Winter will be over soon and we have new books guaranteed to put a spring in your step! Lose yourself in an absorbing read from Harlequin Presents….

Travel to sophisticated European locations and meet sexy foreign men. In The Greek’s Chosen Wife by Lynne Graham, see what happens when gorgeous Greek Nikolas Angelis decides to make his convenient marriage real. The Mancini Marriage Bargain by Trish Morey is the conclusion of her exciting duet, THE ARRANGED BRIDES—we brought you the first book, Stolen by the Sheikh, last month.

Fly to more distant lands for Sandra Marton’s UNCUT story, The Desert Virgin. Feel the heat as ruthless troubleshooter Cameron Knight rescues innocent ballerina Leanna DeMarco. If you haven’t read an UNCUT story before, watch out—they’re almost too hot to handle!

If you like strong men, you’ll love our new miniseries RUTHLESS. This month in The Billionaire Boss’s Forbidden Mistress by Miranda Lee, a boss expects his new receptionist to fall at his feet, and is surprised to find she’s more of a challenge than he thought. Lucy Monroe’s latest story, Wedding Vow of Revenge, promises scenes of searing passion and a gorgeous hero.

The Royal Marriage by Fiona Hood-Stewart is a classic tale of a young woman who has been promised in marriage to a royal prince. Only she’s determined not to be ruled by him and her declaration of independence begins in the bedroom!

We hope you enjoy reading this month’s selection. Look out for brand-new books next month!

Their Scandalous Affair
Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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All about the author…
Catherine George

CATHERINE GEORGE was born on the border between Wales and England in a village blessed with a library. Catherine was fervently encouraged to read by a like-minded mother and developed an addiction to reading.

At eighteen Catherine met the husband who eventually took her off to Brazil. He worked as chief engineer of a large gold-mining operation in Minas Gerais, which provided a popular background for several of Catherine’s early novels.

After nine happy years the education of their small son took them back to Britain, and soon afterward a daughter was born. But Catherine always found time to read, if only in the bath! When her husband’s job took him abroad again she enrolled in a creative writing course, and then read countless novels by Harlequin authors before trying a hand at one herself. Her first effort was not only accepted, but voted best of its genre for that year.

Catherine has written well over sixty novels since and has won another award along the way. But now she has come full circle. After Brazil, and in England the Wirral, Warwick and the Forest of Dean, the family home is now in the beautiful Welsh Marches—with access to a county library, several bookshops and a busy market hall with a treasure trove of secondhand paperbacks!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

THE early dinner had been a bad idea. The rest of the evening now yawned, with only the television in his hotel room for diversion. His own fault. One of his assistants should have made the trip. But occasionally the urge to escape from a desk was too powerful to resist. He smiled a little. Escape to a quiet market town was hardly a walk on the wild side.

He took out a pen and turned his newspaper over. He might as well stay in the bar until he’d finished the crossword. There was company of a sort here, at least.

But before he’d even solved the first clue everyone had left the bar at once in search of dinner. He shrugged. So much for company.

Four clues later he was juggling with an anagram when he noticed that company had arrived in the shape of a lone female. Tall and slender, but with curves in all the right places under a mannish suit, with dark hair pulled back from a narrow face. The matching dark eyes widened in dismay as she thrust a stray curl behind her ear with a hand that wore a diamond ring. Right hand, he noted in approval.

Unaware of the scrutiny, Avery Crawford made for the bar, her bright idea a lot less bright now she was actually here. With exasperating timing the room had emptied just before she arrived, leaving just one lone man reading a paper. Fat chance of fading into the background, then. She ordered mineral water from the barman, and sipped it as slowly as possible while she waited for people to arrive in search of pre-dinner drinks. This was one snag she hadn’t expected. If no one turned up in time she would just have to sit at a table on her own. Unless…

She took a speculative look at the man engrossed in the evening paper. Rather nice. Six feet two, judging by the length of leg stretched out under the table, probably the usual eyes of blue, too, with that sun-streaked hair. A check with the time confirmed she was running out of it—fast— and, taking a chance that her quarry wasn’t waiting for someone, she crossed the room to his table.

‘Would you mind very much if I sat here?’ she asked. ‘I’ve bought my own drink, and I’m not trying to pick you up or sell you anything. I just need to be inconspicuous for a while. I counted on the place being crowded, so I could fade into the background, but my luck’s out.’

‘I’d be delighted,’ he said promptly, indicating the chair beside him.

‘Thank you.’ She sat down, but shot up again at once in dismay. ‘Your name’s not Philip, by any chance?’

‘Afraid not; it’s Jonas. Jonas Mercer.’ He half rose to give her a mock-formal bow.

‘Thank heavens for that,’ she said with relief, and sat down again. ‘For one horrible moment I thought I’d blown it. How do you do? I’m Avery Crawford.’

