Seduction Never Lies(23)

Then took a deep breath and rallied. 'But only for a while-until they learned to swim.'

'A good point,' he agreed solemnly, leaning across to refill her glass.

She said quickly, 'I shouldn't have any more.'

'Why not? I'm the one who'll be driving later.' He grinned  reminiscently. 'And as my old nanny used to say "I can't, cat won't, you  must".'

'You had a nanny?' She tried to imagine it and failed.

He nodded. 'I did indeed. She was a terror too. My sister and I went in fear of our lives.'

The sister was news too. The computer biography had omitted that kind of detail.

She said haltingly, 'Do you see much of your family?'

'You mean-are they still speaking to me?' He sounded amused. 'Well,  yes, but currently from a distance. Becky's married to a sheep farmer in  Australia and my parents have gone out to stay with her to await the  arrival of their first grandchild.'

He paused. 'Now will you tell me something?'

He was going to ask about Patrick, she thought with dismay. Ask about her emotional state and she had no idea what to say.                       
       
           



       

She said stiffly, 'If I can.'

'Do you remember how this room was furnished?'

It was the last thing she'd expected and she nearly choked on the mouthful of wine she'd taken for Dutch courage.

Recovering, she said slowly, 'Well, a huge table, of course, with extra  leaves so that it could seat twenty or thirty if necessary. And a very  long sideboard on the wall behind you. I think it was all Victorian  mahogany.'

Jago nodded thoughtfully. 'It sounds fairly daunting. And the drawing room?'

'Oh, that had enormous Chesterfields and high-backed armchairs in brown  leather, very dark and slippery.' She smiled ruefully. 'I remember  sitting on them as a child and being afraid I'd slide off.' She paused.  'Why do you ask?'

He said quietly, 'Because I came here originally looking for a  bolt-hole. But I now have other reasons to live here. And my ideas about  décor are changing too.'

She remembered some of the catalogues. 'No Swedish minimalism?'

'Absolutely not,' he said. 'But no nineteenth century gloom either.' He  paused. 'Talking of gloom, it's starting to feel chilly.' He slipped  off his jacket and passed it to her. 'Put this on.' Adding, as her lips  parted in protest, 'I can't risk my project manager catching cold.'

She nodded jerkily, draping his jacket round her shoulders, letting the  meal continue in silence. When she'd finished, she put her fork down  with a sigh. 'That was totally delicious.'

'Now try these.' Deftly, he ladled some brandied peaches into a dish.

'You're not having any?'

He shrugged. 'I suspect the alcohol content. And, as I said, I have to drive.'

'To Barkland Grange?'

'No, I'm spending tonight in London. After that-elsewhere.'

Returning, she thought, to a life she could only guess at, and which,  for so many reasons, it hurt her to contemplate. The sweet richness of  the peaches suddenly tasted sour.

She got to her feet saying briskly, 'Then you'll want to get on the road.'

'Later,' he said. 'After I've taken you home.'

'Oh, no.' She heard the alarm in her voice, saw his brows lift, and  temporised. 'I mean-the walk will do me good. And I have things to do  here before I leave.'

'Such as?'

She said feebly, 'I left a window open upstairs.'

'Then go and close it while I pack up.' He saw her hesitate and added quite gently, 'Boss's orders, Octavia.'

In the master bedroom, she went to the window and stood for a moment, trying to control the renewed tumult of her pulses.

Because something had changed between them down in that candlelit room.  Something she could neither explain nor dismiss, but which terrified  her. Because for a moment she had found herself wanting to say the  unbelievable-the unutterable 'Don't leave me.' Or, even worse, 'Take me  with you.'

When perhaps what she really meant was 'Take me...'

What's happening to me? she wondered, drawing a quivering breath. I must be going crazy.

She closed the window, securing the catch and stood for a moment  staring at her reflection, his grey jacket rendering her ghostlike in  the glass. She moved her shoulders under the fabric slowly, almost  yearningly, as if trying to catch some trace of him, a fragment of  memory to treasure, before reaching down for a sleeve and lifting it to  her face.

For ten heartbeats, she held it to her cheek, before brushing it softly across her lips.

