The Return of Mrs. Jones (8 page)

‘Deal,’ he said. ‘Okay, then, woman-with-clipboard, which road do you want me to take?’

CHAPTER SIX

‘T
HIS
IS
SO
good.’

‘Better than your Pinot Noirs and Sauvignon Blancs?’

Lawrie took a long sip of the cool, tart cider and shook her head. ‘Not better—different. I’m not sure I’d want to drink it in a restaurant. Too filling, for a start,’ she finished, turning the pint glass full of amber-coloured liquid round in her hands, admiring the way it caught the light.

‘They have a micro-brewery on site.’ Jonas was reading the tasting cards. ‘Rhubarb cider—that sounds intriguing. I wonder if they would want a stall at the festival? Talking of which, have you made a decision on the bands yet?’

Lawrie pulled a face. ‘It’s so hard,’ she said. ‘They were all good, and so different. Seriously, how do you compare punk folk with rock with acoustic?’ She shook her head. ‘Who would have thought punk folk even worked, and yet they were fab. Can I ask them all?’

‘You’re the organiser; it’s up to you,’ Jonas said. He gave her a mock stern look. ‘Not last night’s support, though. We want people to
enjoy
their festival-going experience.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Lawrie smiled at him sweetly. ‘I thought the part where she read out poetry to a triangle beat was inspiring. Especially the poem about her menstrual cycle.’

‘Stop!’ Jonas was covering his ears. ‘Those words are seared onto my brain. As is that triangle. I swear I could hear it in my sleep.
Ting, ting ting
.’ He shuddered.

Lawrie laughed and took another sip. ‘I think the triangle represented her feminine aura.’

It was amazing, how comfortable she was. How comfortable
they
were. Having him around, driving, tasting, listening, bouncing ideas—it had made the whole trip easy, fun. And it hadn’t been awkward. Well, hardly at all. Lying in the upper berth listening to his deep breathing had been a little
odd
. A little lonely, maybe. But nothing she couldn’t shake off.

And he’d been a perfect gentleman. Which was good, obviously.

‘It was a good idea of yours to stay an extra night,’ she said with a small, happy sigh.

Jonas had been right about the views. The final campsite was perfectly placed in the dip of a valley, with the beach and sea clearly visible from their sheltered pitch. Lawrie wriggled back in her chair and closed her eyes, savouring the feel of the late-afternoon sun on her face.

‘It seemed a shame to get a pitch with these views and then not be around to enjoy them,’ Jonas said. ‘Besides, we deserve some relaxation. And we discovered this cider.’ He held up his pint with a satisfied smile. ‘And that crêperie this morning. I think you should consider that patisserie too—their croissant was a work of art.’

‘Hmm...’ Lawrie opened her eyes and reached down to the folder at her feet. Picking it up, she flicked through it thoughtfully. ‘They were good, weren’t they? And the bakers near Liskeard were superb. I think that’s enough pastries and bread though, don’t you? We need some diversity. Two ice cream suppliers, four breweries, one Indian, one Thai and an Indonesian takeaway. Paella, the baked potato stall...’

‘Stop right there.’

Jonas held his hand up and, startled, Lawrie let the folder slip shut.

‘Lawrie Bennett, it is Sunday afternoon. You have been working day and night all weekend. Relax, enjoy the view, and drink your cider.’

A warm glow spread through her at his words. Nobody else had ever cared about how hard she worked, told her to slow down. She needed it. Somehow, when brakes were being handed out Lawrie had been last in line.

They lay side by side, sprawled out in the deckchairs, united in a companionable silence. That was another thing, she thought drowsily. He was easy to talk to but she didn’t
have
to talk to him, to entertain. She was free to be lost in her own head if she wanted.

It was nice to be sitting here with no plans, nothing to tick off on her physical or mental to-do list. It was just... Lawrie shifted in her seat. What were they going to do tonight? At least her schedule had meant there were no awkward gaps to be filled. Their conversation had revolved around the food they were tasting, the music they were listening to. But tonight stretched ahead—empty. Maybe there was another band playing locally. Or another restaurant to check out. A seafood stall might be an interesting addition to the mix.

‘Stop it.’

Lawrie turned her head in surprise. ‘Stop what?’

‘Timetabling the evening.’

How did he know? ‘I’m not,’ she said. Then, a little more truthfully, ‘I was just thinking about later. Wondering what we were going to do.’