His eyebrows rose above amused eyes as dark as her own. ‘Why do you need company while you wait for the lucky Philip?’

‘I’m not the one meeting him. I’m here as a sort of safety net for a friend.’

‘Safety net?’ he repeated, and sat back, relaxed, with the air of a man ready to be entertained. ‘Go on.’

Avery hesitated. ‘It’s really my friend’s story, not mine, but in the circumstances I don’t suppose she’ll mind. She’s coming here soon to meet someone.’

‘Then why does she need you along?’

‘Frances is divorced, lonely sometimes, and in a wild moment put an ad in the local paper. “Forty-something lady, slim, blonde, good sense of humour, would like to meet similar gentleman, etc.” Philip is one of the men who answered. But once she’d actually arranged to meet him here she got cold feet, so I came up with a plan.’

He grinned. ‘Let me guess! If she doesn’t like him you rush to the rescue?’

‘Exactly. Look,’ she added, ‘I must be keeping you from something. If you lend me your paper to hide behind I can leave you in peace.’

‘I was just killing time before going up to my room here,’ he assured her. ‘Don’t look now,’ he added in an undertone. ‘I think Philip may have arrived.’

The man eyeing the tables on his way to the bar had dark hair with a hint of silver at the temples, and wore a tweed jacket with a cut Avery’s professional eye noted with respect.

‘I hope you’re right,’ she muttered. ‘He looks promising. The right age group, too. The others on the shortlist were a bit elderly. I warned Frances about that. A forty-something male is likely to go for a twenty-something female with a bra size bigger than her IQ. Three down is chrysalis, by the way.’

‘So it is.’ Jonas pencilled it in and glanced towards the door. ‘Is this your friend?’

She glanced over her shoulder to see Frances White hesitating at the entrance, with the look of someone about to take to her heels and run. But the man waiting at the bar hurried forward, smiling. Avery buried her nose in the crossword again. ‘I dare not look,’ she whispered. ‘What’s happening?’

‘They’re sitting down together.’

‘Does she seem happy?’

‘They’re both laughing.’

Avery chanced a quick look and smiled, relieved. ‘My back-up probably won’t be needed. I should be able to go soon.’

‘You can’t leave yet!’ said Jonas promptly. ‘What’s the drill if your friend wants out?’

‘In a little while she’ll make for the cloakroom, and I’ll join her for instructions. When she goes back to Philip I ring her cellphone to announce some emergency, or, if Frances is happy to carry on, I just go home.’

Jonas Mercer shook his head. ‘I’ve got a better idea. After you talk to your friend I buy you a real drink and we finish the crossword together while we keep tabs on the stay of play. Unless,’ he added, ‘there’s someone waiting for you at home?’

‘Not a soul.’

‘Good.’ His eyes held hers for an instant before they returned to the crossword. ‘Just for the record, there’s no one waiting for me, either. And sixteen down is parapet.’

She eyed his bent head in disbelief while he filled in the clue. No one waiting here in the hotel, maybe, but back home it was sure to be a different story.

‘On your mark,’ he murmured a couple of clues later. ‘Your friend is on the move.’

Avery allowed time for Frances to reach their rendezvous, then got up too quickly and knocked her handbag over. Her companion jumped up to help her collect a few belongings, looming so much taller than expected as he straightened that Avery grinned, surprised.

‘What’s the joke?’ he demanded.

‘I’ll tell you when I get back.’ She strolled off, taking a quick look at Philip as she passed.

Frances was waiting impatiently for her. ‘Who’s the handsome stranger?’

‘Never mind that—don’t keep me in suspense. Is Philip interesting? Do you like him? Are you staying for a while or—?’

‘All of the above. I’m having dinner with him.’

Avery whistled. ‘Where?’

‘Right here in the hotel. He booked a meal just in case.’ Frances beamed as she patted Avery’s hand. ‘Thanks a lot, boss. Without you I’d have bottled out, which would have been a shame because Philip seems like a really charming man. And I think he likes me.’

‘Of course he likes you, woman! Have fun and give me a full report tomorrow.’

‘Are you going home now?’

Avery batted her eyelashes. ‘I’m staying on for a drink with my handsome stranger first. So scoot. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Avery renewed the discreet lipstick chosen for the operation, and thought about loosening her hair but with regret decided against it. Too obvious. She brushed a stray tendril back into the severe twist and rejoined Jonas.

He held out her cellphone. ‘It escaped from your bag.’

‘Thank you.’ She looked round, but there was no sign of Frances and her date.

‘They’ve gone,’ he informed her.

‘Philip’s booked dinner here.’

‘Then we can both relax. How about that drink?’

