'You actually think someone's going to bring us curry all that way?' Tavy shook her head, resolutely turning her mind from unwelcome images of Jago in the shower. 'Never in a million years.'
'Want to bet?' He studied her for a moment. 'If I win, you change out of that business garb into something a little more appealing.'
She swallowed. 'And if I win?'
He said softly, 'Then you can name your own price-except, of course, sending me on my way.'
Just as the ensuing silence between them began to stretch out into tingling eternity, she heard herself say huskily, 'Except, of course, I'm not a gambler. Therefore I'll have chicken biriyani with naan bread.'
Then turned and went back the way she'd come.
* * *
In the end, in spite of herself, she did change into a floral cotton dress which was, quite deliberately, neither new nor particularly exciting. And that was probably Jago's estimation too, because when he came into the kitchen after telephoning the curry house, barefoot, his dark hair gleaming damply and his shirt hanging open over his stained and grubby pants, he glanced at her but said nothing.
As she began to set the kitchen table, she said huskily, 'I've been trying to figure out what to say to Dad about the door.' She shrugged almost helplessly. 'He's got so much on his mind, I don't want to give him further worries.'
'For all that, I think you have to tell him the truth, Octavia.' His tone was level. 'He has a right to know.'
'But it would hurt him terribly-to know someone disliked me enough to do such a thing.'
He said meditatively, 'Someone once said that to be hated by certain people should be regarded as a compliment. I think he had a point.'
She sighed. 'Perhaps, but I doubt if Dad will see it like that.' She paused. 'Thank you for blocking up the hole in the glass, by the way. I'll try and get it properly fixed in the morning.'
He nodded. 'Everything will seem better tomorrow.'
Supper was delicious, starting with poppadums accompanied by relishes in little pots, and proceeding to Tavy's beautifully spiced biriyani with its exotic vegetable curry and Jago's lamb balti and pilau rice, with cans of light beer to wash it all down.
As they cleared away, Tavy said lightly, 'After all this alcohol, I'd better have my coffee black.'
He grinned at her. 'Then I can't tempt you to some more cognac?'
You could probably tempt me to walk with you to the gates of hell. The thought came unbidden and was instantly pushed away.
She reached down to empty the sink, keeping her face averted to conceal her rising colour. 'Not unless you want me to fall asleep in front of the television.' That struck the right note-jokey and casual. Now all she had to do was keep it that way. Until bedtime, anyway...
It was easier than she thought. She wasn't a great television fan, and neither was Mr Denison who confined his interest to sport, and the occasional classic serial.
But Jago found a channel showing a recent hit production of HMS Pinafore and she settled down on the sofa opposite to his and revelled in Gilbert and Sullivan's glorious absurdities.
At the interval, she said hesitantly, 'You must find this very dull.'
'On the contrary. I'll have you know I was raised on Gilbert and Sullivan,' Jago retorted, walking across to draw the curtains. 'Dad was a leading light with the local operatic society, and I even had a couple of walk-ons in the chorus myself.'
She shook her head as she lit the lamps standing on small tables behind the sofas. 'I can't imagine it.'
His brows lifted. 'You think I was born with a guitar in one hand and some groupie in the other? Not a bit of it. Any more than your father came into the world in a clerical collar, clutching a Bible.'
'That's certainly true.' She smiled reminiscently. 'My mother told me that when they first met, he was one of the lads. And yet she wasn't really surprised when he told her he was going to be ordained.'
'No.' He looked up at the photograph on the mantelpiece and she remembered finding him studying it on his first visit to the Vicarage. 'I don't suppose she was easily fazed.' He paused. 'What did she want for you, Octavia?'
She said slowly, 'We never really discussed it, although I know she was pleased when I got my place at University. I suppose she thought, as I did, that we'd have plenty of time to talk as friends, and not just mother and daughter.'
His voice was quiet. 'It should have happened.'
Then the music began for Act Two, and Tavy, her throat tightening uncontrollably, hurriedly turned her attention back to romantic and class entanglements in the Royal Navy, and their preposterous but delightful resolution.
When it was over, she turned to him, smiling. 'That was lovely. Just what I needed.' She glanced at her watch and hesitated. 'I usually have hot chocolate at this time of night. Would you...?'
'No, thanks,' he said. 'The nanny I mentioned believed in milky drinks at bedtime. They always seemed to have skin on them, and it's taken me years to escape from their memory.'
She said, 'Then I'll see about your room...'
'Not necessary.' He indicated the sofa he'd been occupying. 'I'll sleep here. Just a blanket and a pillow will be fine.'
'But making up the spare bed would be no trouble.'
He said gently, but very definitely, 'However, I'd prefer to stay down here. I'll probably watch American cop shows for a while.'
'Yes,' she said, slowly. 'Of course. Just as you wish.'
She went up to the spare room, took the thin quilt and a pillow from the bed, and carried them down to the sitting room.
Jago had turned off one of the lamps and the whole room seemed to have shrunk to the small oval illumined by the other. It was something that must have happened a thousand times before, Tavy thought, but never with this kind of disturbing intimacy.
She said quickly, 'Are you sure you'll be all right like this. Is there anything else I can get you?'
'Not a thing. It's all fine.' His smile was swift. Almost perfunctory. 'Now go and get a good night's sleep. And stop worrying.'
She left closing the door behind her, and went to the kitchen. She set a pan on the hob, got the milk from the fridge and took down the tin of chocolate powder from its shelf.
Then stood, staring at them, aware of the passage of time only by the heavy beat of her pulses.
It occurred to her that she had not been completely honest with Jago just now, when she said she had not discussed her future with her mother.
She remembered asking her once if she had always planned to be a Vicar's wife, and Mrs Denison's soft, joyous burst of laughter.
'No, it was the last thing in the world I had in mind,' she'd returned frankly. 'And a commitment everyone said I should consider long and hard. But you see, darling, I knew from the first your father was the only man I ever would love and my wish to spend my life with him outweighed anything else.
'And that's the kind of certainty I hope for you, Tavy,' she added seriously. 'For you to meet someone and know that you want to belong to him alone, for ever. Don't settle for anything less, my dearest.'
Tavy put everything neatly back in its place, switched off the light and crossed to the stairs, certain at last about what she was going to do.
Him alone, said the heat in her blood and the fever in her mind. Him alone-even though it can't be for ever. Even if it's just one night...
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHILE HER BATH was running, she searched through her dressing table for the slim package she had hidden there so long ago. It was at the very back of the bottom drawer, and she retrieved it, removing its tissue-paper wrappings with gentle hands, and shaking out the contents.
It was the summer dressing gown that her mother had given her before she left for university, white lawn embroidered with tiny golden flowers and dark green leaves. Such a pretty thing and never worn.
Or not until now...
She held it against her as she looked in the mirror. Wondered what he would think when he saw her.
Wondered too, as she turned away, what her mother's reaction would be if she knew what she was planning? Shock? Certainly-and disappointment too.
Yet suppose you'd fallen in love with the wrong man, and knew that any relationship would be totally one-sided and doomed to heartbreak. What then? she thought, sliding down into the warm water. Would you tell me to walk away, and forget him?
Because I would say-I can't. That I need at least one precious memory to go with me wherever the future takes me.
And nothing else can be allowed to matter.
Him alone...
She dried herself, and put on the robe, tying the sash tightly round her slender waist. She loosened her hair and brushed it until it shone. Then she took one last look in the mirror at the pale girl, staring back at her, her lips parted and eyes bright with nerves, because she would have to rely on instinct rather than experience in the hours ahead of her.