In Vino Veritas by J. M. Gregson Page A

herself: that was the kind of verdict she might have had from her tutor on the degree all those years ago.
    There wasn’t much of the working day left. Sarah decided she might allow herself the luxury of an early departure, then remembered that she had taken her car in for a service that morning. She rang the garage and found that the Honda was ready for collection. Gerry Davies would give her a lift into Ross-on-Wye to pick it up, though it would be a good hour yet before he would be ready to leave. But she’d better go across to the shop and tell him that she needed a lift.
    She was halfway across the little courtyard when a vehicle drew up at her side, so silently that it made her start with surprise. A glance sideways reassured her; it was Martin Beaumont’s 3.8 blue Jaguar. The window beside her slid softly down and her boss said, ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere? I see your car isn’t here today.’
    â€˜No, it’s in for service at Ross. But Gerry Davies will give me a lift – it’s almost on his route home.’
    â€˜No need to bother him – he won’t be off for another hour, will he, whereas I can take you now.’
    She wondered whether to say that she had work to do, couldn’t leave early. It was such an obvious tactic to impress the boss with her work ethic that someone as shrewd as Martin Beaumont would surely see through it. So she said, ‘If you’re sure it’s no trouble,’ and slid gratefully on to the leather passenger seat beside the owner of Abbey Vineyards.
    He’d seen her making the tour, had noted the animation of her audience, and now commented approvingly upon it. He didn’t miss much, the boss, as she’d quickly realized when she came here to work for him. He said suddenly, ‘It’s good to see you in a skirt for a change. All the attractive women seem to wear trousers nowadays.’
    â€˜I usually wear a skirt or a dress for the tours, unless it’s cold and blustery. The public seem to like it.’
    â€˜I’m sure they do, when they see legs as attractive as yours, Sarah.’
    She was mildly shocked and a little amused. Employers weren’t supposed to make comments like that to their female staff nowadays, though she supposed she should regard herself as out of the working environment at this stage of the day.
    As if he read her thoughts, Beaumont said, ‘Of course, I wouldn’t pass compliments like that at work, but we’ve finished for the day now, haven’t we? And they are very attractive legs!’
    She couldn’t think of a suitable light-hearted rejoinder. She was willing him not to deliver any more clichés. She resisted the temptation to pull her skirt down a little further over the fifteen denier tights beneath it and said, ‘You won’t say that in a few years, when the varicose veins begin to take over.’
    They both laughed at that and he said gallantly, ‘I can’t imagine you with varicose veins, Sarah Vaughan!’
    â€˜Age catches up with all of us, in the end, doesn’t it?’ She had learned to bandy clichés with the best of them, she thought wryly. ‘I’m thirty-three already, and I expect the next ten years will fly past even more quickly than the last.’ It seemed to her a good moment to remind him that she was not some inexperienced ingénue who would be flattered by the attention of the boss, even though he was probably only engaging in a little harmless flirting.
    â€˜No one would think you were in your thirties,’ he said gallantly, swinging the Jaguar round a long left-hand bend. ‘Every time I see you I think what an attractive woman you are.’
    â€˜I think we should change the subject now,’ she said firmly. For the first time, she felt a vague fear, not that anything dire was going to happen, but that she was going to have an embarrassing few minutes. He had taken the B road, she