The Return of Mrs. Jones

by Jessica Gilmore

  She gave him an apologetic smile. ‘I should get this.’

  Jonas nodded, standing up and taking a step away to recover himself as she rooted in her bag and pulled out the insistently shrieking phone.

  He closed his eyes, inhaling the sea air deeply. He felt so alive. At some point in the last few days his eagerness for life, his zest, had returned—and yet he hadn’t even noticed that it was gone

  ‘Yes...yes. Absolutely. That sounds great—thank you. Yes, okay. I will. Bye.’ Lawrie switched the phone off and stood still, a dazed expression on her face.

  He looked over at her enquiringly. ‘Bad news?’

  ‘Huh? Oh, no.’ She looked a little dazed. ‘No, it was the agency.’ A wide smile broke out on her face. ‘The New York firm want me! They were really impressed with my interview and want me to start the day my gardening leave finishes. Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘Yes, wonderful.’ Jonas forced a smile onto his face, made himself move over to her, pull her close into a hug. ‘Of course they want you. They’d be mad not to.’

  She returned the embrace, then stepped back, excitement filling her vivid dark eyes. ‘New York...’ Her face glowed. ‘It’s all coming together, Jonas.’

  ‘Of course it is. You’ve made it come together.’

  She had. She’d worked hard for it, picked herself up when it all had been snatched away from her. She deserved this.

  So why did it feel as if the bottom had dropped out of his world?

  ‘So?’ She was tugging at his hand, playfully. ‘You were saying before we were interrupted...?’

  ‘I think we should head back,’ he said, still with that forced smile on his face. ‘News like this calls for champagne.’

  She looked slightly surprised, a little disappointed, but didn’t demur, helping him pack up, chattering about New York, the firm, the work she hoped to be doing. He listened, agreed, asked questions, and the topic lasted them all the way home.

  Her eyes were firmly fixed on the bright lights of a big city once again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE FIELDS WERE full of life. Families, couples, groups of friends, were laughing, chattering, wandering into one of the myriad teepees, tents and yurts to enjoy theatre, storytelling, music or poetry readings. Food stalls offered local beers and ciders, and every type of food, from traditional Cornish cream teas to Indian street food. Meanwhile over on the main stage one of Cornwall’s best-known folk bands was entertaining a large crowd. It was exhausting. It was exhilarating. Lawrie was loving every minute of it.

  When she had a chance to stop and think about it, that was.

  She reached up a hand to check the earpiece that kept her connected to the main radio network bleating out security breaches, lost children, petty theft, missing artists. She was aware of every single incident taking place on the festival site. Even last night, when she’d stayed in Jonas’s camper van, parked backstage so she was in the midst of the activity at all times, she’d kept it switched on. Her bulging file and her phone had been close by the bed, ready to be snatched up at a moment’s notice.

  She hadn’t slept a wink.

  But here they were: Day Two. The sun was still miraculously shining, no musician so lost he couldn’t be found and shoved out on stage on time, every sobbing child reunited with grateful parents. No food poisoning—yet, she thought anxiously—no serious crimes or marauding youths. Just a happy, laid-back vibe. Like a swan, with the festival-goers the body, floating serenely along, whilst she and the other members of staff paddled furiously to keep the whole thing afloat.

  Goodness, what an overblown simile. She must be tired.

  ‘When did you last eat?’

  She jumped as a pair of hands landed on her shoulders, squeezing lightly.

  ‘Have you even sat down once in the last two days?’ Jonas continued mock severely. ‘Taken time to listen to one of the bands you booked?’

  ‘They were mostly booked before I started,’ she protested, resisting the urge to lean back against him, to surrender the worries, the responsibilities into his oh, so capable hands for just a few seconds.

  ‘It’s on; we’re live; it’s all good,’ he said, turning her round to face him. ‘You should relax and start enjoying it.’

  Lawrie hugged the black file that had been her constant companion over the last month closer to her chest. ‘I’ll enjoy it in twenty-four hours’ time,’ she told him. ‘Once I know the last bands have turned up and that tonight has run smoothly.’

