not a caravan, you blasphemer. This is a classic and you know it. Besides, you can’t talk. If only all your fashion admirers could see you now they would be totally disappointed. Nothing chic about leggings and a sweatshirt—even I know that.’
Swallowing back the laughter, Lawrie hugged her knees to her chest. ‘Yoga pants and cashmere, actually.’
It felt good to laugh. Free.
Trying hard not to think about how long it had been since she had laughed like that, Lawrie fastened onto Jonas’s last words. ‘Hang on—what do you mean, fashion admirers?’
Jonas shook his head and pushed the Scrabble board away, sliding down so only his head and shoulders were propped up against the bench seat, the rest of his long, lean body sprawled comfortably along the floor.
He took up a lot of room. A lot of air. Lawrie swallowed and adjusted her gaze so that she was looking straight ahead, at the glorious sunset, at fresh air. Not at the denim-clad legs lying close to her. Close enough to touch.
‘I dress really conservatively for work,’ she said, probing for an answer as Jonas seemed disinclined to speak. ‘And my only night out was on my birthday.’
‘Apparently West London’s “conservative” is Trengarth’s cutting edge,’ Jonas said, swirling the Scrabble tiles around on the board and mixing up the words. ‘It’s all about the cut, or so I’ve heard. Definitely not High Street, they say.’
‘I do get my suits made for me by a tailor who specialises in women’s clothes.’ Why did it feel like an admission of guilt? ‘They fit better, though I wouldn’t call them fashionable. But I don’t know why I am explaining this to you.’ She rounded on Jonas. ‘If your suits aren’t handmade I’ll eat a Scrabble tile.’
He grinned, picking up an I and holding it out to her. ‘Here you go—there are too many of these anyway.’ Lawrie raised an eyebrow at him and he palmed the tile. ‘Okay, you win. I do frequent an establishment in Plymouth run by a gentleman who trained on Savile Row.’
‘I knew it!’ The moment of triumph was shortlived as the impact of his words hit. Lawrie’s chest tightened painfully and she breathed deeply, slowly. ‘Why do people care about what I wear?’
Jonas looked surprised. ‘They don’t—not really. Only you’re new, have history with me, and you look smarter than anyone else. It was bound to make a bit of a stir. It’s not a big deal.’
But it was. ‘I don’t like being talked about. No one even noticed my suits in the City. Maybe I should get some new clothes for the rest of the summer.’
‘What on earth for?’ He sounded incredulous.
A wave of irritation swept over her. ‘To blend in. The last thing I want is to be noticed for anything but my work.’
‘People aren’t exactly staring at you as you walk down the street,’ Jonas pointed out. ‘Wait...’ He pulled his legs in and sat up, facing her. Blue eyes studied her face intently. ‘Is this why you were so stressed about what to bring on this trip? You wanted to blend in?’
‘There’s no reason to sound so judgmental.’ Lawrie could feel her face heating up, a prickly and uncomfortable warmth spreading down her neck and chest. ‘I’m not comfortable standing out from the crowd. No big deal.’
He was still looking at her. Looking into her, as if he could see her soul. As if he was unsure about what he was seeing there. It took every bit of self-control that she had not to squirm or pull away.
‘Is it, Law?’ he said softly ‘Is it just about blending in?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She wanted to pull away, look away, but it was as if his eyes had a hypnotic effect on her. She was paralysed, stuck to the spot, as he stared at her searchingly.
‘You didn’t sing in London. Not once in nine years.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Jonas, I was busy!’
‘What did you do? Apart from work.’
She tried to remember but it was all fog. It seemed like a lifetime ago. ‘We had dinner with friends. Went to the theatre, to museums and exhibitions. The usual things.’
‘Usual for who? West London professionals like you?’ His gaze sharpened. ‘You’re a tribal animal, aren’t you, Lawrie? You like to dress the part, act the part—whatever that part might be. What is it you really want? You like? Do you even know?’
‘What do you care?’ The words were torn from her. ‘As soon as my life diverged from yours you gave up on me. So don’t you dare be so damn superior—don’t act like I’m letting you down by trying to fit in.’
‘But you’re not.’ He looked surprised. ‘Why would you be letting me down? But are you letting yourself down, Lawrie? If you spend your whole life hiding your own needs and wants away can you ever be really happy?’
‘Happiness is not about things.’ The words snapped out of her, surprising her with their fierceness, their certainty. ‘Clothes, hobbies, food—they’re just trappings, Jonas. I don’t care about any of them. All I want—all I have ever wanted—is to be successful, to be independent. To stick to the plan.’
‘Is this the plan? To be here with me?’
It was like a punch straight to the stomach, winding her with its strength. ‘No,’ she said after a long pause. ‘No, this wasn’t in the plan. But I’m adaptable, Jonas. I’m strong. Don’t ever mistake a desire to fit in with weakness. Lions blend in with the Sahara, you know.’
He threw his head back and laughed. The sound jarred with her jangled nerves.
‘Weak is the last word I’d use to describe you. Lioness, on the other hand...’
It was his turn to duck as she threw a cushion at him.
‘I was just agreeing with you,’ he protested.
‘If you had lived with my mother you’d have learned to fit in as well,’ Lawrie said. She didn’t know why she was telling him this—why she needed him to understand. But she did. She needed him to know that she wasn’t shallow or weak. ‘One moment I’m living in Stockbrokerville in Surrey, learning French and pony-riding, the next we’re in a commune near Glastonbury and my mother is trying to make me answer to the name of Star. She changed completely, depending on who she was with, and she never went for the same type twice.’
‘I know,’ Jonas said, pity softening the keen eyes. ‘It was hard for you.’
Lawrie shook her head. ‘I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. I’m just explaining. What I wore, ate, did, the friends I had—they were interchangeable, dependent on her whims. If I had cared, had tried to hang on to things, it would have been unbearable. So I kept my head down, I worked hard, and I vowed that I would be so successful that I would never have to be dependent on anyone. And I’m not.’
‘Is that why you and the fiancé split? Because you didn’t need him?’
‘No.’ Of course it wasn’t. Hugo had liked her independence. Hadn’t he? ‘It