Avery asked for a glass of red wine, and eyed Jonas Mercer with frank curiosity as he went off to the bar to fetch it. Very tall and lean, with the muscular, co-ordinated look of someone who kept himself fit, he was attractive in a self-confident, all-male kind of way, rather than movie-star pretty. And in contrast to the decisive cut of his features there was a laid-back aura about him she found very appealing. Though normally she preferred her men dark and edgy. Men? She smiled bitterly. What men?

‘Still smiling at your joke?’ he asked, returning with her drink.

Avery looked blank for a moment, then laughed. ‘Oh, right. Earlier, when I was willing more people to arrive, I pegged you as “six feet two, eyes of blue”, but I was wrong on both counts.’

‘Only a couple of inches out. How about you? Five nine?’

‘In my bare feet, yes. In heels I tower a bit.’

‘Do you mind that?’

‘Not any more.’

‘But you did once?’

Avery raised an eyebrow as she sipped her drink. ‘Twenty questions now, instead of crosswords?’

He slid the paper towards her. ‘I finished it while you were away.’

‘In that case there’s no reason for me to stay.’

‘There’s a very compelling reason,’ he said, and smiled at her. ‘I’d like you to stay.’

‘Then I will—for just a little while.’ After literally forcing her company on him at the start Avery couldn’t help feeling flattered that he wanted more of it. ‘If I do will you ask more questions?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s what people do when they’ve just met. Indulge me. Tell me about Avery Crawford.’

She informed him that she was single, ran her own business, and owned a house on the outskirts of town. ‘Your turn now.’

‘Ditto, more or less,’ said Jonas. ‘I’m also single and own a house, but I help run the family business. I’m here on a reconnaissance trip. You live in a beautiful part of the world, Avery.’

She gave him a thumbnail sketch of the town, and told him to look out for the blue plaques which gave the past history of the older buildings, some of which dated back to the time of the Marcher lords. But as she finished her drink her stomach rumbled in ominous warning, reminding her she’d put no food in it since a sketchy breakfast.

With regret she got up before he could offer more wine, which would not only go straight to her head but to other parts likely to cause embarrassment to both of them. ‘Thank you for the drink, and for your invaluable help. Before I go, confess. What did you really think when I asked to join you?’

‘That it was my lucky day,’ he assured her promptly, and gave her a smile which took her breath away. ‘Must you go? It’s not late.’

‘I really have to get home.’

‘Then I’ll see you to your car.’

When they reached it Avery held out her hand, smiling, and he clasped it firmly in his. ‘Goodnight, Jonas. Thank you again.’

‘It was my pleasure—’ He broke off as someone called her name, and Avery waved to an acquaintance as she got in the car, raised a hand to Jonas Mercer and drove off.

She glanced in her mirror to see him standing on the hotel steps, and felt a lingering sensation she finally narrowed down to her body’s reaction to the grasp of a hard male hand. No wonder it was unfamiliar. It was so long since she’d experienced anything like it that she drove home more slowly than usual, to savour the novelty.

Avery’s pleasant glow vanished abruptly when her headlights picked out the man waiting in the porch at the front of her house.

‘Hi,’ said her visitor warily. ‘Long time no see.’

She slammed the car door, eyeing him with hostility. ‘What the devil are you doing here again, Paul?’

‘Give me a break, Avery.’ His handsome face lit with a persuasive smile. ‘Let’s be civilised and have a chat and a drink—or coffee, if you’ve had one too many at the Angel. Though, God knows, alcohol was never a weakness of yours.’

She stared at him with distaste as he slurred his words in a way she knew from past experience meant it was he who’d had one drink too many. ‘How do you know I was at the Angel?’

‘I saw you in the car park when I was leaving the pub across the road. I always sneak off there after a duty dinner with the parents. Who was the man?’

‘What possible interest could that be to you?’

His face took on a hurt look. ‘Do you have to be so damn belligerent, Avery? I’m here to do you a favour. Let me come in.’

‘No way. Don’t do this, Paul. I don’t want you in my house—’

Before she could stop him he whipped the keys from her hand. He held her off as he unlocked the door, then cursed volubly as the burglar alarm sounded. ‘Turn the bloody thing off, Avery!’

‘No fear.’ She smiled as sirens wailed in the distance. ‘Better make yourself scarce, Paul, or I’ll shop you to the police. Mummy and Daddy would just hate that.’

He hesitated, but as the sirens grew nearer he gave her a malevolent glare and made an unsteady run for the gate, tripping in his hurry to get away. Avery punched in the code for the alarm, smiling scornfully as the sirens receded into the distance. Paul Morrell had drunk too much to tell the difference between a police car and an ambulance making for the local hospital.

Her smile vanished as her cellphone rang. ‘How did you get this number?’ she snapped.

‘By devious means,’ said a deep, lazy voice very different from Paul Morrell’s but instantly recognisable, even on short acquaintance.