  ‘Or once you’ve picked the last piece of litter up from the campsite in a week’s time?’

  She smiled. ‘Maybe.’

  Like her, Jonas was dressed casually. There was no sign of the successful businessman in the cut-off denims and orange T-shirt, a baseball cap covering the blond hair subtracting years from him.

  ‘Well, at least let me buy you some lunch.’

  ‘I’m not really hungry,’ she demurred.

  But, too tired to make a fuss, she allowed him to lead her to a falafel stand and order her a humus salad wrap. The smell of fried onions and spicy chickpeas hit her as she stood there; they smelt like summer. A hollow feeling in her stomach reminded her that actually she had barely touched her breakfast that morning, nor supper the night before.

  ‘Part of the fun of Wave Fest is the food,’ he scolded her as she nibbled at the edges of the wrap, trying to avoid spilling what was inside down her top. ‘You should be getting out there, experimenting.’

  She licked humus off the top of the wrap. ‘I’m not really the experimenting type.’

  He leant in close. ‘I don’t agree.’

  His breath tickled her ear, soft, tantalising, like a soft summer breeze. The faint brush of air on her sensitive earlobe spread through her body, warming her right down to her toes. She was almost paralysed with a sudden stab of desire—hotter, needier, more intense than ever. She swallowed, willing her knees to stay up, her stomach to settle, trying to control her traitorous body. It was the hunger, the lack of sleep, the craziness of the day. She couldn’t still want him—not this much.

  Her time here was almost over.

  The thought was a short, sharp shock. The sweet, languorous need that had enveloped her fled as quickly as it had come. Their time together was nearly at an end—as it should be...as she wanted.

  Autumn was coming. By the time the leaves had turned she would be across the ocean, beginning her new life. Jonas would be here.

  They both knew long-distance didn’t work. They had failed so spectacularly before.

  Lawrie plastered a bright smile on her face, turning to look at him, hoping that no trace of her thoughts remained visible.

  ‘Have you seen many of the bands?’ she asked, before taking a bite of the wrap. She nearly moaned out loud. Maybe it was lack of food that had caused her earlier weakness, because the combination of crisp wrap, rocket, humus and freshly made falafal was sensual overload.

  ‘Is that good?’

  Amusement was written all over his face as she nodded mutely, cramming another mouthful in.

  ‘Maybe I was hungry,’ she mumbled as she swallowed it down.

  ‘Maybe.’ His eyes were bright with laughter. ‘You’ll be admitting you need a nap next.’

  She shook her head. ‘Try coffee—caffeine might help,’ she allowed.

  He took her elbow, steering her effortlessly through the partying crowds. ‘At least come into the hotel and sit down while you drink it,’ he said, and the thought of a comfy armchair was too tempting.

  She allowed him to lead her away, finishing off the wrap hungrily as they walked back to the hotel.

  ‘Are your parents still here?’ she asked as they mounted the steps and made their way through the crowded foyer to the desk. The hotel itself was strictly VIP for the duration of the festival, but it was no less hectic than outside, with staff, guests and the bands not camping backstage all based there.

  ‘No, they left after a seafood lunch.’

  His
voice was non-committal. She sneaked a peep at his face but it was expressionless. Her heart sank. Getting his parents to agree to visit the hotel during the festival had seemed like a major coup; she hoped it hadn’t backfired.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ she said carefully. ‘I would have liked to see them again.’

  ‘Maybe it’s for the best.’ He flashed her a warm smile. ‘My mother, despite thinking that you are far, far too good for me, has not-so-secret hopes that we may get back together and she can have her dream daughter-in-law again. Don’t worry—I warned her that you’re off again soon.’

  He could at least sound a little regretful about it.

  If only she wasn’t so tired, could think more clearly. Where was that coffee?

  She followed Jonas into her office and curled up thankfully on the large squishy sofa.

  He cast her a concerned look. ‘You are done in.’

  ‘Not at all,’ she protested. ‘A coffee will sort me out.’

