zh84

A Jaunt with Jonquil or, Kay Kendall’s Revenge “Tim! Please stop torturing that poor Bentley and let me see what’s the matter with her.” The Honourable Timothy Albemarle-Jonson let go of the ignition key and looked up. His wife was on her way down the steps of their Holland Park town house, turning slightly sideways because her elegant tweed pencil skirt kept her knees demurely together. The matching skin-tight jacket gripped her tiny waist and hugged her shapely bust. She was wearing her hair down this morning, her pretty face framed by chestnut curls which didn’t distract from her determined expression. Tim reminded himself how lucky he was to have her: he just wished she wouldn’t interfere with his car quite so much. He rolled down the driver’s side window and prepared for the consultation. Jonquil leant into the window and smiled, accompanied by a light scent of L’Air du Temps by Nina Ricci and mint toothpaste. “I’ll have to pop the hood, honey.” “I’m sorry, what?” Jonquil frowned