Seduction Never Lies(25)

They ordered a Ploughman's Platter which came with generous slices of  ham, two kinds of pâté, three sorts of cheese and a green salad, all  accompanied by a tray of small dishes holding pickles and chutneys,  butter in a cooling dish and crusty bread, still warm from the oven.  With it, they drank clear, cold cider.

She said, 'The girl at the end table keeps looking at you and whispering to her mother. I think you've been recognised.'

He sighed. 'Even wearing the shades?'

She nodded. 'Even so, you're fairly unmistakable.'

'Present company excepted, of course,' he said. 'The first time we met, you hadn't a clue who I was.'

She looked back at the river, remembering the coolness of water against  her bare skin and felt the swift, urgent clench of her body. She said  quickly, 'I just wanted you to go.'

He said quietly, 'Whereas I wanted equally badly to stay.'

There was a catch in her voice. 'Please-don't say things like that.'

'Why? Don't you like to be thought desirable? Or has that idiot Patrick Wilding given you a complex?'                       
       
           



       

She swallowed. 'You can hardly claim any high moral ground. He was already spoken for. So are you.' She added, 'If you recall.'

'I have no intention of forgetting.' He went on, musingly, '"Spoken for". What a sweet old-fashioned phrase.'

'I'm an old-fashioned girl,' she said. 'If not particularly sweet. And your fan is coming over.'

She watched as Jago turned smilingly to greet the girl, who was young,  awestruck, and extremely pretty. She'd brought one of the pub's white  paper napkins with her and shyly asked him to sign it.

'I can do better than that.' He took the pen she was offering. 'Stand quite still.'

He studied her blushing face for a moment, then proceeded to draw on the napkin with swift, assured strokes.

'What's your name?' he asked as he finished.

She told him, 'Verity,' and he wrote it under the instant likeness he'd  achieved before signing his own name and adding the date.

As the girl ran back beaming to her family, Tavy said, 'That was a nice thing to do. She'll love you for ever.'

'I'm capable of the odd, kindly gesture.' He signalled to the waitress  to bring the bill. 'Now, shall we be getting back-in case I get besieged  by potential lovers and miss out on my dining table?'

His mood had suddenly changed, she thought in bewilderment, and not  simply because other people were turning to look at him, murmuring to  each other.

Back to business, she told herself, reaching for her bag. Which was,  after all, the real purpose of her presence here. And certainly gave her  no reason to feel quite so desperately forlorn, or have to struggle so  hard to hide it.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

IT WAS GETTING on for late afternoon as they drove back to Hazelton  Magna. The auctioneer had taken his time over the sale and,  understandably, had kept the best lots until last.

Tavy was glad to see that the hideous whatnot failed to reach its  reserve, and the glum Scottish cattle went for a tenner, probably, as  Jago said, for the frame.

When the walnut table and chairs finally came up for sale, and hands  were raised round the room, Tavy nudged him. 'Aren't you going to bid?'  she whispered.

He shook his head. 'The auctioneer's doing that for me, on commission.'

'That man who was watching us-he wants them too.'

'Only if he can make a profit on resale,' Jago returned softly. 'Whereas I'm buying them for myself.'

'But he'll force up the price,' she said. 'You must have set a limit.'

'I'll pay whatever I have to,' he said. 'For something I really want.'  The tawny eyes rested on her ironically. 'Don't you know that yet,  Octavia?'

She stared down at her catalogue. She said very quietly, 'I don't think I know you at all.'

In the end, Jago got his furniture with comparative ease, the dealer in  the linen jacket clearly deciding it was a battle he couldn't win.

'And it will all be delivered on Monday,' Jago said with satisfaction as they turned up Ladysmere's drive.

Tavy glanced at him. 'You sound as if Christmas is coming early.'

'The house is beginning to come together,' he said. 'It's a good feeling.'

She said sedately, 'I hope Barbie will be equally pleased-when she arrives.'

'It should be any day now.' He parked outside the main entrance and  switched off the engine, turning to face her. 'She seems to fascinate  you,' he remarked. 'Why don't you ask me about her?'

Tavy shrugged defensively, 'Because she has nothing to do with me.' And because I don't want to risk hearing the answer.