‘Oh.’ Colour flew into her cheeks. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

‘This is Jonas Mercer. We met earlier,’ he added helpfully.

‘I know—I know. Sorry I snarled.’

‘Something wrong?’

‘Nothing at all. I’m fine. But how did you get my number?’

‘When you left your phone behind I did some research.’ There was a pause. ‘Do you mind, Avery?’

‘I suppose not,’ she said slowly, rather surprised to find she didn’t mind at all.

‘Good. We were interrupted before I could ask to see you again. Have dinner with me tomorrow night.’

Avery stood very still, frowning at her reflection in the mirror. It was a long time since she’d accepted an invitation from a man, to dinner or anything else. She shrugged. Maybe it was time she did.

‘I promise to save the crossword until we meet,’ said Jonas.

‘A generous offer!’

‘Is that a yes?’

Suddenly the prospect of dinner with Jonas Mercer seemed like the perfect antidote to her encounter with Paul Morrell. ‘Why not? Thank you. But not the Angel, please.’

‘Your town; your choice. Just tell me when and where and I’ll pick you up.’

But Avery wasn’t about to give her address to a complete stranger, even one as appealing as Jonas Mercer. ‘If you’ll appear at the back door of the Angel about seven I’ll chauffeur you to the Fleece. It’s not far.’

‘Thank you. I’ll be waiting. Sleep well, Avery Crawford.’

She found she was smiling as she scrambled eggs later. And when she finally went yawning up to bed she felt pretty sure there would be no problem with insomnia after talking to Jonas Mercer—which was interesting. The encounter with a man she’d once been in love with had upset her so much she’d expected to lie awake all night, yet a few words from a virtual stranger and she was on an even keel again.

Avery slept so well she woke late the next morning and rushed out without breakfast to drive into town. Her thriving business functioned in a small shop in a short row of others just like it in Stow Street, near the largest car park in town. Frances arrived just after her, in such a euphoric mood it was obvious the evening had gone well. But before Avery could demand every last detail the rest of her little team arrived and the phone started ringing. The working day was in full flow, and she was due at her first appointment of the day.

‘I could be a while, Frances,’ she said, on her way out. ‘Squeezing Pansy Keith-Davidson into her grandmother’s wedding gown will take some doing.’

‘We’ll all pray for generous seams!’ Frances grinned conspiratorially. ‘I’ll fill you in about last night over lunch.’

Avery’s appointment was with one of the wealthiest families in the neighbourhood. To her gratitude, she was pressed to coffee and pastries before embarking on an assignment so time-consuming it took up the entire morning.

‘Quite a challenge,’ she told Frances, when she finally joined her in the café in Stow Street for lunch. ‘The bride’s mother told me quite frankly that she’d had her heart set on yards of train and a designer label originally, but Pansy read some article in a bridal magazine and changed her mind at the last minute. Vintage numbers are the latest must have, and if the number once belonged to Grandma it wins the jackpot.’

‘Can we do something with the dress?’ said Frances.

‘Oh, yes. It’s a slinky satin number, in thirties Hollywood style, but darling Pansy’s been on a punishing diet, so with inserts by you and some camouflaging embroidery from me all should be well. Mummy didn’t turn a hair when I warned her about the cost involved.’ Avery grinned. ‘And Pansy was so thrilled with my ideas she begged me to make dresses for the six little bridesmaids she decided on only yesterday, would you believe? The snag is the time frame. Due to the bride’s U-turn we’ll have to get our skates on. The wedding’s next month.’

‘We’ll manage that, no problem. Nice morning’s work, boss!’

‘Now, then, enough shop talk.’ Avery leaned forward, eyes sparkling. ‘Tell me about last night.’

Frances smiled dreamily. ‘It was lovely. Philip’s such a charming man it’s amazing he’s been a widower so long. His married daughter made him answer the ad, and he’s delighted now that she did.’

‘So he should be. What does he do?’

‘Accountant.’

‘You liked him, obviously?’

‘I took to him on sight—probably because he was almost as nervous as me to start with. But over dinner we talked non-stop, and he’s asked me out again on Saturday.’ Frances smiled radiantly. ‘Thank you, Avery. I owe you.’

‘Actually, you don’t owe me a thing. I’m having dinner with Jonas Mercer, the man from the Angel bar, tonight.’

‘Really?’ Frances’s eyes widened. ‘My word, that’s something new! What advantage does he have over the local male population?’

‘The fact that he’s not local, probably. But he’s quite a charmer, too.’ Avery grinned. ‘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?’

‘I’ve come up against one or two snags, but I’ll iron them out before I leave.’ Something in the dark eyes belied the indolence of his posture. ‘I’d like to see you again before I do.’

‘When 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 extension.

