Seduction Never Lies(6)

Let people talk and eventually they will betray themselves. Hadn't she read that somewhere?

But all that their guest seemed to be betraying was charm and  self-deprecating humour. Just as if the good opinion of an obscure  country clergyman could possibly matter to him.

He's my father, you bastard, and I love him, she addressed Jago  silently and fiercely. And if you hurt him, I'll find some way to damage  you in return. Even if it takes the rest of my life.

'So, Jago,' the Vicar said thoughtfully. 'An interesting name and a derivative of James I believe.'

Jago nodded. 'My grandmother was Spanish,' he said. 'And she wanted me  to be christened Iago, as in Santiago de Compostela, but my parents felt  that Shakespeare had knocked that name permanently on the head so they  compromised with the English version.'

Iago, thought Tavy, who'd studied Othello for her 'A' level English  exam. One of literature's most appalling villains. The apparently loyal  second in command, turned liar, betrayer and murderer by association.  The personification of darkness, if ever there was one.

It felt almost like a warning, and made her even less inclined to trust him.

After the meal, she served coffee in the sitting room. But when she  went in with the tray, she found Jago alone, looking at one of the  photographs on the mantelpiece.

He said abruptly, not looking round, 'Your mother was very beautiful.'

'Yes,' she said. 'In every way.'

'Your father must be very lonely without her.'

'He's not alone,' she said, defensively. 'He has his work and he has  me. Also he plays chess with a retired schoolmaster in the village.  And...' She hesitated.

'Yes?'

'And he has God.' She said it reluctantly, expecting some jeering response.                       
       
           



       

'I'm sure he does,' he said. 'But none of that is what I meant.'

She decided not to pursue that, asking instead, 'Where is he, anyway?'  as she set the tray down on the coffee table between the two shabby  sofas that flanked the fireplace.

'He went to his study to find a book he's going to lend me on the history of the Manor.'

'The past is safe enough,' she said. 'It's what you may do to its future that worries most people.'

'I met two of my new neighbours on my way here,' he said. 'A man on  horseback and a woman with a dog. Both of them smiled and said hello,  and the dog didn't bite me, so I wasn't aware of any tsunami of anxiety  heading towards me.'

'It may seem amusing to you,' she said. 'But we'll have to live with  the inevitable upheaval of your celebrity presence-' she edged the words  with distaste '-and deal with the aftermath when you get bored and move  on.'

'You haven't been listening, sweetheart.' His tone was crisp. 'The  Manor is going to be my home. The only one. And I intend to make it  work. Now shall we call a truce before your father comes back? And I  take my coffee black without sugar,' he added. 'For future reference.'

'Quite unnecessary,' said Tavy. 'As this will be the first and last time I have to serve it to you.'

'Well,' he said. 'One can always dream.'

Lloyd Denison came striding in, holding a slim book with faded green  covers. 'Things are never where you expect them to be,' he said, shaking  his head.

That, Tavy thought affectionately, was because he never put things  where they were supposed to go. And she hadn't inherited her mother's  knack of guiding him straight to the missing item.

'Thank you.' Jago took the book from him, handling it gently. 'I promise I'll look after it.'

Their coffee drunk, he stood up. 'Now I'll leave you to enjoy your  afternoon in peace. But I must thank you again for a delicious lunch.  And as home-cooking is currently out of the question for me, I was  wondering if you could recommend a good local restaurant.'

'I dine out very rarely, but I'm sure Tavy could suggest somewhere.'  Her father turned to her. 'What do you think? There's that French place  in Market Tranton.'

Which is our place-Patrick's and mine-thought Tavy, so I'm not sending him there.

She said coolly, 'The pub in the village does food.'

'Yes, but it's very basic,' Mr Denison objected. 'You must know lots of better places.'

She turned reluctantly to Jago. 'In that case, you could try Barkland  Grange. It's a hotel and quite a trek from here, but I believe its  dining room won an award recently.'

