'Yes,' she managed. 'I think so.'
'The kitchen's perfectly usable at the moment,' he went on. 'No doubt regular supplies of tea and coffee will be needed when work starts, so you'd better stock up, making a note of everything you spend.'
He paused again. 'Now I'll say goodnight, but please believe, Octavia, that I'm sincerely grateful to you.'
There was a click and he was gone, leaving Tavy feeling limp, as if she'd had a close encounter with a tornado. Brisk and businesslike to the nth degree with not even a hint of the personal touch, she thought, gasping. But surely that was what she wanted? Wasn't it?
Wasn't it...?
And couldn't find an answer that made any kind of sense.
CHAPTER NINE
IT SEEMED STRANGE to be walking up the Manor's drive to the main entrance rather than sneaking in through the no-longer-broken side gate. Strange, but infinitely safer.
Glancing around, Tavy saw that Ted Jackson and his gang had already done wonders in the grounds. Bushes and shrubs had been ruthlessly cut back to reveal what would once again be herbaceous borders, and a drastic weeding programme was in progress. The lawns had clearly been scythed and were now being mown and rolled.
She imagined work would also have started on the lake, but she was damned if she was going down there to find out. Forbidden territory, she told herself sternly, managing a smile as Ted Jackson appeared.
'Well, you're an early bird and no mistake,' he said genially. 'My missus couldn't get over it when Mr Marsh rang last night, and said you'd be working here.'
And will now be busily spreading the news on the bush telegraph, Tavy thought, gritting her teeth.
'Funny old business up at the school,' he went on with relish. 'My June says she can't imagine Mrs Wilding and that Culham girl seeing eye to eye for very long. Fireworks pretty soon, she reckons.'
Tavy felt her jaw drop. Fiona, she thought with disbelief. Fiona-hardly one of the world's workers-had taken her place and become the new PA?
Aware that her reaction to the news was being watched with keen interest, she pulled herself together. Even shrugged. 'Not my problem, I'm thankful to say. But I mustn't keep you.'
'And when Mr Marsh gets in touch, tell him Bob Wyatt can start on the conservatory tomorrow,' he added, handing her a key.
Tavy frowned. 'What's going to happen to it?'
'He's going to use it as a studio for his painting, seemingly. The right light, or some such.'
Another piece of information she hadn't been expecting, Tavy thought, turning away. Yet becoming a professional artist was, presumably, the new beginning he'd once mentioned.
As she let herself into the house, her first impression was that the cleaners had done an impressive job, although their efforts couldn't hide peeling wallpaper and shabby paintwork. And in spite of the fresh scent of cleaning liquid and polish, the overall impression was still one of neglect, she thought, carrying her bulging carrier bags down the long corridor to the kitchen at the back of the house.
She put the teabags, coffee and paper cups in the massive dresser, and placed the milk into the elderly, cumbersome fridge.
She made herself a coffee and carried it to the library, now just a room with a lot of empty shelves, and hoped with a pang that Sir George's books had found good homes.
There was a large table in the middle of the room holding a smart new laptop, plus a printer and a telephone, while, under the window, was a stationery trolley with printer paper, notebooks, pens and markers, and two large box files, one containing quotations, the other catalogues mainly for white goods, furniture and bathroom equipment.
When she switched on the laptop, there was mail waiting. Hesitantly, she clicked on the icon and read, 'I hope you had a restful night with sweet dreams.'
She swallowed, knowing how far that was from the truth. Because some of last night's dreams, which she was still embarrassed to remember, had been far from conventionally sweet. In fact they'd provided the incentive for today's early start.
Because she'd been driven into getting up, afraid to go back to sleep in case she once again experienced a man's warm, hard body pressing her into the softness of the mattress, or found herself drinking from his kisses and breathing the heated, unmistakable fragrance of his skin as she lifted herself towards him in silent yearning for his possession.
Fantasies, she thought, that were the total opposite of restful and should never be recalled in daylight. But at least she'd never seen his face or put a name to her dream lover.
She took a deep breath and went on reading.
I suggest you spend some time today going over the place so that you're thoroughly familiar with the layout. Open any mail that comes, deal with what you can, put the rest aside for my attention.
In case any serious problems arise and you need backup, I'm sending you my contact details, but these are strictly for your personal use, not to be disclosed to anyone else.
I'm using the master bedroom as temporary storage for my painting stuff until work on the studio is finished.
I have as yet no firm idea when Barbie will be arriving, but you'll find new linen in the adjoining room, which I'd like you to prepare for her, together with the bathroom opposite, and make sure there are always fresh flowers waiting.
He signed it simply 'Jago' adding his email address and mobile number underneath, together with the PS, 'I shall be dropping in occasionally to check progress.'
And no doubt to check on Barbie too, thought Tavy, her mouth tightening, wondering why he didn't drop the pretence and simply move the lady into the master bedroom from day or perhaps night one.
It occurred to her that perhaps Barbie was the girl that he'd fought over with Pete Hilton. If so, it must be a serious relationship to have lasted this long, and not one of many casual sexual encounters as he'd implied.
On the other hand, she was here to do a job, not to brood on her employer's morals, such as they were. And as she was scheduled to leave at six each evening, she would not, with luck, be around to witness their reunion .
* * *
Long before the end of the day, Tavy felt as if she'd been taking part in a marathon and was due to finish last.
Because the task ahead of her was larger and more complex than she'd imagined, she realised as she downloaded and printed off Jago's instructions for the work he was commissioning.
In spite of herself, she was impressed. He didn't appear to have missed a thing. And, for the first time, she began to believe that buying Ladysmere was not simply a momentary whim. That this care and attention to detail indicated that he really intended to make it his home. A place where he would settle down and perhaps raise a family.
An odd shiver went down her spine at the prospect and, for a moment, she sat staring into space with eyes that saw nothing.
But she swiftly reminded herself that, whatever his plans, they were no concern of hers. By the time they came to fruition, she would be far away and recent events would seem like a bad dream.
Then, as if a starting pistol had been fired, the phone began to ring, one call following another, while the doorbell signalled the arrival of the heating engineers. After that, there was a constant stream of people bringing books of wallpaper and fabric patterns as well as large books of carpet samples.
Giving 'home shopping' a whole new slant, thought Tavy ironically, as the empty shelves in the library began to fill up.
The plumber arrived just as she was finishing her lunch of cheese and tomato sandwiches, and she conducted him upstairs and along the passage to the imposing pair of double doors leading to the master suite, thankful to escape from the banging from the boiler room in the cellar.
It was dim inside the room, most of the light being blocked by heavy tasselled blinds. Tavy went to the windows and raised them, while the plumber disappeared through a communicating door into the soon-to-be converted dressing room to begin his calculations.
It was a big room, its size diminished by the dark, formal wallpaper which in turn detracted from the elaborate and beautiful plaster frieze above it. On the wall facing the door was a massive four-poster bed, standing like a skeleton, stripped of its canopy, mattress and curtains, but still dominating its surroundings.
Tavy walked over to take a closer look. It was a beautiful thing, she thought, running her hand down a smooth post, which like the panelled headboard set into the wall, was constructed from mellow golden oak.
Clearly an attempt had been made to pry the bed loose because it was slightly damaged.
Jago Marsh's orders, no doubt, she told herself. Not quite his image, a bed like this, and certainly no love nest for someone named after a plastic doll. No, he'd want something emperor-sized with black satin sheets...