‘I’m sure he does,’ he said. ‘But none of that is what I meant.’
She decided not to pursue that, asking instead, ‘Where is he, anyway?’ as she set the tray down on the coffee table between the two shabby sofas that flanked the fireplace.
‘He went to his study to find a book he’s going to lend me on the history of the Manor.’
‘The past is safe enough,’ she said. ‘It’s what you may do to its future that worries most people.’
‘I met two of my new neighbours on my way here,’ he said. ‘A man on horseback and a woman with a dog. Both of them smiled and said hello, and the dog didn’t bite me, so I wasn’t aware of any tsunami of anxiety heading towards me.’
‘It may seem amusing to you,’ she said. ‘But we’ll have to live with the inevitable upheaval of your celebrity presence—’ she edged the words with distaste ‘—and deal with the aftermath when you get bored and move on.’
‘You haven’t been listening, sweetheart.’ His tone was crisp. ‘The Manor is going to be my home. The only one. And I intend to make it work. Now shall we call a truce before your father comes back? And I take my coffee black without sugar,’ he added. ‘For future reference.’
‘Quite unnecessary,’ said Tavy. ‘As this will be the first and last time I have to serve it to you.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘One can always dream.’
Lloyd Denison came striding in, holding a slim book with faded green covers. ‘Things are never where you expect them to be,’ he said, shaking his head.
That, Tavy thought affectionately, was because he never put things where they were supposed to go. And she hadn’t inherited her mother’s knack of guiding him straight to the missing item.
‘Thank you.’ Jago took the book from him, handling it gently. ‘I promise I’ll look after it.’
Their coffee drunk, he stood up. ‘Now I’ll leave you to enjoy your afternoon in peace. But I must thank you again for a delicious lunch. And as home-cooking is currently out of the question for me, I was wondering if you could recommend a good local restaurant.’
‘I dine out very rarely, but I’m sure Tavy could suggest somewhere.’ Her father turned to her. ‘What do you think? There’s that French place in Market Tranton.’
Which is our place—Patrick’s and mine—thought Tavy, so I’m not sending him there.
She said coolly, ‘The pub in the village does food.’
‘Yes, but it’s very basic,’ Mr Denison objected. ‘You must know lots of better places.’
She turned reluctantly to Jago. ‘In that case, you could try Barkland Grange. It’s a hotel and quite a trek from here, but I believe its dining room won an award recently.’
‘It sounds ideal.’ That smile again. As if he was reaching out to touch her. ‘And as I’ve ruined your supper plans, maybe I can persuade you to join me there for dinner tonight.’ He looked at her father. ‘And you, sir, of course.’
‘That’s very kind,’ said the Vicar. ‘But I have some finishing touches to put to my sermon, plus a double helping of chicken to enjoy. However I’m sure Tavy would be delighted to accompany you.’ He looked at her blandly. ‘Wouldn’t you, darling?’
Tavy reflected she would rather be roasted over a slow fire. But as it had already been established that, thanks to her would-be host, she had no prior date, she was unable to think of a feasible excuse. Her only alternative was a bald refusal which would be ill-mannered and therefore cause distress to her father. Although she suspected Jago himself would be amused.
Accordingly, she murmured an unwilling acquiescence, and agreed that she could be ready at seven-thirty.
Unless mown down in the meantime by a runaway steamroller. And if she knew where one was operating, she’d lie down in front of it.
As she stood by her father, her smile nailed on, to wave goodbye to the departing visitor, she wondered how close she was to the world record for the number of things that could go wrong within a set time.
Because her choice of Barkland Grange, astronomically expensive and practically in the next county, had rebounded on her big time.
Safely indoors, she rounded on her father. ‘Dad, how could you? You practically offered me to him on a plate.’
‘Hardly, my dear. He only invited me out of politeness, you know.
‘I gather from something he said in the garden, he feels that the pair of you have somehow got off on the wrong foot, and he wants to make amends.’ He added gently, ‘And I must admit, Tavy, that I did sense something of an atmosphere.’
‘Really?’ she said. ‘I can’t think why.’ She was silent for a moment, then burst out, ‘Oh, Dad, I don’t want to have dinner with him. He’s out of our league, in some unknown stratosphere, and it worries me.’
And the worst of it is I can’t tell you the real reason why I don’t want to be with him. Why I don’t even want to think about him. Because you’d think quite rightly that I’d been stupid and reckless and be disappointed in me.
She swallowed. ‘Why did he come here today?’
‘To make himself known as the new resident of the Manor, and my parishioner,’ he returned patiently.
‘You think it’s really that simple?’ She shook her head. ‘I bet you won’t find him in the congregation very often. Also, you seem to have forgotten I’m going out with Patrick.’
‘But not this evening, it seems. And Jago, after all, is a stranger in our midst. Will it really hurt so much to keep him company? For all his fame and money, he might be lonely.’
Which is what he said about you...
‘I doubt that very much,’ she said tautly. ‘I’m sure he has a little black book the size of a telephone directory.’
‘Perhaps he hasn’t unpacked it yet,’ her father said gently
Tavy, desperate, delivered the killer blow. ‘And I’ve got nothing to wear. Not for a place like that, anyway.’
‘Oh, my dear child,’ he said. ‘If that’s the problem...’
He went into his study, emerging a few minutes later with a small roll of banknotes, which he pushed into her hand. ‘Didn’t you tell me that a new dress shop had opened in Market Tranton, in that little street behind the War Memorial.’
‘Dad.’ Tavy gazed down at the money, aghast. ‘There’s a hundred and fifty pounds here. I can’t take all this.’
‘You can and you will,’ he said firmly. ‘I know full well you get paid a pittance for all the hours you put in at that school,’ adding drily, ‘but presumably you feel it’s worth it. And I have a feeling that you’ll soon be needing a dress for special occasions.’
Such as an engagement party, Tavy thought with sudden buoyancy, as she grabbed the car keys from their hook. Now that would be worth dressing up for.
While tonight could be endured then forgotten.
* * *
As seven-thirty approached, Tavy felt the tension inside her begin to build. She sat, trying to interest herself in the local paper, finding instead she was imagining the following week’s edition by which time the news about Jago would have become public knowledge.
And she could only hope and pray that none of the stories printed about him would involve herself.
In the end, she’d bought two dresses, neither as expensive as she’d feared, and both sleeveless with scooped necks, and skirts much shorter than she was accustomed to—one covered in tiny ivory flowers