Seduction Never Lies(24)

Dinner at the Grange had been a bad mistake. But the picnic, on  reflection, was a worse one, because she was already being asked  pointedly in the village how the job was going, and if she was enjoying  it, so word had clearly got around, and she could afford no more such  errors.

Especially when twice recently, she'd gone into the village shop to  replenish the supplies of milk and teabags only to find all conversation  ceasing abruptly at her entrance.

Although they could simply be discussing the parish meeting her father  had called for the following Wednesday evening, when the Archdeacon  would be coming to speak about the projected closure of Holy Trinity,  and not wish to mention it in front of her.

The surveyor's letter received three days before had been frankly  pessimistic, giving a ball-park figure of two hundred thousand pounds  minimum for repairs to the tower, and the fabric of the rest of the  building, including the roof.

'I think,' Mr Denison had said sadly, 'that this is what they call a death warrant.'                       
       
           



       

And the Archdeacon's phone call had confirmed his view.

Since then, Tavy and her father had been busy posting notices about the  meeting all round the village, and Tavy had spent an evening delivering  copies of an explanatory newsletter to every household.

Tavy had hoped for an immediate groundswell of protest against the  projected closure, but the response had been frankly muted. Strange, she  thought, in view of the size of the congregation Holy Trinity attracted  each Sunday. Perhaps they'd been shocked into silence.

But she too was in for a surprise. When she got back to the Vicarage on  Thursday evening, a little abstracted because, for the first time,  there had been no call from Jago, it was to find her father packing a  small travel bag.

'I'm going away for a couple of days,' he said. 'To stay with Derek  Castleton, an old friend from University days. I'm sure you've heard  your mother and me talking about him. He was best man at our wedding.'

Tavy frowned. 'Is he the one who's been abroad on the missions?'

'Very much so, but he and his wife have been back for a couple of years  now, and living in Milcaster.' He fastened the zip on his bag. 'We got  back in touch, and I've been telling him about the difficult times Holy  Trinity is facing. He's asked me over to discuss the matter.'

'Do you think he can suggest an answer?' Tavy asked hopefully.

Mr Denison paused. 'Perhaps.' His tone was odd. 'We shall just have  to...wait and see.' He dropped a kiss on her hair. 'You'll be all right,  darling, here on your own? I'll be back some time on Saturday. If there  are any emergencies, Chris Fleming at Gunslade has agreed to help out.'

'Everything will be fine,' she assured him. 'I'll do girly things and watch daft programmes on television.'

'You'll be spoiled for choice,' the Vicar said drily as he left.

The sound of the car had barely died away when the phone rang.

'I'm afraid Mr Denison has been called away,' she rehearsed silently as  she picked up the receiver and gave the Vicarage number.

'Octavia.' The low-pitched, husky voice was unmistakable, and, in spite  of herself, her heart lurched in excitement. 'Sorry I couldn't ring  before. I was delayed.'

'It doesn't matter,' she said, adding hurriedly, 'After all, you don't have to phone me each evening.'

'Oh, I think I do,' Jago said softly, and paused. 'How else would I  know how the house was progressing?' His tone became brisker. 'But  there's going to be a change of plan tomorrow. I've heard about a table  and chairs in a country house sale about thirty miles away.

'I suggest we drive over in the morning to see them, and, if we like them, stay on and bid for them in the afternoon.'

'But it's your dining room and your furniture,' she said, stumbling a little. 'There's no reason to involve me.'

'Let's agree to differ,' he said briskly. 'I'll pick you up from Ladysmere at eleven.' He added, 'Boss's orders.'

And he was gone, leaving Tavy to catch her breath.

During her solitary supper and afterwards, she tried to work on her  resentment at his arrogant and domineering ways, but all in vain.  Because running through her head like a refrain were the words, 'I shall  see him tomorrow. I shall be with him tomorrow.'

And the sheer absurdity of that made her cringe inwardly.

'I think I really have gone mad,' she whispered. 'But it won't last,  and very soon I'll stop building cloud castles and be the sane and  sensible Octavia Denison again.'

