Pauline said. She pointed to the phone, which was lying off the cradle on the mosaic-topped telephone table by the sofa. Sera rolled her eyes at her aunt. She hadn’t been ignoring Pauline; she’d been punishing her for this afternoon’s boorish behavior. There was a difference. But she supposed her affronted act had gone on long enough. Pauline couldn’t help herself—she was congenitally uncouth—and if her interference was playing merry hell with Sera’s love life, well… it hadn’t turned out all bad. Maybe. The jury was still out on that one. The jury, and Asher’s wife, Sera reminded herself. Apparently that mysterious paragon wasn’t as out of the picture as she’d assumed—and what it meant for her and Asher, she had no idea. Asher wouldn’t dally with me if he was still married, would he? Somehow she couldn’t picture her landlord as a philandering cheat. She had to have a little more faith in him than that.