  He looked unconvinced, but made her promise not to try and get up, no matter what, and then disappeared off to fetch her a drink. Lawrie leant back against the cool, plumped-up cushions and sighed. She had hoped that seeing the festival in full swing would help his parents appreciate all that Jonas had achieved, but maybe she’d been wrong.

  Maybe she needed to accept that some things were best left alone. If she had kept to her original plan and stayed clear of Jonas then she would be in such a different frame of mind as she contemplated her life changing move.

  She sighed. She should be much more excited, optimistic. This was what she wanted.

  And yet it was as if her life had been beige and grey for the past nine years and colour had suddenly returned to it. It was bright, and it hurt sometimes, but oh, the difference it made. She just had to figure out how to keep the Technicolor when she left. When she started again.

  ‘I managed to get you carrot cake as well.’ Jonas returned to the room, carefully carrying a tray holding a cafetière of deliciously pungent coffee and a large slab of spicily fragrant sponge cake. ‘Sugar and caffeine should sort you out.’

  He placed the tray onto the small coffee table and poured out a cup of coffee, adding cream and handing it over to Lawrie, who sniffed ecstatically.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve got me addicted to coffee again,’ she said accusingly as she took a sip of the bitter brew.

  ‘You are moving to New York,’ he pointed out as he poured a cup for himself and sat next to her on the sofa. ‘You don’t want to be seen as a strange tea-drinking Brit who spends the whole time complaining that she can’t get a proper brew, do you?’

  ‘Well, no,’ she conceded, leaning forward to hook the plate of cake off the tray. She forked a small portion of frosting and sponge and sat looking at it for a second.

  ‘Are you going to eat that or just study it?’

  ‘Eat it,’ she retorted, and suited her action to her words.

  She sucked the fork appreciatively, her mind still whirling.

  ‘Did you serve them the shellfish special or the fried fish platter?’ She attempted to keep her tone light, nonchalant, and licked the last bit of frosting off the cake fork.

  ‘Huh?’

  Jonas’s eyes were glued to the fork, to her tongue flicking out and licking it. She coloured, forking up some more cake casually, as if she hadn’t noticed his intense gaze, the disconcerting gleam in the blue eyes.

  ‘Your parents? I think they’re more shellfish people myself, but the whitebait on the fried platter is so delicious.’ She was on the verge of babbling, but her words had the desired effect. Jonas pulled his eyes away from her mouth distractedly.

  ‘My parents? Oh, the shellfish. They like big, extravagant gestures so it had to be lobster, really.’

  ‘And did they see any bands?’

  ‘Oh, yes. They had the full guided tour.’

  ‘And...?’ she prompted him.

  He gave her a rueful grin. ‘They didn’t throw themselves on my neck with tears of apology for neglecting me all these years and promises of a brighter tomorrow,’ he said.

  His words were light, almost jocular, without the slight undercurrent of disappointment or the hint of bitterness talk of his parents usually brought out in him.

  ‘On the other hand they didn’t criticise, cry with disappointment or walk out in disgust. They stayed for lunch and even said it was “rather nice” so overall a success, I think.’

  ‘A complete success,’ she agreed.

  He reached out his hand, tucking back a lock of her hair. She sat frozen, aware of nothing but his touch, the unexpectedly tender look in his eyes, the sound of her own heartbeat hammering.

  Their eyes continued to hold. Her mouth was dry, she flicked her tongue out nervously to moisten her lips. They had been alone, been intimate, so many times—every night for the last few weeks—but this...this felt different. It felt more. But even as part of her welcomed it, thirsted for it, another, larger part of her shrank from it. It was too much.

  Because they had been here before.

  ‘I should go.’ Was that really her voice? So hesitant, so unsure? She pushed herself up, legs wobbly. ‘Wave Fest won’t run itself, you know.’

  He was still seated, still looking at her with that disconcertingly knowing gaze, as if he could see right inside her. He was so close. He just needed to reach out, pull, and she would be in his lap.

  But if she allowed herself to settle there she would never want to leave.

