mind at the last minute. Vintage numbers are the latest must have, and if the number once belonged to Grandma it wins the jackpot.’
‘Can we do something with the dress?’ said Frances.
‘Oh, yes. It’s a slinky satin number, in thirties Hollywood style, but darling Pansy’s been on a punishing diet, so with inserts by you and some camouflaging embroidery from me all should be well. Mummy didn’t turn a hair when I warned her about the cost involved.’ Avery grinned. ‘And Pansy was so thrilled with my ideas she begged me to make dresses for the six little bridesmaids she decided on only yesterday, would you believe? The snag is the time frame. Due to the bride’s U-turn we’ll have to get our skates on. The wedding’s next month.’
‘We’ll manage that, no problem. Nice morning’s work, boss!’
‘Now, then, enough shop talk.’ Avery leaned forward, eyes sparkling. ‘Tell me about last night.’
Frances smiled dreamily. ‘It was lovely. Philip’s such a charming man it’s amazing he’s been a widower so long. His married daughter made him answer the ad, and he’s delighted now that she did.’
‘So he should be. What does he do?’
‘Accountant.’
‘You liked him, obviously?’
‘I took to him on sight—probably because he was almost as nervous as me to start with. But over dinner we talked non-stop, and he’s asked me out again on Saturday.’ Frances smiled radiantly. ‘Thank you, Avery. I owe you.’
‘Actually, you don’t owe me a thing. I’m having dinner with Jonas Mercer, the man from the Angel bar, tonight.’
‘Really?’ Frances’s eyes widened. ‘My word, that’s something new! What advantage does he have over the local male population?’
‘The fact that he’s not local, probably. But he’s quite a charmer, too.’ Avery grinned. ‘I’ll go halves for the ad you put in the paper.’
Avery rushed everyone off the premises dead on time that night, to get home to give her hair time to dry into its natural mane of exuberant curls. She fussed over her face more than usual, and changed her clothes twice before settling on jeans and a velvet jacket, irritated that she was behaving like an adolescent, and even more so when she found she’d arrived at the Angel car park a minute early.
But Jonas Mercer was there before her, in a khaki reefer jacket and needlecord jeans which suited his lanky dimensions even better than the suit of the night before.
‘Hello,’ she said, smiling. ‘You needn’t have waited outside. You must be cold.’
‘You said seven, and you strike me as a lady who means what she says.’ He folded himself into the passenger seat and turned to her in awe. ‘That’s a glorious head of hair you’ve got there, Ms Crawford!’
Avery pulled a face. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you had to fight it tooth and nail to make it stay up every day.’
‘Then why bother?’
‘To present a businesslike image to my clients.’
He eased his legs out of her way as she changed gear. ‘If your clients are men they’d prefer your hair the way it is now, believe me.’
‘I deal mainly with women.’ She described her morning in detail, amusing him with her tale of excited bride and stressed mother.
‘I took a stroll round town this afternoon,’ he told her, ‘and I spotted Avery Alterations in the row of shops near the main car park.’
‘That’s headquarters, where the actual work goes on, but I travel to private homes to do the initial fittings. Here we are,’ she added as the inn came into view.
She drove through an archway big enough to accommodate the coaches that had once rattled through it into the cobbled yard beyond. These days the Fleece’s courtyard was full of cars, and Avery was pleased to find a space wide enough to park in easily. As they crossed the cobbles to the back entrance Jonas sniffed the air with anticipation.
‘If the food matches the smells coming from the kitchen windows we’re obviously in for a treat. Popular place,’ he added as he followed Avery into the main bar. ‘You bag the table by the window and I’ll get the drinks. Red wine again?’
‘Yes, please.’
The inn was buzzing, as usual, and Avery sat back, prepared to enjoy herself, confident that the meal, whatever they chose from the menu, would be good. She smiled in acknowledgement as someone waved to her, amused when more than one pair of curious eyes followed Jonas as he rejoined her. Avery Crawford, dining out with a man!
‘This place has been serving food since the eighteenth century,’ she told him. ‘I had my first grown-up dinner here, as a treat for my eleventh birthday.’
‘So you’re a native of these parts? How long has Avery Alterations been functioning?’
‘In one form or another for about twenty-five years.’
Jonas eyed her in surprise. ‘The sums don’t add up.’
‘My mother started it up at home when I was small. She was a qualified tailor and taught me everything I know. Eventually I was able to make my own dresses for my university balls.’
‘Clever lady.’ Jonas leaned nearer as the noise level increased. ‘Was your degree in fine art?’
‘No, maths.’
He grinned. ‘Snap—mine too. Right, then, Ms Crawford, you’re the expert here. What do you recommend?’
Once they’d given their orders Avery eyed her companion expectantly. ‘So what did you do after you graduated?’
Jonas Mercer sat back, relaxed. ‘After a gap-year backpacking round the world, supposedly studying other people’s transport systems, I joined the family business, as I’d always intended. Once he was sure I was up to scratch, my father decided on semi-retirement. With his guiding hand, I help run the show pretty much as it’s been run for decades— independent of help from bank or City. We’re in haulage, warehousing, some construction work, and so on. Remunerative, but not exciting,’ he added.
‘I think any successful business run for that length of time with no outside financial help is very exciting indeed,’ Avery assured him. ‘I used to work in the City, once upon a time.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Did you, indeed? Why did you leave?’
‘I’ll tell you some other time—our dinner’s approaching.’
Over the meal, which was as excellent as Avery had promised, Jonas made no effort to press her about her change of career. Instead he talked about his mother’s passion for gardening and his father’s golf handicap, and the various Mercer relatives who worked with him.
‘I have plenty of help to carry the load,’ he said wryly. ‘Would you like coffee?’
Coffee had an air of finality about it. And because this type
