life in the City, Avery kept it strictly to herself.
She was in mellow mood next day as she settled down in the small spare room to work on Pansy Keith-Davidson’s vintage bridal gown. Unpicking seams in delicate fabric was tedious, time-consuming work, and normally Avery worked with the radio for company, or an audio book—preferably a thriller. But today she was thinking exclusively of Jonas Mercer—and his kisses. In the past she’d had her fair share of them, just like any other half-presentable female, but lately they hadn’t featured in her life at all. She knew there was more to it than that. With just a kiss or two Jonas Mercer had revived feelings she’d been utterly certain she would never experience again.
Avery found her hands had stilled, and she was staring blindly at ivory slipper satin instead of treating it with the respect it deserved. She pulled herself together sharply, switched on her thriller and focused her full attention on the work which represented a handsome fee for Avery Alterations.
It was late, and Avery’s eyes felt hot and dry by the time careful ironing had completed her day’s work. As she stepped out of the shower her phone rang, and she snatched it off the bathroom stool.
‘Good evening, Ms Crawford. Are you cross-eyed and grumpy?’ enquired a familiar voice.
‘I was by the time I finished for the day, Mr Mercer, but I’m better now,’ she informed him, rubbing at her hair.
‘Good. Have you spotted the coincidence in today’s crossword? Four across—“The architect of King Minos’s labyrinth at Crete.”’
‘Daedalus, who just happened to be Icarus’s daddy,’ she said smugly. ‘But some people work too hard to dally with crosswords, Mr Mercer.’
‘I stand reproved! I booked a table at the Walnut Tree, by the way, subject to your approval.’
‘I’m impressed. I’ve never been, but I’m more than happy to try it,’ she assured him.
‘It’s a fair distance away, so it means an early start. I’ll call for you at seven,’ he said again.
‘I’ll make a point of getting home on time.’
‘Here’s my cell number if you need to contact me.’
‘Hang on, I’ll get a pen.’ Avery ran into the bedroom and scribbled on the telephone pad on her bedside table. ‘Got it.’
‘Good. Thank you for taking pity on a lonely stranger last night, Avery.’
‘I enjoyed the evening very much,’ she assured him.
‘So did I. Very much indeed. We’ll do it all again tomorrow. Goodnight, Avery.’
She felt very pleased with life after Jonas’s phone call, even after a look through her wardrobe—which confirmed that she owned far more in the way of business suits and jeans than anything frivolous. With no time to run something up, the only option was the dateless little black dress most women owned as standby. Jonas wouldn’t know—or care—that it dated from her City days.
Frances rang later, to report on the day. ‘Quite a bit of new work came in, but it’s just routine stuff. We can fit it in around the wedding order.’
‘Thanks, Frances. I’ve finished the first phase on the gown. Over to you tomorrow.’
‘Brilliant—but no resting on your laurels, boss. Mrs K-D rang this afternoon, asking if you could spare the time to have tea with her tomorrow afternoon to measure the bridesmaids. I said you’d ring to confirm.’
Avery groaned. ‘Lucky me! I’ll ring her now.’
Later, supper eaten and chores done, Avery wished that she’d said yes to this evening with Jonas Mercer after all. She liked him enormously for someone she’d known only a day or so.
After leaving university, where she’d played as hard as anyone else and worked a lot harder than most, her career in a male-dominated world in the City had inevitably brought her into contact with a lot of men. She’d disliked some intensely, liked others in a temperate kind of way, and during her time in London had been involved in two relationships that had been anything but temperate. But this instant rapport with Jonas was—different.
She heaved a sigh as she switched on her computer. Doing accounts was a poor substitute for an evening spent with the deeply appealing Mr Mercer.
When Avery arrived at the shop next morning she handed the garment box to Frances, went through the pile of mail, and found a letter that sent her high spirits into a nosedive. Morrell Properties were not renewing her lease. The premises must be vacated by the end of the next calendar month.
‘What’s up?’ said Frances, eyeing her face.
Avery showed her the letter. ‘My landlords are evicting me. They’ve never given me more than a half-yearly lease at a time, so I suppose this was always on the cards.’
And now she knew the reason for Paul Morrell’s visit. His father owned Morrell Properties, and Paul had persuaded him to lease the Stow Street premises to her in the first place. At the time Avery hadn’t cared much for the six-monthly terms, and even less for feeling beholden to Paul Morrell. But nothing else had been available in town at the time, and no businesswoman worth her salt could have passed up premises at an affordable rent in a good commercial location.
‘So what happens now?’ asked Frances.
‘We have a month and a bit to find new premises, and if the worst comes to the worst we’ll work from my place after that until I find something else in town,’ said Avery, sounding more positive than she felt. ‘Break the news when Louise and Helen arrive, but tell them there’s nothing to worry about.’
She shut herself into the minuscule cloakroom, rang a number in the City of London, and for the first time in three years asked for Paul Morrell’s