  He didn’t. Didn’t move, didn’t pull, didn’t try and dissuade her. He just watched her as she drank down the rest of her coffee, grabbed her file and walked out of the office. He didn’t say a word.

  *

  Work. It was always the answer. And this was a workaholic’s dream. The second she left the office Lawrie was pounced upon to sort out some problem with the evening’s line-up, and by the time she’d pacified the disgruntled artist who expected a higher billing she’d managed to push all thoughts of Jonas to the back of her mind—where, she told herself sternly, he had better stay until she felt more like herself again.

  Whatever and whoever herself might be. She certainly wasn’t the brittle London girl who had arrived here just over a month ago, but she wasn’t the Cornish girl in vest top and shorts she appeared to be either. She was only playing at her role here.

  But, playing or not, there was a lot to do.

  Eight hours later her lunch was just a distant dream. She had barely had the opportunity to grab any water, despite the heat of the sun, and must have walked miles. Next year she would recommend golf carts, she thought.

  ‘There you are.’

  Lawrie turned around, blinked blearily. Everything was suddenly amplified. The light was almost blinding; people and objects were a mingled blur. The sounds were an amalgamated cacophony of discordant notes and loud voices.

  She swayed, pressing a trembling hand to her head.

  ‘Lawrie! Are you okay?’

  Jonas. How broad he looked...how comforting. She took a small step towards him, then stopped, trying to summon up the energy to reply. ‘Yes, just tired still. I’ll be fine.’

  It had been such a warm day. And yet now she was shaking with cold, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to press some warmth into her bones.

  A touch on her chin tilted it upwards. She tried to meet his probing gaze but had to close her eyes.

  ‘I told you to take a proper rest. There are another twenty-four hours of this festival, and you are not going to last,’ Jonas said grimly and, disregarding her protests, whirled around, taking her elbow and pulling her along.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said, trying unsuccessfully to pull her arm out of his grasp.

  ‘Taking you home for the night. If you are on site you won’t switch off,’ he said pulling out his handset. ‘Fliss, you are in charge for the next twelve hours. Lawrie is taking a few hours off.’

  Lawrie could hear Fliss’s voice floating up from the handset, worry
ing, agreeing, admonishing Lawrie to get some rest.

  She wanted to argue, to tell them she was fine but the words wouldn’t come. ‘Are you all ganging up on me?’

  ‘If that’s what it takes.’

  She felt as if she should fight harder but she didn’t have the strength. ‘Just a short nap,’ she conceded.

  ‘You are having the whole night off. You can come back tomorrow morning, but not a second before.’ There was no trace of humour in his voice, just worry. ‘And I’ll see how you are then.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  But it was an effort to form the words, and she didn’t demur as Jonas led her through the crowds and round to the staff car park, where he gently helped her into his car.

  Lawrie sank into the seat and closed her eyes. Half asleep, she didn’t notice the route Jonas took until he stopped the car with an undignified squeal of brakes. She prised her eyelids open and looked about her. They were in the tiny old town, amongst the fishermen’s cottages that clustered around the harbour.

  ‘This isn’t home,’ she murmured sleepily.

  ‘This is my house,’ Jonas told her, and he unbuckled her seat belt before getting out and coming round to open her door and help her out. ‘I don’t trust you not to be logging on and fussing if I let you go back to yours.’

  ‘Too tired to log on,’ she protested, but obediently followed him along the street.

  They were at the very top of the old town, with the cliffs towering above them and views over the rooftops down to the harbour below. Jonas came to a stop by a long crooked house that lurched drunkenly along the street and opened the door. Lawrie stopped on the doorstep and stared at him, suddenly more awake.

  ‘The crooked house? You bought it?’

  ‘Yep. Come in.’

  She looked at him. Didn’t he remember? That this was the house—the one that every time they played the ‘one day when we are rich’ game they had decided they would buy. Some were bigger, others more imposing, cuter, older, quainter, but something about this last house in the old town had appealed to her the most. The funny little corners, the different levels, the roof garden... It had always drawn her in, and now it belonged to Jonas.