‘We haven’t stopped for three days,’ Jonas pointed out. ‘Do we have to do anything?’

‘No...’ she said doubtfully. ‘Only what about food? Or when it gets dark? Not that I’m not enjoying the sun and the view, but it will start to cool off in an hour or so.’

‘Good thing we packed jumpers, then.’

The teasing tone was back in his voice and Lawrie squirmed, hot with embarrassment. It was unfair of him to make her feel uptight. Just because she liked to know what was coming next. Hugo had liked her organisational skills. Maybe that was what had attracted him to his secretary? Not the leopard print thong but the way she organised his diary.

‘Okay.’

Jonas was sitting up in his chair and she could feel his eyes fixed on her, despite the sunglasses shielding them.

‘I haven’t made notes
or
a list, and I don’t own a clipboard, but I had vaguely thought of a walk, finishing up at the farm shop for cheese and bread and more of this excellent cider. Then back to the van, where I can finally take cold-blooded, nine-year-old revenge for
quilling
on a triple word score. If you’re up to the challenge, that is?’

That sounded really pleasant. In fact it sounded perfect. Almost dangerously so.

‘Misplaced confidence was always your problem,’ Lawrie said, adjusting her own sunglasses, hoping he couldn’t see just how much the evening he had outlined appealed to her. ‘There have been many high-scoring words since then, Mr Jones. But if you are willing to risk your pride again, I am more than willing to take you down.’

Jonas leant forward, so close his face was almost touching hers, his breath sweet on her cheek. ‘I look forward to it.’

*

‘That is
not
a word!’

‘It is.’ Lawrie couldn’t hide the beam on her face. Ah, the sweet smell of victory. ‘Check the dictionary.’

‘I don’t care what the dictionary says,’ Jonas argued. ‘Use it in a coherent sentence.’

Foolish, foolish boy. He should know better than to challenge Lawrie Bennett at Scrabble. Or at any game.

‘How many
exahertz
are these gamma rays?’ she said, sitting back and enjoying his reaction.

‘You have never, ever used that sentence in your whole life!’

‘No,’ she conceded. ‘But I could. If I went to work at CERN, for instance, or had a physics laboratory as a client. Besides, the rules don’t specify that you have to have used the word in everyday conversation.’

‘They should do,’ Jonas grumbled, staring at the board in some dismay.

As he should, she thought, looking at the scores neatly written down on the pad in front of her. There was no way he could win now. And if she could just prevent him from narrowing the gap too much...a two-hundred-point lead was so satisfying.

Leaning back against the bench, she began to add up her points. They were both sitting on the floor of the camper van, the amost full board between them. The van doors were slid fully open, giving the scene a dramatic backdrop as the sun sank into the sea, leaving a fiery path on the top of the calm waves.

‘That is thirty-one tripled, plus fifty for getting all my letters out. It’s a shame it’s the H on the double letter score, but all in all not a bad round. Okay, your turn.’

‘I don’t think I want to play any more,’ Jonas said, disgust on his face as he surveyed his letter tiles. ‘Not even
you
could manage to make a word out of three Is, a U, two Os and an R.’

Lawrie bit back a smile as she surveyed the board. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, keeping her face completely serious. ‘I think the official Scrabble term for your situation is screwed.
Ow!
What was that for?’

‘Excessive smugness.’ Jonas held up a second cushion. ‘Don’t think I won’t,’ he threatened.

Retrieving the cushion he’d already lobbed in her direction, Lawrie held it up in front of her, half shield, half offensive weapon. ‘You just try it, Jones.’

He eyed her. ‘A challenge? Really, Lawrie? You may, on this occasion, have won on brains, but I am always going to win on brawn.’

‘Brawn,’ she scoffed, uneasily aware of a tightening in her abdomen—a kind of delicious apprehension uncoiling—as she brandished her pillow. ‘At your age?’

‘In the prime of my life,’ he said. ‘Never been in better shape. What?’ He laughed indignantly as Lawrie collapsed into giggles. ‘It’s true.’

‘Says the man sat on a caravan floor, unshaven and holding a cushion!’ It was hard to get the words out.

‘It’s not a caravan, you blasphemer. This is a classic and you know it. Besides,
you
can’t talk. If only all your fashion admirers could see you now they would be totally disappointed. Nothing chic about leggings and a sweatshirt—even I know that.’