She went on, 'I wouldn't want her to find another vase of dead roses, that's all.'

'Is it?' There was an odd intensity in his voice. 'Is it really all, Octavia.'

'Yes,' she said with curt emphasis. She reached for the door handle.  'And I'm sure you have somewhere else to be, so I'll see everyone on  their way and lock up.'

'We'll both do it,' he said. 'Then I'll drive you home.' Adding, as her lips parted, 'And no argument.'

She drew a deep breath. She said stonily, 'Just as you wish.'

His grin was unforgivable. 'If only that were true,' he said, and swung himself lithely out of the Jeep.

Once inside, Tavy found there were emails and phone messages to deal with, enabling her to regain her composure.

I shouldn't get lured into that kind of exchange, she thought, feeling  that slow ache of wretchedness building inside her once again. It's  stupid and futile, and I'm simply making myself unhappy, when I have  neither the right nor the reason to feel anything of the kind.                       
       
           



       

Or to hope. Only-to remember.

And, in spite of herself, her hand lifted and her fingers touched her trembling mouth.

The workmen departed, and Tavy made her rounds to check that the house  was secure for the weekend, moving deliberately slowly, in the hope that  Jago might eventually tire of waiting and go on his way.

But no such luck, because, when she emerged, he was leaning against the  Jeep, talking to Ted Jackson, their faces serious and preoccupied.

As she hesitated, Ted lifted a hand in farewell and walked off to his van.

As Tavy got into the Jeep and fastened her seat belt, Jago said abruptly, 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Tell you what?'

That I've committed the ultimate, disastrous folly by falling in love  with you? That every minute of every hour I spend with you is an  unflagging battle to hide it, especially when you smile and flirt with  me, because nothing in my life has taught me to deal with this  situation. Except that I know the pain of being away from you would be  even worse.

And the most scaring thing of all is that whenever we're alone, I think  of your mouth-your hands-touching me. Possessing me. Taking me for  ever. While, when we're apart, you fill my dreams in ways I never  imagined.

He'd turned in his seat and was staring at her. 'About next Wednesday's  meeting with the Archdeacon. Ted says there are notices all over the  village, yet you haven't said a word.'

'But you aren't here during the week.'

'Not usually,' he said. 'But next Wednesday I shall make a point of it.  Like it or not, I'm coming to live here, Octavia, and the parish church  is an important part of village life. Of course I want to be involved  in a discussion over its fate.' He added crisply, 'For your father's  sake, if for no other reason. I'll have a word with him presently, when I  drop you off at the Vicarage.'

'He's away,' said Tavy, and could have bitten out her tongue.

'When will he be back?'

'Some time tomorrow,' she returned reluctantly. 'He-he's visiting an old friend. Someone who might be able to help.'

'Occasionally new friends can be just as useful.' He paused. 'I'm  really sorry, Octavia. It explains why you've been so quiet-so withdrawn  today. You must be worried sick.'

She stiffened. 'Withdrawn? I wasn't aware of it.'

'No,' he said, tight-lipped. 'Probably not.' And started the Jeep's engine.

When they reached the Vicarage, she said quickly, 'You can drop me here at the gate.'

'I could also drop you into a fast-flowing river,' he drawled, easing  the Jeep up the drive. 'Don't think it hasn't occurred to me.'

Tavy sat back mutinously. I should offer him coffee, she thought, but  I'm not going to. I shall simply thank him for a pleasant day, go in and  shut the door. Firmly.

Then the door in question came into view, and she leaned forward with a gasp of pure horror.

Because splashed across its dark wood in white paint were the words  'BITCH' and 'SLAG' in large uneven letters, while one of the glass  panels at the top of the door now bore a gaping hole.

'Dear God,' said Jago, and brought the Jeep to an abrupt halt. 'Stay there,' he directed, jumping out.

She obeyed, largely because she was shaking too much to do otherwise.  The ugly words seemed to be swimming in front of her eyes. Accusing  her...

But why?

Jago came back, looking grim. 'No one about,' he said. 'But I guess your own paint was used.'

'Why?'

'Because the garage door's wide open, and the paint pot and brush have  been thrown inside. They'd probably yield some interesting fingerprints,  if you involved the police. Do you want to?'