The following morning, in keeping with that resolve, she retrieved from  her wardrobe the anonymous grey skirt she used to wear at Greenbrook  School, teaming it with a short-sleeved white cotton blouse, and pinning  her hair in a loose knot on top of her head, in acknowledgement of the  fact that the temperature was climbing again.

Once at work, there was no time for brooding as the shower for Jago's  private bathroom had been delivered without several essential  components. There was also a sheaf of estimates from the decorator to  check and print off, and the curtain fitter who'd arrived punctually at  nine o'clock to measure the windows in the drawing room, dining room and  master bedroom, was clearly disappointed to be dealing with Tavy rather  than the new owner himself.

'I was really looking forward to meeting him,' she said petulantly as  she descended from her stepladder. 'Of course, like everyone else, I'm  such a fan.'                       
       
           



       

'Of course,' Tavy echoed politely.

The people's choice also arrived punctually, cool in dark jeans, a faded indigo shirt, and sunglasses.

He looked her over, his brows lifting, as his gaze lingered on her hair. 'Very businesslike.'

'Because this is business,' Tavy returned crisply. 'My time off starts tomorrow.'

His mouth slanted into a grin. 'I'll consider myself rebuked.'

Tavy was aware of Ted Jackson watching as she got into the Jeep.

Putting two and two together to make five and then some, she thought  biting her lip. I wish I'd borrowed Dad's briefcase as a finishing  touch.

But the drive through lanes, their verges heavy with Queen Anne's lace,  while the lightest of winds ruffled the long grasses, soon eased much  of her tension, even if it made her wish that she'd left her hair loose  for the breeze.

Ashingham Hall, where the sale was being held, was rather like  Ladysmere-a hotchpotch of various styles, which, according to Jago, had  been sold to a company offering upmarket residential care for the  elderly.

The furniture to be auctioned was being displayed in situ but, instead  of making straight for the dining room, Jago wandered from room to room  making notes in his catalogue, with Tavy getting more and more  bewildered as she followed him.

At last: 'But you can't possibly want that,' she whispered to him  urgently. 'It's a Victorian whatnot and totally hideous. I thought you  came for a table.'

'I did,' he returned softly. 'But it's unwise to appear too keen when there are dealers around.'

Accordingly when they reached the dining room, Tavy struggled to keep  her face straight as Jago stood in rapt admiration of an ornately framed  oil painting of some gloomy cattle grazing in an improbable Scottish  glen.

'Getting inspiration for your own work?' she enquired dulcetly.

'Now, how could I ever hope to emulate that?' he asked and turned, at last, to look at the table.

It was the best thing they'd seen so far, a large circle of elegant  walnut on a carved pedestal base, with one extra leaf and eight matching  chairs.

Tavy had to stifle a gasp of pleasure, and saw that Jago too had allowed himself a swift smile of satisfaction.

Aware they were being observed by a sharp-faced man, his catalogue  pushed into a pocket in his linen jacket, Tavy moved closer to Jago. She  said in a clear, carrying voice, 'It's all right, but we want a  refectory table, darling, and a couple of those big chairs with arms for  each end of it. You promised me.'

Jago leered at her. 'Don't fancy me as King Arthur, then, doll? Come  on. Perhaps I'll have more luck with you up in the bedrooms.'

When they reached the main hall, Tavy tried to hang back, but Jago's  hand was firm under her arm, guiding her away from the broad flight of  stairs and back to the entrance.

'No need to panic,' he advised coolly. 'My sleeping arrangements are already catered for.'

Tavy lifted her chin. 'I hadn't forgotten,' she said, wondering how  many more flowers she would throw away before the elusive Barbie made an  appearance.

'Apparently there's a good pub in the village,' Jago went on. 'Let's  get an early lunch, and then we'll go back for a chat with the  auctioneer.'

Other people had the same idea about lunch, but Jago and Tavy managed  to snaffle the last parasol shaded table on a terrace overlooking a  small river, where ducks foraged busily and moorhens played  hide-and-seek under the drooping pale green fronds of a willow tree.