Seduction Never Lies(29)

Patrick was crimson with anger as he made an unavailing grab for the photographs.

'You keep your bloody nose out,' he yelled. 'And what are you doing here anyway?'

Jago shrugged. 'After your girlfriend's performance yesterday, I decided Octavia needed some personal protection.'

'Oh, yes,' the other sneered. 'And we all know what that means, don't we?'

'It means I spent an uncomfortable night on the Vicarage sofa. Nothing else.'

'A likely bloody story.' Patrick swung round on Tavy. 'But you're going  to be so sorry for this, you treacherous little bitch. Because you're  not the only one who can take photographs.'

'What are you saying?' Tavy dropped the photo she was studying back on  the table. 'That I had something to do with-this?' She shook her head.  'For God's sake, Patrick. I don't even have a camera.'

'You were there, sneaking about that Sunday morning.' He glared at her. 'Who else could it have been?'

'I imagine a professional with a zoom lens,' Jago drawled. 'One of the  enquiry agents that Hugh Latimer has been using to report on his former  wife's affairs. Or did you think such people never ventured out of  London?' He tutted. 'Big mistake, Mr Wilding. One of many, I suspect.'                       
       
           



       

'You shut your bloody mouth, or I'll do it for you,' Patrick snarled.

'Inadvisable,' said Jago silkily. 'I work out. You don't.'

Tavy said shakily, 'Jago...no...please.'

The glance from the tawny eyes was hooded. His tone faintly brusque.  'Don't worry, Octavia. I won't do too much damage. He's probably bruised  enough already.' He added critically, 'Although my old nanny would  probably say he should have his mouth washed out.'

He looked contemptuously at Patrick. 'So, the great love affair died  with Fiona's dreams of fortune. Did you really think it would survive-or  that you were the only one in her extra-marital life?'

'What the hell do you know about it?'

'More than you, certainly,' Jago returned. 'Because Hugh Latimer tells  me these weren't the only photographs of Fiona's fond farewells to be  produced at the divorce settlement meeting, which explains why the  negotiations stopped so abruptly, and so disastrously for her.

'Her lawyers backed away when they recognised among the usual suspects  an important married client who would certainly not wish to be involved  in a divorce.'

Patrick gave him a venomous look. 'You're lying.'

'In that case, tell me where she is,' said Jago quietly. 'And I'll rush  round and apologise.' He paused, allowed the silence to lengthen, and  nodded. 'My guess is that her work on the Vicarage front door was a  parting shot on her way out of Hazelton Magna, leaving no forwarding  address.'

'And who are you to take the moral high ground anyway, you womanising  scum?' Patrick demanded. 'Have you told Little Miss Virtue here how your  best mate had a complete mental breakdown after you went off with his  wife? How the two of you have never spoken since you destroyed his  marriage?'

He glanced at Tavy's stricken face and grinned unpleasantly. 'No, I  thought not. Although, thanks to you, she's hardly the Vicar's untouched  and untouchable daughter any longer so maybe she won't be too shocked.'

His smile widened. 'In fact, it's her father who has the nasty surprise  coming to him. And it couldn't happen to a nicer family.'

He bundled up the photographs and went, pushing his way aggressively  out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, they heard the front door slam.

'Ouch,' Jago remarked. 'That reminds me. We need to call a glazier. Shall we do that before or after coffee?'

She stared at him. 'You could do that? You could sit down and have breakfast-as if nothing had happened?'

He said coolly, 'I told you what was going to happen, Octavia. If it  helps, I'm sorry to be proved right.' He paused. 'By the way, what was  all that talk about unpleasant surprises?'

She gestured impatiently. 'Does it matter? Just Patrick hitting back, I  suppose.' She added bitterly, 'Probably trying to hide that his heart's  just been broken.'

'Ah, yes,' he said. 'But I'm sure it will mend quite quickly.'

She poured the coffee and brought it to the table. She said stonily,  'Unlike Pete Hilton's, apparently. And would you like a boiled egg?'

'That,' he said, 'was rather different. And, yes, four minutes, please.'

There was a silence, then he said, 'Aren't you going to ask me about my part in Pete's marriage break-up, and its aftermath?'