‘Morrell,’ he said crisply, sounding very different from the man she’d seen off two evenings before.

‘Avery Crawford,’ she stated, equally crisp.

‘Avery?’ he said incredulously. ‘God, how wonderful to hear from you. This is the most extraordinary coincidence. I was about to ring you to apologise for coming to your place in that state—’

‘You shouldn’t have been there in any state, but never mind the apologies. This isn’t a social call. I take it you came to tell me your father is evicting me?’

‘If you must put it like that, yes—though it isn’t really eviction, Avery. The terms of your lease were clear from the start. I spotted you in town and decided to break the news before you got it in the post. I scorched rubber through the back streets to Gresham Road, because I knew you wouldn’t even open the door to me if you got home first.’

‘A strong possibility,’ she agreed dryly. ‘But if you drove that fast you’re lucky you weren’t picked up by the police.’

‘Tell me about it! I cruised to my parents’ house so slowly afterwards it was a wonder I wasn’t nicked for kerb crawling.’ He paused. ‘I tried to persuade my father to give you more notice, Avery, but he’s selling the land—which includes the shops.’

Avery waited a moment, then asked the question which was her sole reason for contacting Paul Morrell again in this life. ‘Who’s buying?’

‘The Mercom Group. I asked around, but no one knows much about them in the City. Pretty solid outfit, though. They’ve been in business since before the war. Haulage, warehousing and so on—are you still there, Avery?’

‘Yes, I’m still here.’ She heard voices in the background, then Paul spoke again.

‘Avery, I’ve got to go. I’m due at a meeting.’ His voice lowered urgently. ‘I’m really glad you rang, darling. Does this mean—?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she said flatly. ‘All I wanted was information.’

There was a pause, then she heard Paul heave a sigh. ‘I wish to God I could put the clock back. I was a fool,’ he said bitterly.

‘No, Paul. I was the fool.’

Avery disconnected and sat staring into space, cursing herself for getting a man wrong yet again. Jonas Mercer was the first man in years to appeal to her on a man/woman level. Unfortunately he also happened to run the company that would probably demolish the row of shops that included Avery Alterations—which it had every right to do. But that wasn’t the point. The part that infuriated her—and cut surprisingly deep—was the discovery that Jonas had known all along how the deal would affect her business but hadn’t seen fit to tell her.

When Avery went back into the shop Louise came running in from the café next door. ‘Hey, what do you think?’ she said breathlessly. ‘None of the other shops got a letter about the lease.’

‘Really?’ Avery’s eyes narrowed ominously. ‘How very interesting.’

Frances exchanged a speaking look with the other two, and briskly requested Avery’s help in fitting the inserts she’d cut to stitch into the vintage bridal gown. There was a steady influx of customers from then on, and for the rest of the day Avery was kept so busy that Frances advised her to go straight home after her session with the bridesmaids.

‘No point in trekking back here afterwards. I’ll lock up.’

Avery thanked her and smiled encouragingly at her little team as she left. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll soon find other premises to rent.’

Avery’s session with six excited little girls and their harassed mothers took up so much time and energy that it was late by the time she left. Several times during the day she’d been on the point of ringing Jonas, but in the end decided to allow herself the satisfaction of confronting him in person. She arrived home to find Jonas there before her, standing tall in the arched porch like a sentry in a box.

‘Hello, Avery, you’re late,’ he said, moving swiftly to open the car door. ‘The table’s booked for eight.’

She got out, ignoring his helping hand. ‘Cancel it,’ she said tersely. ‘I’m not hungry.’

He stepped back, frowning. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’ll tell you inside.’ She unlocked the door and punched in the code for the alarm. ‘In here, please.’

She ushered him into a dauntingly formal room, with pictures and furnishings dating from her grandparents’ day. The only modern features were two central heating radiators so rarely switched on that the temperature of the room was as arctic as Avery’s manner.

‘Do sit down,’ she said politely, but Jonas shook his head and drew himself to his full, formidable height, moving to one side to avoid the coloured glass chandelier Avery’s grandparents had brought back from a holiday in Venice.

‘I’ll stand.’

‘Then I’ll come straight to the point.’ Avery looked up at him coldly. ‘I gather that this “family firm” of yours has purchased the land which includes the shops on Stow Street.’

His mouth tightened. ‘So that’s it. Who the hell leaked that? It hasn’t been made public yet.’

‘I received a letter from Morrell Properties today, telling me my lease won’t be renewed, so I made a few enquiries.’ Her eyes speared his. ‘You’ve known about this all along. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I fully intended to the minute planning permission was confirmed,’ he said curtly. ‘It didn’t come through officially until late this afternoon.’

‘Oh.’ Avery felt herself deflate like a pricked balloon. ‘I see.’