Then she slipped off the jacket, and draping it decorously over her  arm, she went downstairs, where Jago would be waiting to drive her back  to the Vicarage and safety.

It was a silent journey and Tavy was thankful for it. Because she knew she did not trust herself to speak.

I'm tired, she insisted silently. That's why I feel so confused and  stupid. Tomorrow I'll be back on track. Become myself again instead of  this creature I do not-dare not-recognise.

Jago drove up to the Vicarage's front door and looked up at the dark house.

'Your father doesn't seem to be back yet. Shall I come in with you? Make sure everything's all right?'

'There's really no need,' she said quickly, fumbling for the handle on  the passenger door. 'What could possibly happen in Hazelton Magna?'

'You tell me,' he drawled. 'It was you about to call the emergency services earlier.'

She said defensively, 'Ladysmere's a big house. Someone might think  there was stuff worth stealing.' She paused, adding stiltedly,  'Goodnight-and thank you very much for the meal.'                       
       
           



       

Pure schoolgirl, she thought, vexed and was not surprised to hear faint  amusement in his voice as he replied, 'It was my pleasure.'

And my pain, she thought, her nails digging into the palms of her  clenched hands as she stood alone in the darkened house, listening to  the Jeep driving away. But didn't people say pleasure and pain were two  sides of the same coin?

And realised suddenly how much she would have given never to know that.

* * *

The first thing she saw when she arrived at the house next morning was  the erstwhile picnic rug draped over the back of her chair. Biting her  lip, she folded it carefully and put it at the back of a shelf, out of  her line of vision. Start, she thought, as you mean to go on.

She went to the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it to boil, then put  water in the small glass vase she'd brought from the Vicarage, before  taking a pair of scissors from her bag and going into the garden.

'Lovely day,' said Ted Jackson, appearing from nowhere. 'Another heatwave coming, they reckon.'

'Well, we can always hope,' Tavy returned, making for a bed of early  roses in an array of colours from soft blush to crimson, and snipping a  few buds.

'Cheering the old place up, even when there's no furniture?'

In spite of herself, Tavy found she was glancing up at the first floor windows. 'Not all the rooms are empty,' she said.

'Upstairs, maybe.' He paused. 'You were working late last night?'

'Well, yes.'

He nodded. 'Jim forgot his tea flask and when he came back for it, he  saw lights.' His smile was almost cherubic. 'He wondered, but I told him  it must be that.'

Tavy moved unwarily and felt a thorn pierce her finger.

'Yes,' she said, sucking away the welling blood. 'That's what it was.'

Ted nodded. 'Nasty-them thorns,' he observed as he moved away. 'You want to take more care, Miss Tavy.'

Damn and double damn, thought Tavy as she went back to the house.  Clearly, at some point, Jim had been an unseen spectator at the dining  room window.

Not that there'd been anything untoward for him to see, she reminded  herself hastily. And, hopefully, Barbie's arrival would provide a more  fruitful topic for the rumour-mongers. But she would indeed have to take  more care. In all sorts of ways.

She arranged the rosebuds in her vase and took it to Barbie's room, placing it on the bedside table.

'Ready and waiting,' she said under her breath as she turned away. 'So please make it soon-for both our sakes.'

* * *

But, suddenly, it was the weekend again, the roses had died and been replaced with still no sign of the missing lady.

And when she'd mentioned this to Jago, he'd said, apparently  unperturbed, that Barbie would turn up when she saw fit, and not before.

He hadn't been back to the house, but, instead, he'd taken to calling her at six each evening for a progress report.

And she was shocked to find how soon she'd adjusted to this, even  glancing at her watch, feeling her heartbeat quicken as the hour  approached. On tenterhooks if his call was a few minutes late.  Struggling to appear cool and businesslike when the sound of his voice  made her shake inside.

Fortunately, there was always plenty to tell him of a totally  impersonal nature. The beautiful wooden floors in the drawing room and  dining room had been cleaned, restored and polished until they glowed,  redecoration was about to begin and measurements had been taken for the  curtains. The pipe work for the new bathroom was also making good  progress.

Yet, each time Tavy switched off the phone, she found herself caught in  some limbo between misery and anger at her own weakness.