‘No, I saw you’d had no supper, so I was getting something for you.’
‘Oh, I’ve been dining out too,’ he said. ‘Geoff Layton phoned to say his son had sent him a birthday hamper from Fortnum’s. So we had chess and the most wonderful pork pie.’ He patted his midriff. ‘Quite amazing.’
‘Oh.’ She closed the freezer door. ‘How lovely.’
‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘How did your evening go?’
‘It went,’ Tavy said crisply, pouring milk into a pan and setting it to heat. ‘For which I was truly thankful. Jago Marsh and I have absolutely nothing in common, and the less I see of him the better.’
‘Ah,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘So no attraction of opposites in this case.’
‘No attraction at all,’ Tavy returned, firmly quashing the memory of the way he’d looked at her—that light touch on her earring and their admittedly tumultuous effect. It was stress, she told herself, induced by a truly horrible evening. Nothing more.
She poured the hot milk into their cups, and stirred in the chocolate. The usual bedtime ritual.
Which is how I want things, she thought. The everyday, normal way they were forty-eight hours ago.
And that’s what I’m going to get back. Whatever it takes. And no intrusive newcomer is going to stop me.
* * *
‘I still can’t believe it,’ said Patrick. ‘I thought—I hoped I was seeing things. What the hell did you think you were doing?’
‘Having dinner,’ Tavy retorted, rolling out pastry as if she was attacking it, which did not bode well for the steak and kidney pie they were having for Sunday lunch. ‘But maybe it’s a trick question.’
She added, ‘If it comes to that, I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ She paused. ‘Or Fiona.’
‘Her mother called mine,’ he said defensively. ‘Said she was feeling a bit down over the divorce. So Mother thought it would be nice for her.’
‘Very,’ said Tavy, reflecting that during their earlier encounter, Fiona seemed to be firing on all cylinders.
‘Besides,’ he went on. ‘In the old days, she was one of the gang.’
Not any gang that I ever belonged to, thought Tavy.
‘Anyway,’ he added. ‘That’s not important. Do you realise that Mother was absolutely furious about last night. And that I’ve had to do some fast talking to stop her from sacking you.’
Or it might also have occurred to her that she’d get no one else to do everything I do for the money, thought Tavy with sudden cynicism. Thought it, but didn’t say it.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But it shouldn’t have been necessary. For one thing, she doesn’t exercise any jurisdiction over how I spend my time outside school hours. Maybe you should have mentioned that.
‘For another, I should have been with you last night, and not him. So why wasn’t I, Patrick? When are you going to tell her about us?’
‘I was about to,’ he said defensively. ‘But you’ve knocked that right on the head. Now, I’ll just have to wait until she cools down over this entire Jago Marsh business, and it won’t be any time soon, I can tell you.’
He shook his head. ‘What on earth does your father have to say about all this?’
‘Not a great deal,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t seem to share your low opinion of Mr Marsh.’ She added stonily, ‘And he was also invited last night, but had—other things to do.’
He sighed. ‘Tavy, your father’s a great chap—one of the best—but not very streetwise. He could get taken in quite badly over all this.’
The fact that this echoed her own thinking did not improve her temper.
‘Thank you for your concern,’ she said shortly. ‘But I don’t think he’s going to change very much at this stage. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get this pie in the oven. Dad will be in at any moment, and he has a christening this afternoon.’
‘Tavy,’ he said. ‘Darling—I don’t want us to fall out over this. Jago Marsh simply isn’t worth it.’
‘I agree.’ She banged the oven door. ‘Perhaps you could also persuade your mother to that way of thinking, so we can all move on.’
She took carrots from the vegetable rack and began to scrape them to within an inch of their lives.
‘But you must realise,’ he persisted, ‘that it’s—well—inappropriate behaviour for you to consort with someone like that.’
‘Consort?’ she repeated. ‘That’s a very pompous word. But if you’re saying you’d rather I didn’t have dinner with him again, then you needn’t worry, because I haven’t the least intention of doing so. Will that satisfy you? And your mother?’
She added coolly, ‘Besides, inappropriate behaviour doesn’t enter into it. Jago Marsh just isn’t my type.’
‘While I’ve been stupid and tactless and made you cross,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Tavy. Why don’t we draw a line under the whole business and go out for a drink tonight?’
For a moment, she was sorely tempted, even if he had ticked all the boxes he’d mentioned and more.
She tried to smile. ‘Can we make it another time? Actually, I’ve promised myself a quiet night at home after Evensong.’
I feel as if I need it, she thought when she was alone. Which isn’t me at all. In fact, I feel as if I’m starting to learn about myself all over again. And I don’t like it.
* * *
It was clear when she reported for duty on Monday morning that her fall from grace had not been forgiven or forgotten.
Mrs Wilding was chilly to the nth degree.
‘I have to say, Octavia, that I thought your father would share my concerns about this new addition to the neighbourhood. But I gather he seems prepared to accept him at face value, which in my opinion shows very poor judgement.’
Tavy remembered just in time that Mrs Wilding was a prominent member of the parochial church council, which her father chaired as Vicar, and bit her tongue hard.
Fortunately, she did not have to see very much of her employer who departed mid-morning on some unexplained errand, and returned late in the afternoon, tight-lipped and silent.
As soon as she’d signed her letters, she told Tavy she could go home after she’d taken them to catch the post.
Something’s going on, Tavy thought as she cycled to the village. But she’s hardly likely to confide in me, especially now.
As she was putting the letters into the mail box, June Jackson emerged from the post office.
‘Afternoon, Miss Denison.’ She lowered her voice, her smile sly. ‘I hear you’ve got yourself an admirer up at the Manor.’
‘Then you know more than I do, Mrs Jackson,’ Tavy returned coolly. ‘It’s extraordinary how these silly stories get about,’ she added for good measure.
‘Just a story, is it?’ The smile hardened. ‘But there aren’t any others with your shade of hair in the village, not that I can call to mind. And I also hear that he didn’t waste any time calling at the Vicarage either.’
Tavy climbed back on her bicycle. ‘My father has a lot of visitors, Mrs Jackson. It comes with the territory.’
And imagining that anyone could keep anything quiet in this village was too good to be true, Tavy thought as she pedalled home.
As