His eyes hardened. ‘I must have a word with George Morrell. I told him I wanted to inform all the leaseholders in person before they received an official letter.’

She smiled faintly. ‘None of the other leaseholders received a letter today. Only me.’

Jonas frowned. ‘You’re saying this is personal?’

‘You bet it is.’

‘Why?’

‘His son arranged the lease for me in the first place as a favour, even though Daddy disapproved.’ Avery’s chin lifted. ‘I’m considered ineligible as a friend for the Morrell son and heir. In fact, I’ve been expecting this kind of letter every time the lease comes up for renewal, so that part of it was no shock.’ She looked at him squarely. ‘But because I liked you I was angry—hurt, even—to find you’d kept me in the dark about the deal.’

‘Avery—’ His phone rang, and with a muttered curse Jonas answered it, his face grim as he rapped out questions to his caller. He snapped the phone shut, looking bleak. ‘Sorry, I have to go. There’s been an accident involving one of our vehicles.’

‘Was anyone hurt?’

‘Yes. I’ll drive straight to the hospital.’ He took an envelope from his pocket as they reached the outer door. ‘I intended to give you this as a parting gift at the end of a very different evening. Read it when I’m gone.’ He hesitated, and for a moment she thought—and hoped—that he would kiss her. But he merely looked at her for a moment, then turned away without touching her. ‘Goodbye, Avery.’

After her usual locking and bolting routine Avery stared in blank dismay as she read the letter which had been faxed through to Jonas after planning had been confirmed. Mercom, it seemed, had no intention of demolishing the shops in Stow Street. The leaseholders were being offered the option either to purchase, or to lease their premises from their new landlord. There were plans to build on the land behind them, but construction work would not affect trading. Traffic access to the building site would be via Cheap Street, to the north of the car park. Official confirmation would be forwarded to Miss Crawford in due course.

Avery stalked round the kitchen like an angry tigress, heaping curses on George Morrell’s head. His indecent hurry to terminate her lease had put paid to what might have developed into a beautiful friendship with Jonas Mercer. She gave a short, mirthless laugh. Who was she kidding? For the first time in years she would have liked more than that. But fat chance of friendship or anything else now Jonas had gone speeding back home to—to where, exactly? She looked at the letter-heading. Mercom was based in Kew, in London, but she had no idea of Jonas’s private address. A call to his cellphone was the only way to contact him, but she couldn’t see herself doing that any time soon.

‘No problem, everyone,’ Avery announced next morning. ‘I merely pay rent to a new landlord.’ She reported on her meeting with a Mercom representative, and it was only later, over lunch with Frances, that she revealed the identity of their new landlord.

‘I went straight for the jugular because he kept me in the dark about it,’ she said disconsolately, ‘and then he handed me this.’ She passed the Mercom letter to Frances, who smiled in relief as she finished reading it.

‘So we’re not out in the snow after all, boss dear! I trust you grovelled suitably to Mr Mercer afterwards?’

‘I didn’t get the chance. He had to rush off to cope with an emergency back at base.’ Avery heaved a sigh. ‘I doubt I’ll see him again.’

Embroidery was a pastime she normally found therapeutic, but that day it gave Avery far too much scope for brooding over Jonas. And to her frustration she soon realised that her work was unnecessary. Frances was so skilled a tailor that the inserts had no need of disguise, and after the first couple of hours Avery wished she’d kept her big mouth shut and never mentioned embroidery to the bride. A whole morning of working ivory silk flowers and leaves on ivory satin was as much as she could take, and at lunchtime Avery gave herself a break.

To Avery’s infinite gratitude she found that Louise and Helen had worked like beavers to finish an order for miles of curtain for a client’s barn conversion, and had already started cutting the shell-pink taffeta delivered that morning for the bridesmaids’ dresses. Frances was completing skilled alterations to a man’s suit, and Avery, glad of company while she worked, began on the repair of a black lace evening dress promised for the weekend.

Any hope of hearing personally from Jonas gradually faded as ten days passed, with only official communications from solicitors to Avery about the leasing of the Stow Road premises from Mercom. By the following weekend work was completed on the wedding set, including a last-minute alteration to the couture coat and dress bought by the bride’s mother, who had dropped a dress size since the purchase.

Avery received a very generous cheque when she made her delivery to the delighted recipients, accepted tea in preference to the offered champagne, then drove back to town to bank the cheque before transferring all outstanding work from the shop to Gresham Street for the weekend, as usual.

On Saturday evening Avery walked into town to join the others in the park for the usual Bonfire Night display of fireworks put on for charity, and later, after Louise and Helen had waved their husbands and children off, the four women made for a new wine bar the other side of town to enjoy a meal. Avery was buying, as thanks for the extra work put in to get the wedding order finished on time.

‘I’m surprised you had a Saturday evening free, Frances,’ teased Avery over the meal.

