Seduction Never Lies(4)

'Go and sit down,' he directed. 'And I'll make fresh tea.'

'That would be lovely.' She added demurely, 'And a slice of ginger cake, if you can possibly spare it.'

* * *

She arrived at work early the following morning, aware that she hadn't slept too well, for which she blamed the heat.

But she'd awoken feeling rather more relaxed about the incidents of the  previous day, apart, of course, from the encounter at the lake. Nothing  could reconcile her to that.

She'd even found she was glancing at herself in the mirror as she  prepared for bed, imagining that she'd somehow had the chutzpah to walk  naked out of the water and reclaim her clothes, treating him  contemptuously as if he'd ceased to exist.

After all, she had nothing to be ashamed of. She was probably on the  thin side of slender, and her breasts might be on the small side, but  they were firm and round, her stomach was flat and her hips nicely  curved.

At the same time, she was glad she'd stayed in the lake. Because the  first man to see her nude was going to be Patrick, she thought firmly,  and not some insolent, low-life peeping Tom.

As she let herself in through the school's rear entrance, she heard Mrs  Wilding's voice raised and emotional, mingling with Patrick's quieter  more placatory tones.

He must have told her about us, was her first thought, the second being  a cowardly desire to leave before anyone knew she was there. To jump  before she was pushed.

'Oh, don't be such a fool,' Mrs Wilding was raging. 'Don't you  understand this could finish us? Once word gets out, the parents will be  up in arms, and who can blame them?'                       
       
           



       

A reaction that could hardly be triggered by her relationship with Patrick, Tavy decided.

As she appeared hesitantly in the sitting room doorway, Patrick swung  round looking relieved. 'Tavy, make my mother some tea, will you?  She's-rather upset.'

'Upset?' Mrs Wilding repeated. 'What else do you expect? Who in their  right mind would want their innocent, impressionable child to be exposed  to the influence of a drug-addled degenerate?'

Tavy, head reeling, escaped to the kitchen to boil the kettle, and  measure Earl Grey into Mrs Wilding's favourite teapot with the bamboo  handle. This was clearly an emergency and the everyday builder's blend  would not do.

'What's happened?' she whispered when Patrick arrived for the tray.

'I ran into Chris Abbot last night, and we went for a drink. He was  celebrating big time.' Patrick drew a deep breath. 'Believe it or not,  he's actually sold the Manor at last.'

'But that's good, surely.' Tavy filled the teapot. She found one of her  employer's special porcelain cups and saucers, and the silver strainer.  'It needs to be occupied before thieves start stripping it.'

Patrick shook his head. 'Not when the buyer is Jago Marsh.'

He saw her look of bewilderment and sighed. 'God, Tavy, even you must  have heard of him. Multimillionaire rock star. Lead guitarist with  Descent until they split up after some monumental row.'

Something stirred in her memory, left over from her brief time at  university. A group of girls on her landing talking about a gig they'd  been to, discussing with explicit detail the sexual attraction of the  various band members.

One of them saying, 'Jago Marsh-I have an orgasm just thinking about him.'

Suppressing an instinctive quiver of distaste, she said slowly, 'Why on  earth would someone like that want to live in a backwater like this?'

He shrugged, then picked up the tray. 'Maybe backwaters are the new big thing, and everyone wants some.

'According to Chris, he was at a party in Spain and met Sir George's  cousin moaning he had a country pile he couldn't sell, no reasonable  offer refused.'

'He's changed his tune.' Tavy followed him down the passage to the sitting room.

'Seriously strapped for cash, according to Chris. So Jago Marsh came  down a while back, liked what he saw, and did the deal.' He sighed. 'And  we have to live with it.'

Mrs Wilding was sitting in a corner of the sofa, tearing a tissue to  shreds between her fingers. She said, 'I would have bought the place  myself when it first came on the market. After all, I've been looking to  expand for some time, but my offer was turned down flat. And now it's  gone for a song.'

'But still more than you could afford,' Patrick pointed out.

'There were other offers,' his mother said. 'Why doesn't Christopher  Abbot check to see if any of them are still interested? That way the  Manor could be sold for some decent purpose. Something that might bring  credit to the area.'

