Seduction Never Lies(15)

'Not really,' said Tavy, keeping her voice steady with an effort. 'I-I  found them on the doorstep when I got home. They're obviously a  mistake.'

'If so, they're an expensive one,' he commented levelly.

'So I-disposed of them,' she added lamely, not looking at him.

'What a shame,' said the Vicar. 'I suppose we should try and trace the recipient, even though the card seems to be missing.'

That, thought Tavy, was because it was currently burning a hole in her pocket.

Aloud, she said, 'Maybe they just weren't wanted. And ours was the nearest bin.'

'Ah,' said her father. 'A token of unrequited love, perhaps. How sad.  In which case I'll take them over to the church, where they'll make a  welcome change from Mrs Rigby's everlasting spray chrysanthemums.' He  lifted the bouquet carefully from the table. 'Jago came to return the  book I lent him, my dear. See if you can persuade him to stay for  lunch.'

He strode purposefully out and a few seconds later Tavy heard the front door close behind him.

Leaving her alone. With him. In the world's most loaded silence.

Which he was the first to break. 'So,' he commented sardonically. 'Not peace but a sword?'

She lifted her chin. 'Did you ever doubt it?'

He looked at the mutinous set of her mouth and smiled. 'There were odd moments,' he drawled.

'In your dreams, Mr Marsh,' she said, her breath quickening. She began  to whisk the eggs in an effort to hide that her hands were trembling.  'And there is no invitation to lunch,' she threw at him. 'In case you  were hoping.'                       
       
           



       

'I'm not that much of an optimist.' He looked at the bunch of herbs on  the chopping board. 'Besides, you might be tempted to include hemlock in  my share.' He turned to the door. 'However, please give your father my  regards, and tell him I look forward to our next meeting.'

And there would be one, Tavy thought, as she added the chopped herbs  and seasoning to the eggs. It was almost inevitable. She would simply  arrange not to be around when it happened.

'Has Jago gone?' her father asked on his return, sounding disappointed.

'Unfortunately, yes,' Tavy said with spurious regret. 'He has places to  go, people to see. You know how it is.' She paused. 'Anyway, how was  the meeting?'

'Not good,' Mr Denison said heavily. 'It's bad news, I'm afraid.'

Tavy abandoned the eggs and made two mugs of strong tea instead. She  sat beside her father at the table and took his hand. 'I suppose it's  the roof.'

'That's certainly part of it. Apparently, it's gone beyond repair and  would need totally replacing.' He paused. 'But the main problem is the  tower.'

'So what does he suggest?'

'That we go on as usual until he has given his report to the Bishop and  some decision about Holy Trinity's future has been reached.'

He shook his head. 'And, as he pointed out, it's just another  church-Victorian Ordinary instead of Victorian Gothic-with no great age  or historical significance that might entitle it to special treatment.  And, of course, only a small congregation.'

He took a deep breath. 'I suspect the Bishop means to close it.'

'But he can't do that,' Tavy protested. 'It's an important part of village life.'

He shook his head. 'Sadly, darling, it's happened to other churches in  the diocese with similar problems.' He sighed. 'And as you know the  Bishop is a moderniser, so we haven't always seen eye to eye in the  past.'

Tavy swallowed. 'Would we have to leave this house?'

'Almost certainly. It's a valuable piece of real estate-more so than  the church itself, I fear.' He added quietly, 'I'll probably be asked to  join the team ministry in Market Tranton.'

As Tavy brought the omelettes to the table, she said, 'Dad, we have to  fight this closure. Try to raise some serious money to kick-start the  restoration fund again.'

'I've been thinking along the same lines,' he said. 'But where would we  start?' He shook his head. 'What we really need is a miracle or a  millionaire philanthropist, but they're in short supply these days.'

It was a good omelette but, to Tavy, it tasted like untreated leather.  Because she could think of someone just about to lavish thousands of  pounds on a country mansion-just to feed his own selfish vanity.

To them that hath, she thought bitterly. And it had never seemed more true, or more horribly unfair.

Oh, damn Jago Marsh, and send him back to the hell he came from. And  where he truly belongs, with his drink and his drugs. And his frightful  bloody women.