‘I told Philip he’d have to wait until tomorrow,’ said her friend, and smiled smugly. ‘He’s cooking Sunday lunch for me at his place.’

‘You mean the man cooks, as well?’ said Helen enviously. ‘Can I send my Tom round to him for lessons?’

Avery joined in the laughter, pleased that life had taken an upward turn for her friend, but on the leisurely stroll home she couldn’t help feeling wistful as she thought of Frances spending Sunday with her Philip. Avery Crawford would spend hers as usual—catching up on laundry and household chores.

As she watched a late burst of fireworks light the sky nearby she thought with nostalgia of Sundays past, some spent at home with her mother for a rest and some home cooking, others in London, where she’d been part of a group of friends who ate brunch together, or drove into the country to some eating place reviewed in the Sunday glossies. But when she’d met Paul he’d demanded her undivided attention. By the time their relationship had ended Avery’s group of friends had dispersed to different jobs and locations, and she’d been needed at home with her mother.

There’d been no time for socialising during that first harrowing year. It had taken all Avery’s time and energy to keep the business going while she cared for her mother, who’d insisted on keeping to the work she loved as long as she could, despite a rapidly deteriorating heart condition. Before the year was out Ellen Crawford had been dead, and, swamped and sodden with grief, Avery’s first instinct had been to run away, back to her life in the City. But out of loyalty to her mother she’d stayed on to complete standing orders, and coped with more work as it came in. Eventually she had decided that as a fitting memorial to her mother she would expand the business. And now, two years on, it was a commercial success. But Avery was increasingly conscious of a lack in her life.

She sighed. This was Jonas Mercer’s fault. He was the catalyst. She had long ago given up any idea of returning to the City. That part of her life was over. And until she’d forced her company on Jonas at the Angel she’d been content to jog along in the comfortable little rut she’d made for herself back in her home town. He was the first man in years to raise even a spark of interest in her. Not that there was any hope of seeing him again. The heir apparent of Mercom would send underlings to the town in future.

Avery came out of her reverie to realise that the smell of smoke was growing stronger. And the glow in the sky was too constant for fireworks. With sudden dread she began to run. As she skirted the deserted cattle market a group of youths rushed past her in the opposite direction. One of them tripped, his anguished face clearly visible for a moment under the street lamp before he fled after the others. A blood-curdling wail of sirens filled the air, and Avery raced in panic towards the glow—then gave a screech of horror as the Stow Street shops came into view. The betting shop next to Avery Alterations was on fire.

By the time she’d been allowed through the cordon at the actual scene the Fire Brigade and the police were in full control, and Sergeant Griffiths turned from consultation with one of his constables to make sure Avery kept well back as hoses were directed at the betting shop.

‘Don’t worry, Avery, the fire’s already contained,’ he said firmly. ‘The betting shop’s in pretty bad shape, but yours is intact, as far as I can tell. You’ll have smoke damage, though.’

‘Any idea what happened?’ she panted, gasping for breath.

‘PC Sharp’s just been talking to the manager of the Red Lyon on Cheap Street. Apparently some lads were letting off fireworks on the waste ground behind the shops earlier. One of their rockets must have gone through the betting shop roof.’ He smiled grimly. ‘One of them had a social conscience and rang for the Fire Brigade before they scarpered.’

Avery turned to smile in rueful sympathy as Harry Daniels, the betting shop manager, came running to join them. ‘How are you, Harry?’ she asked, as he stared, stunned, at his blackened premises.

He turned to her, shaking his head. ‘Bloody furious, love. I’d like to get my hands on the little devils that did this!’

‘Now, then, no vigilante stuff, Harry,’ warned Sergeant Griffiths. ‘Leave it to the professionals.’

Eventually the fire chief told Avery she could make an inspection, and, escorted by two firefighters armed with torches, Avery looked round her premises, her heart sinking as she examined the smoke damage on the wall shared with the betting shop.

‘Don’t worry—no broken glass or structural damage,’ said one of her hefty young escorts. ‘Just needs a lick of paint on the party wall.’

‘Better check on the sewing machines,’ warned his colleague.

Avery thanked them warmly. ‘I’ll take them home with me. And as much fabric as possible.’

There were plenty of willing hands to stow the bolts of cloth and two of the machines in her car, and to save a return trip for Avery the sergeant ordered one of his constables to transport the other machines, and anything else she wanted, to Gresham Road.

It was nearly four in the morning before Avery said goodbye to the constable, who had insisted on making tea for her before doing his fetching and carrying. Avery thanked him warmly as he left and finally trudged off to bed, heaping curses on Guy Fawkes for leaving a legacy of firework displays and bonfires every November 5th from 1605 onwards.

After what felt like only a few minutes’ sleep the phone woke her up again.

