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 A
very 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.’
Their Scandalous Affair Page 3