'Octavia, my dear,' the Vicar said gently. 'I know we must fight, but for a moment there you looked almost murderous.'

'Did I?' She smiled at him. Kept her voice light. 'Oh, dear. I must have been thinking of the Bishop.'





CHAPTER SEVEN

EVEN WHEN SCHOOL resumed after half term, Tavy appeared to be still in the doghouse over the stationery cupboard incident.

On the face of it, this was the least of her worries. But the  children's return kept her busy and stopped her examining too closely  the rest of the uneasiness piling up like thunder clouds at the back of  her mind. At least in the daytime.

The nights, when sleep was often strangely elusive, were a different matter, leaving her prey to her churning thoughts.

The major worry, naturally, was Holy Trinity and the awaited surveyor's  report. Wasn't that what judges did before passing sentence-ask for  reports? And was that how her father felt-as if he was a prisoner in  some dock, his future being decided by strangers?

He was almost as quiet and preoccupied as he had been after her  mother's death, she thought sorrowfully. As if some inner light had gone  out.

Four years ago, she'd made a simple choice that she was sure in her  heart was the right one. Now suddenly there were no more certainties,  and she felt frightened as well as confused.

And Patrick was part of that confusion. Every day she'd expected to  hear from him, via a phone call or a text, but there'd been nothing. So  she'd called the flat in the evening a couple of times, but found only  the answerphone, and had rung off without leaving a message, because she  couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make her sound needy.                       
       
           



       

Yet wasn't talking over problems what people in love were supposed to  do? Especially when they might affect the future. Their future, which  now seemed to be a major part of the general uncertainty.

And there were other aspects of the immediate future to trouble her too, with the village grapevine humming with news.

Ted Jackson and his crew had started work on the Ladysmere grounds, as June Jackson importantly informed everyone.

'Even that old greenhouse place at the back is being rebuilt, and  special lighting installed,' she'd announced in the Post Office, pursing  her lips before adding with heavy significance, 'No need to ask what  for.'

Tavy was halfway home before she realised that Mrs Jackson was hinting  it would be used to produce cannabis, and wondered if that was what Jago  had meant by 'other ideas'.

Wait till Mrs Wilding hears that, she thought groaning inwardly. She'll be on the phone to the Drugs Squad in minutes.

Jago Marsh himself had not been seen in the village all week, but the  constant gossip about his plans for Ladysmere possibly explained why,  when she did sleep, Tavy's fleeting, disturbing dreams so often seemed  to feature a dark-haired, tawny-eyed man.

Proving, she thought bitterly, that 'out of sight' did not necessarily mean 'out of mind'.

It made her head spin to realise that only a month ago, she'd been  scarcely aware of his existence, her life set in a peaceful, secure  groove, untouched by any hint of sex, drugs or rock 'n' roll.

Now, she was being forced to acknowledge how swiftly and irrevocably things could change.

But perhaps, she thought, her throat tightening, I'll be the one to leave instead. Find a new life with different challenges.

Or perhaps Patrick would take her in his arms and tell her, 'You're going nowhere. You're staying here with me.'

And wished she found that more of a comfort.

She was thankful, however, when Saturday arrived, with the prospect of  half a day's relief from the increasingly heavy atmosphere of the  school.

As she cycled to work, it occurred to her that when she'd gone to  university, her ultimate plan had been to become a teacher. But that, of  course, was before Fate had sent her schemes crashing round her.

But it was something she might well reconsider now circumstances had changed.

When she sat down at her desk, she was surprised to see there was no  pile of correspondence with attendant Post-it instructions waiting  beside the computer.

The door to Mrs Wilding's office was closed, but Tavy could hear the  faint murmur of her voice, interspersed with silences, indicating that  she was on the telephone.

In which case, Tavy decided, maybe I'll pop to the staff room. Ask a  few pertinent questions about getting back into higher education.

She was on her way down the corridor when she heard a door open behind  her and Mrs Wilding saying, 'Octavia-a word, please.' Her tone showed  that the big chill was still on, and Tavy bit her lip as she turned  back.