Oh, God—what now? ‘Hello?’ she croaked.

‘Avery?’ said an urgent voice.

‘Yes?’

‘Jonas Mercer. Are you all right?’

‘Oh, hi. Yes, yes—I’m fine.’ She cleared her throat and struggled upright. ‘Unlike my shop.’

‘Never mind the blasted shop,’ he said roughly. ‘Were you there when the fire started?’

‘Not in the shop. I was walking home from the other side of town. I saw the blaze in the distance and ran like the wind when I heard sirens. It was a lot worse for the betting shop. Harry Daniels, the manager, was still in shock when I left for home with my sewing machines—well, with two of them. Tony brought the rest.’

‘Who’s Tony?’

‘A strapping young police constable who heaved all my other machines into the house and even made me a cup of tea.’

‘Good for him.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘I’ll be there to make an inspection tomorrow. I assume you carry insurance?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good. I need to do some juggling with my diary first thing tomorrow. I’ll ring you some time during the morning to fix a time.’

‘Jonas—’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

Avery rang off without specifying what she was thanking him for, and heaved herself out of bed to make for the bathroom, where the red-eyed, pallid apparition in the mirror sent her diving into the shower.

While she sluiced the smell of smoke from her hair Avery made a mental list of things to do. Normally Frances would have been the first one to contact, but knowing that her friend would rush round right away, instead of going off to lunch with Philip, Avery rang Helen instead. And, just as she’d hoped, Helen’s husband—who serviced their machines on a regular basis—was good-natured enough to give up part of his Sunday to lend a helping hand.

Avery left a message on Louise’s phone, then threw on jeans and a sweater and managed to swallow some coffee before Tom Bennett arrived with his anxious young wife in tow.

‘We packed the boys off to Tom’s parents for Sunday lunch, so I came to help,’ announced Helen. ‘Gosh, Avery, what a shock! Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine. But poor Harry Daniels was in quite a state last night.’

‘Do they know who did it?’

‘Some local lads let off fireworks on the waste ground behind Stow Street. A rocket must have got out of hand and set fire to the betting shop roof.’

‘And they ran off without being identified, of course,’ said Tom, and hoisted his tool bag. ‘Right then, Avery. Bring on the machines.’

She led him to the dining room, now transformed into a temporary workshop. ‘I’d brought the outstanding orders home for the weekend as usual, thank God, and the wedding gear had already been delivered to the Keith-Davidsons.’

Helen shuddered. ‘Just imagine those frilly pink taffeta jobs covered in black soot.’

‘Don’t! By the way, I brought all the bolts of fabric home I could. Let’s have a look at them.’

After every yard of it had been examined Avery decided that after a few lengths had been cut off each roll the rest of the fabric would be fit to use again in an emergency.

‘But the insurance will cover replacements, so I’ll order more right away.’

The machines were eventually confirmed as in good working order, and after making a big fry-up for a late lunch Avery saw her helpers off, resolving to buy Tom a bottle of the most expensive single malt she could find by way of thanks.

She was yawning over her insurance policy later when Louise rang.

‘What’s up, Avery? We’ve just got back from Sunday lunch with the parents.’

When Avery had explained Louise exclaimed in horror, and promised to be at the house first thing in the morning. ‘Does Frances know?’

‘No. I couldn’t spoil her lunch with Philip. I’ll ring her this evening.’

‘It might be a good idea to do it sooner than that. She might hear it from someone else before then.’

Louise was right. Frances heard it on the local radio while she was helping Philip clear up, and rang before Avery could contact her, fizzing with indignation that she hadn’t been informed sooner.

‘Why spoil your day, Frances? There’s nothing for you to do at this point. Tom came round to check the machines, and Helen came with him to help—’

‘Louise, too, I suppose?’ said Frances ominously.

‘No, she was with her family at Sunday lunch with Grandma as usual. I’ve only just spoken to her. Don’t be cross. Please.’ To her embarrassment Avery’s voice cracked, and Frances, immediately contrite, assured her she was worried, not cross.

‘I’ll be there in five minutes—’

‘You most certainly will not! Enjoy the rest of your day with Philip. I had no sleep to speak of last night, and I’m desperate for a good long nap.’

‘If you’re sure?’ said Frances doubtfully.

‘Very sure. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll need you far more in the morning.’

Avery had been telling the simple truth about needing a nap. She stacked the dishwasher, made herself some tea, and sat at the table with the Sunday paper to drink it. When she found her eyes were crossing she trudged up to her room, then groaned in frustration. Her bed reeked of smoke.

After she’d heaved the mattress over and put fresh linen on it she was reeling with fatigue. She undressed, and crawled under her duvet at last, feeling as though she could sleep until next morning. And when she woke at long last, she found to her astonishment that she had.

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