Liz Fielding - British Bachelors - Tempting & New - Seduction Never Lies / Holiday with a Stranger / Anything but Vanilla...

Who was, of course, the next hurdle she had to negotiate. Just as soon as she got home.

Somehow she had to convince the Vicar that the evening had been a dismal failure.

‘Great food,’ she could say. ‘Shame about the company. Because if he’s lonely, Dad, I can quite understand why.’ Keeping it light, even faintly rueful, but adamant all the same.

And there, hopefully, it would end.

Mrs Wilding, however, might be a totally different matter, she thought, groaning inwardly. The ghastly mischance that had prompted them to choose Barkland Grange tonight matched up with the way her luck was generally going. While Fiona’s presence was the cherry on the cake.

So that was something else not to tell Dad—that she might soon be out of work. Which she couldn’t afford to be.

Plus the likelihood that the Manor’s new owner’s query about ‘the gorgeous redhead’ would soon be all round the village, lighting its own blue touchpaper.

All in all, the tally of her misfortunes seemed to be on an upward spiral since Jago Marsh’s arrival.

I hit the nail on the head when I called him the Dark Lord, she thought, biting her lip savagely.

When they got to the Vicarage, Charlie insisted on easing the limo carefully up the narrow drive.

‘You don’t know who might be lurking in those shrubs, miss,’ he informed her darkly. ‘I’m dropping you at the door.’

‘We don’t actually have many lurkers in Hazelton Magna,’ she told him, adding silently, ‘Apart from your boss.’ But she thanked him all the same, and even managed a wave as he drove off.

But when she tried the door, it was locked, and it was then she noticed that the whole house seemed to be in darkness. Perhaps there’d been an emergency—someone seriously ill—and her father had been sent for, as often happened with the older parishioners, and sometimes with the younger ones too.

Or more prosaically, perhaps Mr Denison, not expecting her home so soon, had simply decided to have an early night.

She let herself in quietly, slipped off her sandals and trod upstairs barefoot to investigate, and offer a cup of hot chocolate if her father was still awake.

But his door was open and the bed unoccupied.

Ah, well, a sick visit it is, she decided as she returned downstairs. And quite some time ago, because when she took the milk from the fridge, she noticed the cold chicken was still there under its cling-film cover.

He’ll be starving when he comes in, she thought, mentally reviewing the cartons of homemade soup waiting in the freezer, and deciding on minestrone.

But as she went to retrieve it, a key rattled in the back door lock, and Mr Denison came in, not with the withdrawn, strained look he wore after visiting people in trouble, but appearing positively cheerful.

‘Hello, darling. Foraging for food? Was the Barkland Grange catering that bad?’

‘No, I saw you’d had no supper, so I was getting something for you.’

‘Oh, I’ve been dining out too,’ he said. ‘Geoff Layton phoned to say his son had sent him a birthday hamper from Fortnum’s. So we had chess and the most wonderful pork pie.’ He patted his midriff. ‘Quite amazing.’

‘Oh.’ She closed the freezer door. ‘How lovely.’

‘Anyway,’ he said. ‘How did your evening go?’

‘It went,’ Tavy said crisply, pouring milk into a pan and setting it to heat. ‘For which I was truly thankful. Jago Marsh and I have absolutely nothing in common, and the less I see of him the better.’

‘Ah,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘So no attraction of opposites in this case.’

‘No attraction at all,’ Tavy returned, firmly quashing the memory of the way he’d looked at her—that light touch on her earring and their admittedly tumultuous effect. It was stress, she told herself, induced by a truly horrible evening. Nothing more.

She poured the hot milk into their cups, and stirred in the chocolate. The usual bedtime ritual.

Which is how I want things, she thought. The everyday, normal way they were forty-eight hours ago.

And that’s what I’m going to get back. Whatever it takes. And no intrusive newcomer is going to stop me.

* * *

‘I still can’t believe it,’ said Patrick. ‘I thought—I hoped I was seeing things. What the hell did you think you were doing?’

‘Having dinner,’ Tavy retorted, rolling out pastry as if she was attacking it, which did not bode well for the steak and kidney pie they were having for Sunday lunch. ‘But maybe it’s a trick question.’

She added, ‘If it comes to that, I wasn’t expecting to see you.’ She paused. ‘Or Fiona.’

‘Her mother called mine,’ he said defensively. ‘Said she was feeling a bit down over the divorce. So Mother thought it would be nice for her.’

‘Very,’ said Tavy, reflecting that during their earlier encounter, Fiona seemed to be firing on all cylinders.

‘Besides,’ he went on. ‘In the old days, she was one of the gang.’

Not any gang that I ever belonged to, thought Tavy.

‘Anyway,’ he added. ‘That’s not important. Do you realise that Mother was absolutely furious about last night. And that I’ve had to do some fast talking to stop her from sacking you.’

Or it might also have occurred to her that she’d get no one else to do everything I do for the money, thought Tavy with sudden cynicism. Thought it, but didn’t say it.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But it shouldn’t have been necessary. For one thing, she doesn’t exercise any jurisdiction over how I spend my time outside school hours. Maybe you should have mentioned that.

‘For another, I should have been with you last night, and not him. So why wasn’t I, Patrick? When are you going to tell her about us?’

‘I was about to,’ he said defensively. ‘But you’ve knocked that right on the head. Now, I’ll just have to wait until she cools down over this entire Jago Marsh business, and it won’t be any time soon, I can tell you.’

He shook his head. ‘What on earth does your father have to say about all this?’

‘Not a great deal,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t seem to share your low opinion of Mr Marsh.’ She added stonily, ‘And he was also invited last night, but had—other things to do.’

He sighed. ‘Tavy, your father’s a great chap—one of the best—but not very streetwise. He could get taken in quite badly over all this.’

The fact that this echoed her own thinking did not improve her temper.

‘Thank you for your concern,’ she said shortly. ‘But I don’t think he’s going to change very much at this stage. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get this pie in the oven. Dad will be in at any moment, and he has a christening this afternoon.’

‘Tavy,’ he said. ‘Darling—I don’t want us to fall out over this. Jago Marsh simply isn’t worth it.’

‘I agree.’ She banged the oven door. ‘Perhaps you could also persuade your mother to that way of thinking, so we can all move on.’

She took carrots from the vegetable rack and began to scrape them to within an inch of their lives.

‘But you must realise,’ he persisted, ‘that it’s—well—inappropriate behaviour for you to consort with someone like that.’

‘Consort?’ she repeated. ‘That’s a very pompous word. But if you’re saying you’d rather I didn’t have dinner with him again, then you needn’t worry, because I haven’t the least intention of doing so. Will that satisfy you? And your mother?’

She added coolly, ‘Besides, inappropriate behaviour doesn’t enter into it. Jago Marsh just isn’t my type.’

‘While I’ve been stupid and tactless and made you cross,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Tavy. Why don’t we draw a line under the whole business and go out for a drink tonight?’