Page 122 of An Unholy Affair
‘I’m going to show you my darkest secret.’
‘In your bedroom?’
‘Yes. In all the kerfuffle since you returned to Foxbrooke, I’d totally forgotten about my shameful habit.’
Huh?‘Do you smoke?’
She shook her head.
‘Vape?’
‘Good gracious, no.’
Entering her room, she sat him on the wrought iron bed. The bedspread was printed with blousy pink roses. A white bookshelf was set against one wall, containing every romance novel ever written by Polly Hart, and a pink and white rag rug lay on the floor.
Crossing to her wardrobe, she took a small box from the back of the highest shelf. She held it to her chest as she faced him.
‘Now, am I right in thinking you have this over-inflated opinion of my saintly goodness?’
He smiled. ‘My opinion of you is pretty much in line with how Estelle, Finn, Isaac, and all your other friends would describe you.’
‘And how does your opinion differ?’ she asked, a cheeky look on her face.
He held her gaze. ‘I know you’re a minx.’
The heat rose in her face and his cock woke up.
She cleared her throat. ‘Well, I am far from perfect, and in this box is the evidence of my greed, competitiveness and duplicity. The only reason I haven’t shown it to you already is that my subconscious was ashamed and made me forget.’
Jack’s eyes widened as he stared at the box. What the fuck was in it?
Eveline sat beside him. ‘I try my best to be a good person, but unfortunately I am also extremely competitive and this leads to some not-great decisions.’
Her fingers were rubbing the top of the box. Was a genie about to appear?
‘I started doing this in my last posting and swore blind that I wouldn’t do it when I came to Foxbrooke.’ She pulled a face. ‘But in my first month, one of my parishioners rubbed me up the wrong way…’
‘What did Simon do?’
Eveline let out a peal of laughter. ‘It wasn’t him. It was a lady who shall remain nameless. She came around for a cup of tea and asked where I had bought the cake she was eating.’
‘And…’
Her look of indignation made the corners of his mouth twitch. ‘Imade it! It was a perfectly cooked Victoria sponge, and she knew it!’
His smile widened. ‘So, she asked where you’d bought it to fu—mess with you?’
‘Yes. She’s very active in the Women’s Institute and wins most of the prizes at the village fete each summer. She also made it clear on another occasion that it would be a conflict of interest if I ever entered.’
‘Are you one of the judges?’
‘No, I declined the offer.’
‘Why?’
She passed him the box. ‘You can open it.’
He lifted the lid. Inside was a stack of coloured cards. He picked up the first one and read the words ‘First place, sponge cake category, Daisy Spring’. He took another. ‘First place, strawberry jam category, Posie Parrot.’
