The Return of Mrs Jones

She just wasn’t worth holding on to.

Lawrie leant against the wall, grateful for the chill of the tiles on her suddenly hot face. Don’t cry, she told herself, willing away the pressure behind her eyelids. Never cry. You don’t need them—you don’t need anybody.

* * *

A large glass of iced water and some fresh air helped Lawrie recover some of her equilibrium and she returned to the office feeling a great deal better. Turning her back determinedly on Jonas, she called on all her professional resources and buried herself in the insurance folder, finding a strange calm in returning to the legalese so recently denied her. Pulling a notebook close, she began to scribble notes, looking at expiry dates, costs, and jotting down anything that needed immediate attention, losing herself in the work.

‘Lawrie...? Lawrie?’ Jonas was standing behind her, an amused glint in the blue eyes. ‘Fascinating, are they?’ He gestured at the folders.

‘A little,’ she agreed, pulling herself out of the work reluctantly. ‘I’m sorry—do you need me?’

‘I’m heading off to Coombe End. Do you still want me to show you around?’

Did she? What she really wanted was more time alone—more time to get lost in the work and let the real world carry on without her.

But it would be a lot easier tomorrow if she knew what to expect.

‘Oh, yes, thanks.’ She pushed her chair back and began to pile the folders and her closely covered sheets of paper together. ‘I’ll just...’ She gestured at the files spread all over the table and began to pull them together, bracing herself ready to scoop them up.

‘Here—let me.’

Jonas leant over and picked up the large pile, his arm brushing hers and sending a tingle from her wrist shooting through her body straight down to her toes. She leapt back.

‘If you’re ready?’

‘Absolutely, I’ll just get my bag—give me two minutes.’

‘I’ll meet you at the car; it’s just out front.’

‘Okay.’

The door closed behind him and Lawrie sank back into her seat with a sigh. She had to pull herself together. Stop acting like the gauche schoolgirl she’d outgrown years ago.

* * *

Jonas pulled his car round to the front of the restaurant, idling the engine as he waited for Lawrie. Their first day working together was going well. He’d had a productive two hours’ work just then, not thinking about and not even noticing the exposed nape of her neck, her long, bare legs, not at all aware of every rustle, every slight movement.

Well, maybe just a little aware. But they were just physical things. And Cornwall in summer was full of attractive women—beautiful women, even.

And yet during the last two hours the room he had designed, the room that had evoked light and space, had felt small, claustrophobic, airless. How could someone as slight as Lawrie take up so much space?

Jonas looked over at the Boat House impatiently, just as Lawrie emerged through the front door, a carefully blank, slightly snooty look on her face—the expression that had used to mean she was unsure of the situation. Did it still mean that? He used to be able to read her every shifting emotion, no matter how she tried to hide them.