Swallowing back the laughter, Lawrie hugged her knees to her chest. ‘Yoga pants and cashmere, actually.’

It felt good to laugh. Free.

Trying hard not to think about how long it had been since she had laughed like that, Lawrie fastened onto Jonas’s last words. ‘Hang on—what do you mean, fashion admirers?’

Jonas shook his head and pushed the Scrabble board away, sliding down so only his head and shoulders were propped up against the bench seat, the rest of his long, lean body sprawled comfortably along the floor.

He took up a lot of room. A lot of air. Lawrie swallowed and adjusted her gaze so that she was looking straight ahead, at the glorious sunset, at fresh air. Not at the denim-clad legs lying close to her. Close enough to touch.

‘I dress really conservatively for work,’ she said, probing for an answer as Jonas seemed disinclined to speak. ‘And my only night out was on my birthday.’

‘Apparently West London’s “conservative” is Trengarth’s cutting edge,’ Jonas said, swirling the Scrabble tiles around on the board and mixing up the words. ‘It’s all about the cut, or so I’ve heard. Definitely not High Street, they say.’

‘I
do
get my suits made for me by a tailor who specialises in women’s clothes.’ Why did it feel like an admission of guilt? ‘They fit better, though I wouldn’t call them fashionable. But I don’t know why I am explaining this to you.’ She rounded on Jonas. ‘If your suits aren’t handmade I’ll eat a Scrabble tile.’

He grinned, picking up an
I
and holding it out to her. ‘Here you go—there are too many of these anyway.’ Lawrie raised an eyebrow at him and he palmed the tile. ‘Okay, you win. I
do
frequent an establishment in Plymouth run by a gentleman who trained on Savile Row.’

‘I knew it!’ The moment of triumph was shortlived as the impact of his words hit. Lawrie’s chest tightened painfully and she breathed deeply, slowly. ‘Why do people care about what I wear?’

Jonas looked surprised. ‘They don’t—not really. Only you’re new, have history with me, and you look smarter than anyone else. It was bound to make a bit of a stir. It’s not a big deal.’

But it was. ‘I don’t like being talked about. No one even noticed my suits in the City. Maybe I should get some new clothes for the rest of the summer.’

‘What on earth for?’ He sounded incredulous.

A wave of irritation swept over her. ‘To blend in. The last thing I want is to be noticed for anything but my work.’

‘People aren’t exactly staring at you as you walk down the street,’ Jonas pointed out. ‘Wait...’ He pulled his legs in and sat up, facing her. Blue eyes studied her face intently. ‘Is this why you were so stressed about what to bring on this trip? You wanted to blend in?’

‘There’s no reason to sound so judgmental.’ Lawrie could feel her face heating up, a prickly and uncomfortable warmth spreading down her neck and chest. ‘I’m not comfortable standing out from the crowd. No big deal.’

He was still looking at her. Looking into her, as if he could see her soul. As if he was unsure about what he was seeing there. It took every bit of self-control that she had not to squirm or pull away.

‘Is it, Law?’ he said softly ‘Is it just about blending in?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She wanted to pull away, look away, but it was as if his eyes had a hypnotic effect on her. She was paralysed, stuck to the spot, as he stared at her searchingly.

‘You didn’t sing in London. Not once in nine years.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Jonas, I was busy!’

‘What
did
you do? Apart from work.’

She tried to remember but it was all fog. It seemed like a lifetime ago. ‘We had dinner with friends. Went to the theatre, to museums and exhibitions. The usual things.’

‘Usual for who? West London professionals like you?’ His gaze sharpened. ‘You’re a tribal animal, aren’t you, Lawrie? You like to dress the part, act the part—whatever that part might be. What is it you really want? You like? Do you even know?’

‘What do you care?’ The words were torn from her. ‘As soon as my life diverged from yours you gave up on me. So don’t you dare be so damn superior—don’t act like I’m letting you down by trying to fit in.’

‘But you’re not.’ He looked surprised. ‘Why would you be letting me down? But are you letting yourself down, Lawrie? If you spend your whole life hiding your own needs and wants away can you ever be really happy?’

‘Happiness is not about
things
.’ The words snapped out of her, surprising her with their fierceness, their certainty. ‘Clothes, hobbies, food—they’re just trappings, Jonas. I don’t care about any of them. All I want—all I have ever wanted—is to be successful, to be independent. To stick to the plan.’