'No,' Tavy said, setting a pan of water to boil and taking the eggs from the crock. 'It's none of my business.'

As she set egg cups, plates and spoons on the table, Jago caught her  hand. His voice was harsh and urgent. 'Is that all you have to say? Your  usual bloody response?'

Now if ever was the time to ask. To say to him, 'Was your friend's wife  called Barbie? Is this why you've chosen to bury yourself in the  country, so that the newspapers won't find that she's with you again,  and rake up the old scandal?'

But I can't ask, because I don't want to hear the answer, she thought. Because I may not be able to bear it.

She made herself shrug. Removed her hand from his clasp. 'What else is  there to say? You have your life. I have mine. And I can't share your  cavalier attitude to love, marriage and fidelity.'

She swallowed. 'But I take it that, as a result of what happened, the Hiltons are now divorced?'

'Yes.'

'Then I don't need to know anything else.'

'OK, let's leave that to one side for a while.' His voice was level.  'However, there is something else we must talk about.' He paused. 'Last  night.'                       
       
           



       

'No,' she said quickly. 'Again, there's nothing to discuss. You were  quite right,' she went on, the words squeezed from the tightness of her  throat. 'I was scared and behaved badly. That's all there is to it and  I-I can only apologise.'

There was a silence, then Jago said very quietly, 'As you wish.' His  chair scraped across the floor as he rose. 'On second thoughts, it might  be better if I didn't stay for breakfast. Thanks for the coffee.' He  paused at the door, looking back at her, his mouth twisting cynically.  'And, of course, for the use of the sofa.'

And he was gone, leaving the house feeling empty and silent behind him.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WORK WAS THE thing. Work would fill all the echoing empty spaces.  Remove the opportunities for thinking and the agony of a regret she  could not afford.

Because I am better off without him, she told herself fiercely. I have  to keep telling myself that until I believe it. And he was never mine,  anyway. I must remember that too.

She rang a glazier who promised to be there before noon, then, teeth gritted, she flung herself into a whirlwind of housework.

By early afternoon, she had just unloaded the washing machine and was  pegging towels and pillow cases on the line in the garden when she heard  her father's voice calling to her, and turned to see him crossing the  lawn.

He had a piece of paper in his hand, and she swore under her breath as  she recognised the glazier's receipt, which she'd meant to put away.

'Well, my pet.' He hugged her. 'Been having a smashing time, I see. What's happened to the front door?'

She forced a smile. 'It's rather a long story.'

'I see.' He regarded her thoughtfully. 'Tea or something stronger?'

It was tea, drunk in a grassy corner shaded by fuchsias. Lloyd Denison  listened to Tavy's hesitant, and strictly edited, account of events  without comment, his face set in stern lines.

When she'd finished, he sat in silence for a while, then sighed. 'I  never thought I would say this about anyone, my dear, but I'm actually  glad neither Patrick Wilding or the Culham girl were born here, and  therefore I did not christen them or prepare them for confirmation. If I  had done so, I would feel I had failed.' He paused. 'But I'm glad Jago  came to the rescue and you didn't have to be alone.'

Tavy bent forward and picked a daisy, twirling it between her fingers.  She kept her face and voice expressionless. 'Yes, it was kind of him.'

'And what is this unpleasant surprise that young Wilding threatened? Do you have any idea?'

Tavy frowned. 'None at all. I wish I did.' She was silent for a moment,  then roused herself determinedly. 'So, how did your trip go? Did you  enjoy seeing Mr Castleton again?'

'Very much so. But it wasn't simply a pleasant break. I'm afraid I  misled you over that. And Derek isn't plain Mister any more. He was  appointed Bishop of Milcaster six months ago, and as the office of Dean  has recently become vacant, he invited me over to offer it to me.'

She gasped. 'But that's wonderful-isn't it? What did you say?'

'That I would give him my answer in a few days.'

She frowned. 'After the Archdeacon's visit?'

'No, my dear. I'm not hoping for a stay of execution on Holy Trinity.  Economics have spoken, I'm afraid. But I wanted a little time to think,  and pray. And talk to you, of course.' He took her hand. 'Find out what  you're planning to do with your life.'