'It sounds ideal.' That smile again. As if he was reaching out to touch  her. 'And as I've ruined your supper plans, maybe I can persuade you to  join me there for dinner tonight.' He looked at her father. 'And you,  sir, of course.'

'That's very kind,' said the Vicar. 'But I have some finishing touches  to put to my sermon, plus a double helping of chicken to enjoy. However  I'm sure Tavy would be delighted to accompany you.' He looked at her  blandly. 'Wouldn't you, darling?'

Tavy reflected she would rather be roasted over a slow fire. But as it  had already been established that, thanks to her would-be host, she had  no prior date, she was unable to think of a feasible excuse. Her only  alternative was a bald refusal which would be ill-mannered and therefore  cause distress to her father. Although she suspected Jago himself would  be amused.

Accordingly, she murmured an unwilling acquiescence, and agreed that she could be ready at seven-thirty.

Unless mown down in the meantime by a runaway steamroller. And if she  knew where one was operating, she'd lie down in front of it.

As she stood by her father, her smile nailed on, to wave goodbye to the  departing visitor, she wondered how close she was to the world record  for the number of things that could go wrong within a set time.

Because her choice of Barkland Grange, astronomically expensive and  practically in the next county, had rebounded on her big time.

Safely indoors, she rounded on her father. 'Dad, how could you? You practically offered me to him on a plate.'

'Hardly, my dear. He only invited me out of politeness, you know.

'I gather from something he said in the garden, he feels that the pair  of you have somehow got off on the wrong foot, and he wants to make  amends.' He added gently, 'And I must admit, Tavy, that I did sense  something of an atmosphere.'                       
       
           



       

'Really?' she said. 'I can't think why.' She was silent for a moment,  then burst out, 'Oh, Dad, I don't want to have dinner with him. He's out  of our league, in some unknown stratosphere, and it worries me.'

And the worst of it is I can't tell you the real reason why I don't  want to be with him. Why I don't even want to think about him. Because  you'd think quite rightly that I'd been stupid and reckless and be  disappointed in me.

She swallowed. 'Why did he come here today?'

'To make himself known as the new resident of the Manor, and my parishioner,' he returned patiently.

'You think it's really that simple?' She shook her head. 'I bet you  won't find him in the congregation very often. Also, you seem to have  forgotten I'm going out with Patrick.'

'But not this evening, it seems. And Jago, after all, is a stranger in  our midst. Will it really hurt so much to keep him company? For all his  fame and money, he might be lonely.'

Which is what he said about you...

'I doubt that very much,' she said tautly. 'I'm sure he has a little black book the size of a telephone directory.'

'Perhaps he hasn't unpacked it yet,' her father said gently

Tavy, desperate, delivered the killer blow. 'And I've got nothing to wear. Not for a place like that, anyway.'

'Oh, my dear child,' he said. 'If that's the problem...'

He went into his study, emerging a few minutes later with a small roll  of banknotes, which he pushed into her hand. 'Didn't you tell me that a  new dress shop had opened in Market Tranton, in that little street  behind the War Memorial.'

'Dad.' Tavy gazed down at the money, aghast. 'There's a hundred and fifty pounds here. I can't take all this.'

'You can and you will,' he said firmly. 'I know full well you get paid a  pittance for all the hours you put in at that school,' adding drily,  'but presumably you feel it's worth it. And I have a feeling that you'll  soon be needing a dress for special occasions.'

Such as an engagement party, Tavy thought with sudden buoyancy, as she  grabbed the car keys from their hook. Now that would be worth dressing  up for.

While tonight could be endured then forgotten.

* * *

As seven-thirty approached, Tavy felt the tension inside her begin to  build. She sat, trying to interest herself in the local paper, finding  instead she was imagining the following week's edition by which time the  news about Jago would have become public knowledge.

And she could only hope and pray that none of the stories printed about him would involve herself.

In the end, she'd bought two dresses, neither as expensive as she'd  feared, and both sleeveless with scooped necks, and skirts much shorter  than she was accustomed to-one covered in tiny ivory flowers on an  indigo background, and the other, which she was wearing that evening, in  a wonderful shade of jade green.