Their Scandalous Affair. Catherine George

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.