'I think contracts have already been exchanged.'

'Oh, I can't bear to think about it.' Mrs Wilding took the tea that  Tavy had poured for her. 'This man Marsh is the last type of person we  want living here. He'll destroy the village. We'll have the tabloid  newspapers setting up camp here. Disgusting parties keeping us all  awake. The police around all the time investigating drugs and vice.' She  shook her head. 'Our livelihood will be ruined.'

She turned to Tavy. 'What is your father going to do about this?'

Tavy was taken aback. 'Well, he certainly can't stop the sale. And I  don't think he'd want to make any pre-judgements,' she added carefully.

Mrs Wilding snorted. 'In other words, he won't lift a finger to protect  moral standards. Whatever happened to the Church Militant?'

She put down her cup. 'Anyway, it's time you made a start, Octavia.

'You'll find yesterday's correspondence waiting on your desk. When  you've dealt with that, Matron needs a hand in the linen room. Also we  need a new vegetable supplier, so you can start ringing round, asking  for quotes.'

From doom and disaster to business as usual, thought Tavy as she went  to her office. But to be fair, Mrs Wilding probably had every right to  be concerned now that this bombshell had exploded more or less on her  doorstep.

She found herself wondering if the unpleasant tough at the lake was the  shape of things to come. Security perhaps, she thought. And I rambled  on about CCTV. No wonder he was amused.                       
       
           



       

Let's hope he advises his boss to increase the height of the perimeter wall, and then they both stay well behind it.

* * *

It was a busy morning, and Mrs Wilding's temper was not improved when  Tavy gave her the list of bedding, towels and table linen that Matron  considered should be replaced as a matter of urgency before the start of  the new school year in September, and told her that no one seemed able  to provide vegetables more cheaply or of a better quality than the  present supplier.

'Perhaps I should wait and see if we still have any pupils by the  autumn,' Mrs Wilding said tight-lipped, and told Tavy she could go.

Tavy's own spirits had not been lightened by Patrick whispering  apologetically that he wouldn't be able to see her that evening after  all.

'Mother wants a strategy meeting over dinner, and under the  circumstances, I could hardly refuse.' He gave her a swift kiss, one eye  on the door. 'I'll call you tomorrow.'

As she cycled home, Tavy reflected that for once she was wholly on the  side of her employer. Because the advent of Jago Marsh could well be the  worst thing to hit the village since the Black Death, and, even if he  didn't stay for very long, the damage would probably be done and quiet,  sleepy Hazelton Magna would never be the same again.

Pity he didn't stay in Spain, she thought, as she parked her bike at the back of the house and walked into the kitchen.

Where she stopped abruptly, her green eyes widening in horror as she  saw who was sitting at the scrubbed pine table with her father, and now  rising politely to greet her.

'Ah, here you are, darling,' the Vicar said fondly. 'As you can see, a  new neighbour, Jago Marsh, has very kindly come to introduce himself.

'Jago-this is my daughter Octavia.'

'Miss Denison.' That smile again, but faintly loaded. Even-oh,  God-conspiratorial. One dark brow quirking above that mocking tawny  gaze. 'This is indeed a pleasure.'

Oh, no, she thought as a wave of hotly embarrassed colour swept over  her. It's the Dark Lord himself. I can't-I don't believe it...

Only this time he wasn't in black. Today it was blue denim pants, and a  white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, with its sleeves rolled back to  his elbows, adding further emphasis to his tan. That unruly mass of dark  hair had been combed back, and he was clean-shaven.

He took a step towards her, clearly expecting to shake hands, but Tavy  kept her fists clenched at her sides, tension quivering through her like  an electric charge.

'How do you do,' she said, her voice on the chilly side of neutral, as  she observed with astonishment a couple of empty beer bottles and two  used glasses on the table.

'Jago is a musician,' Mr Denison went on. 'He's coming to live at the Manor.'

'So I've heard.' She picked up the dirty glasses and carried them to  the sink. Rinsed out the bottles and added them to the recycling box.