The Return of Mrs Jones. Jessica Gilmore

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СКАЧАТЬ away. What on earth had they got to talk about for so long?

      Typical Lawrie. Turning everything upside down without even trying.

      When he had seen her standing outside, looking so uncharacteristically unsure, he had seized the opportunity. As soon as he’d known she was back—heard through the village grapevine that she was here to stay, that she was alone—their moment of meeting had been inevitable. Trengarth was too small for a run-in not to be a certainty, but when it came he’d wanted it to be on his terms.

      After all, their parting had been on hers.

      Inviting her in had felt like the right thing to do. The mature thing. Maybe he should have left her outside after all.

      He looked back at the computer screen and started again on the first line. It was gobbledygook.

      Jonas’s jaw set in determination. If Fliss had forgotten that she had a lot to do, he hadn’t—and he was going to go down there and tell her. Right now.

      * * *

      At first Lawrie hadn’t recognised the small redhead hurtling towards her. Nine years ago Fliss had sported a pink bob and multiple piercings and wouldn’t have been seen dead in the smart black trousers and blouse she was wearing today, but the generous smile and the mischievous twinkle in the hazel eyes were just the same. After five minutes’ excited chatter it was as if they were still teenage waitresses, hanging out after work, although so many things had changed Lawrie could barely keep up.

      ‘You’ve been working for Jonas all this time?’ Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the incredulous tone out of her voice. ‘What about acting and RADA?’

      ‘Turns out I am a great amateur.’

      Lawrie looked sharply at her but Fliss was still smiling, and there was no hint of disappointment in the candid eyes. ‘I am also a great brand and marketing manager—who would have thought it?’

      ‘But you wanted to do so much—had so many plans.’

      ‘I have so much! Wait till you meet Dave. He moved here after you left, came for a week’s surfing and never left.’

      The two girls giggled conspiratorially.

      ‘I have my drama group, and I love my job. I may not have done the travelling or the big city thing, but I have everything I need and want. I’m a lucky girl. But your plans sound exciting. New York! I have always wanted to live there—starring on Broadway, of course.’

      So she might have made New York sound like a done deal rather than a possibility, but Lawrie had had to salvage pride from somewhere.

      She was considering her reply when a shadow fell across the table. Glancing up, she saw a stern-looking Jonas standing there, a frown marring the handsome face. An unexpected flutter pulled at Lawrie’s stomach, one she’d thought long dead, and she took a hurried gulp of her coffee, avoiding both his eye and Fliss’s sudden speculative gleam.

      ‘I thought you were off to see Suzy?’ His attention was all on Fliss.

      ‘I am,’ Fliss protested. ‘But I have just had a brainwave. How about Lawrie?’

      Lawrie’s grip tightened on her cup. She could feel her cheeks heating up.

      ‘How about Lawrie, what?’ Jonas asked impatiently.

      It was odd, being back with the two of them and yet apart, now an outsider. Lawrie took a deep breath and leant back in her chair, affecting a confidence she was far from feeling.

      ‘For Wave Fest, of course. No—listen,’ Fliss said, jumping to her feet and grabbing Jonas’s arm as he turned dismissively away. ‘She’s on gardening leave for the rest of the summer.’

      ‘Gardening what?’ He stopped and looked back at the table, catching Lawrie’s eye, a sudden glint of a humour in the stern blue eyes.

      She knew exactly what he was thinking—knew that he was remembering her ability to kill every plant with a mixture of forgetful indifference and remorseful over-watering.

      ‘Is this some sort of corporate environmental thing? Time to learn how to garden?’

      ‘No, it’s a set period time to serve out your notice away from the office,’ Lawrie said, her own eyes warming in response to his and her pulse speeding up as his amused gaze continued to bore into her. ‘I’m on paid leave until the end of September.’

      ‘And she’s planning to stay in Cornwall most of that time,’ Fliss interjected.

      ‘Well, yes. I am. But I’m arranging my next move. I’ll be travelling back and forth to London a lot—possibly overseas. What’s Wave Fest, anyway?’

      ‘Oh, Lawrie, you remember the festival Jonas and I started, don’t you?’

      ‘Actually, Fliss, Lawrie was never at Wave Fest. She was on work placements for the first two.’

      The humour had left Jonas’s face. It was as if the sun had unexpectedly disappeared behind a cloud. He didn’t say the words she knew he was thinking. She had left before the third.

      ‘I know we’re desperate, but Lawrie’s a solicitor, not a project manager—and she knows nothing about festivals.’

      ‘But we need someone organised who can get things done and she can do that all right. Plus, she’s here and she’s available.’

      ‘Fliss, you said yourself that at this time of year organising Wave Fest is a full-time job. If Lawrie’s got to sort out a move—’ the sharp blue eyes regarded Lawrie for an intent moment before flicking away ‘—she won’t be able to dedicate the time we need to it.’

      ‘Yes, for me it would be full time, because I have a neglected husband and the work of three people to do anyway, but Lawrie’s used to city hours—this will be a relaxing break for her!’

      It was almost amusing, listening to them bicker over her as if she wasn’t there. Lawrie took another sip of her coffee, letting the words wash over her. After the shock of the last week it felt nice to be wanted, even if it was for a small-time job she had no intention of doing.

      Suddenly she was aware of an extended silence and looked up to find two pairs of eyes fixed on her expectantly.

      ‘What?’

      ‘I was just asking why you are on leave?’ Jonas said, with the exaggerated patience of somebody who had asked a question several times already. ‘If “gardening leave” means you’re serving out your notice then you must be leaving your firm—why?’

      The all too familiar sense of panic rose up inside her, filling her chest with an aching, squeezing tension. None of this was real. It was some kind of terrible dream and she would soon wake up and find Hugo snoring beside her and her pressed suit hung on the wardrobe door opposite, ready for another day at work, doing a job she was darned good at.

      ‘I felt like a change,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘They were offering good severance deals and I thought, what with turning thirty and everything, that this could be a good opportunity for a new start. After all, it seems silly to specialise in international law СКАЧАТЬ