memory hit him, of thin straps falling off tanned shoulders, a glimpse of skin at the small of her back. ‘And a top?’ he added. ‘Was there a green one?’
Her eyes lit up. ‘Hang on!’ She jumped up and ran over to the table, where she sifted through a pile of brightly coloured tops. ‘Do you remember this?’ She held up a light green floaty top.
Jonas wouldn’t have said he was a particularly observant man, especially when it came to clothes. His last girlfriend had claimed that he said, ‘You look nice...’ on autopilot. And it was true that he generally didn’t notice haircuts or new outfits. He knew better than to admit it, but he preferred his women laid-back and practical. Jeans, trainers, a top. Even a fleece if they were out walking. There was nothing less sexy than a woman stumbling along the clifftops in unsuitable shoes and shivering because her most flattering jacket proved useless against a chill sea breeze.
But the sight of that green top took his breath away, evoking the beat of a drum, the smell of mingled beer, sweat and cigarettes in the air. Not the most pleasant of smells, yet in the back room of a pub, a club or a town hall, as guitars wailed and people danced, it fitted. Dark, dirty, hot. The feel of Lawrie pressed against him in the fast-moving, mesmerised crowd.
He swallowed. ‘I think so,’ he managed to say, as normally as he could.
Lawrie regarded it doubtfully. ‘I guess it will fit. I’m the same size, and luckily Gran had them all laundered.’ Now it was her turn to swallow, with a glint in her eye.
Had she grieved properly for her gran? For the woman who’d brought her up? The woman who had provided him with a sanctuary, a sympathetic shoulder and a lot of sound advice?
Had helped him become the man he was today.
‘There you go, then,’ he said. ‘Three tops like that, some jeans for the gigs, something similar for the day, and pyjamas. Easy.’ He tried not to look at the lilac silk knickers. ‘Plus essentials. Where are you staying?’
‘I’m not sure. Fliss was supposed to have sorted out accommodation. Wherever I can get in last-minute, I guess.’
She didn’t look particularly enthusiastic and he didn’t blame her. Three nights alone in anonymous, bland rooms didn’t sound like much fun.
‘I’m looking into buying a small chain that covers the whole of the South-West,’ he said. ‘We could see if any of those are near where you need to be and you can do some evaluation while you’re there. Let me know what you think of them.’
She nodded. ‘I’m near Liskeard tonight, then over to Totnes tomorrow, and back towards Newquay on Saturday. I could drive straight back from there, but there are several food producers I want to sample around that area so it makes sense to stay over.’ Her eyes darkened. ‘I wish Fliss hadn’t bailed, though. It would be nice to have a second opinion.’
‘Isn’t she going with you?’
‘She was supposed to be—we were going to road-trip. Like Thelma and Louise—only without guns or Brad Pitt. But Dave has tickets for some play she really wanted to see and I think he wants to make a weekend of it. It’s fine. I’m quite capable. Only she was going to sort out the accommodation and didn’t get round to it.’
Her face said exactly what she thought of such woeful disorganisation.
Jonas suppressed a chuckle. He’d have liked to see them set off—Fliss laid-back and happy to wing it, Lawrie clutching a schedule and a stopwatch. ‘I’ll have a word with Alex and get him to find you some appropriate rooms. What time are you off?’
‘After lunch, I think. If I can get packed by then.’ She cast a despairing look at the clothes-strewn room.
‘I’ll let you know what Alex says. Let him arrange your bookings—he knows all the good places. That’s why I employ him.’
‘Thanks.’ She was trying to hide it, but there was still uncertainty, worry in the dark eyes.
‘No need to thank me; it’s his job. I’ll see you later.’
Jonas needed some air. The room suddenly felt hot, claustrophobic. He’d been working too hard, that was the problem. Head down, losing himself in spreadsheets and figures and meetings. He hadn’t been near a board for days, hadn’t touched a guitar.
He needed a break. Lucky Lawrie. A road trip sounded perfect.
Good food, music, and some time on the road.
It really did sound perfect.
If only he had known earlier he could have offered to go instead. A trip was just what the doctor had ordered.
* * *
Lawrie checked her watch. Again. This was ridiculous. She had planned to be on the road fifteen minutes ago. Nothing was more irritating than being behind schedule.
Even worse, she was hungry. It must be the Cornish air, because far from acting like a normal jilted bride, and existing on tears alone, for the first time in years Lawrie had a real appetite. Every day she went to the staff dining room promising herself she would just have the soup. A small bowl of soup. Because she strongly suspected it was made with double cream.
Yet every day she would find herself drifting over to the bread. Carbs, wheat, gluten. Things that Lawrie had been depriving herself of for so long she had completely forgotten why. Bread covered with real butter, with rich, creamy cheese...sharp, tangy cheese. Even worse, she sometimes had crisps on the side, and the handful of lettuce and tomatoes she added to her heaped plate went no way to assuaging her guilt.
Only—as the pang in her stomach reminded her all too well—she was skipping lunch today. The first stop on her schedule was a baker’s, and she had an Indian restaurant and an ice cream maker to fit in today. She might be the same size as her teen self right now but, she thought, the chances of her remaining that slender were looking very, very slim.
She checked her watch again and shook her head. She couldn’t wait. Her schedule was packed. Alex would just have to leave her a message and let her know where she would be staying that night. She swallowed. That was okay. He would hardly leave her to sleep in the car. So what if she hadn’t checked out the hotel website and printed out directions in case the sat nav didn’t work? This was a road trip, not a military manoeuvre.
Lawrie grabbed her handbag and moved towards the door, picking up the stuffed overnight bag and the shopper she had quickly bought in the hotel shop to carry the overspill as she did so. She averted her eyes from the mass of clothes on the sofa. She had tried to tidy up but it still looked as if a whole class of fifteen-year-olds had done a clothes-swap in the normally tidy office.
‘Okay, then,’ she said out loud, but the words sounded flat in the empty room and her stomach lurched with the all too familiar panic she’d been trying to hide since Fliss had pulled out last night.
Lawrie was no stranger to travelling alone, to making decisions alone, but usually she was clothed with the confidence of her profession. Sharp suits, intimidating jargon, business class flights. This time it would just be Lawrie Bennett, unemployed and jilted. Alone.
She dropped her bags, pressing a fist to her stomach, trying to quell the churning inside. For goodness’ sake, she dealt with CEOs all the time. How could standing in a dark room listening to music be scarier than walking
