she hissed furiously, ‘Alden Trafford is my father!’ And, unable to bear being in the same room with this unbearable man any longer, she sprang up from her chair, tears of she knew not what—anger, hurt—spurting to her eyes. She made it as far as the sitting room door before he caught up with her, and with a hand on her left arm he halted her and turned her round to face him.
He looked down into her shining mutinous eyes. Taye looked belligerently back at him. ‘Oh, hell!’ he muttered, his hand dropping away from her.
‘If that was an apology, I don’t think much of it!’ she snapped, and, feeling better now that the threat of tears had subsided, ‘You’re an insulting, insufferable, diabolical pig!’ she laid into him. ‘And if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve got your rent and that no one else has applied, I’d kick you out right now!’
He stared at her. And then he laughed. To her astonishment, he actually laughed! His lips parted, showing a superb set of teeth, and his head tilted back and he gave a short bark of laughter.
Rebelliously she continued to look hostilely at him. Then all at once she started to see the funny side of it too. She was five feet nine, and slender with it. He was well over six feet, broad-shouldered and with plenty of muscle. The idea of physically setting about kicking him out was laughable. ‘Well,’ she mumbled lamely, but could not control that, when she had been absolutely furious with him, she could not now stop her mouth from picking up at the corners.
‘Come and finish your tea,’ he persuaded, ‘and tell me all about your weekend.’
Persuaded was the right word. Because, when she was determined cats and dogs would sprout feathers before she would sit sipping tea with him again, she found she was returning with him to take the chair she had so rapidly bolted from.
Though to her mind, as he went and took the seat opposite, there was very little of her time spent with her father that she wanted to tell him about. The fact that her father wanted a divorce from her mother was something that had to be conveyed to her mother before it became general knowledge.
‘You had a lovely time, you said?’ Magnus prompted. ‘What did you do?’
‘Not very much. It was just lovely being with him, relaxing. You know, generally unwinding.’
‘Where do your parents live?’
Taye, a rather private person when she thought about it, could see no harm in him knowing a little of her family. ‘My mother lives on the outskirts of Hertfordshire, my father in Warwickshire.’
‘Your parents are divorced?’
Not yet! ‘Separated,’ she supplied, and, feeling she was being ever so slightly grilled here, was about to ask him about his parents when he picked up from that one word that matters were far from amicable with her parents.
‘And never the twain shall meet?’
‘Something like that,’ she murmured. But, to her astonishment, heard herself confiding, ‘Though I think my father intends to call on my mother fairly soon.’
‘He wants a reconciliation?’
Like blazes! Her parents may have been close at one time, but they were poles apart now, and both liking it that way. Taye shook her head, her lips sealed. ‘How about your parents?’
Abruptly any sign of good humour left him. ‘What about them?’ he asked shortly.
And she was just a little bit fed up with Mr Blow Hot, Blow Cold Magnus Ashthorpe. Though tenacious if nothing else, and always believing that fair was fair and she had after all told him about her parents, ‘Are they still married?’ she asked. ‘I take it they were married?’ she asked sweetly.
He didn’t think that funny, she observed, as a sudden glint came into his eyes. ‘My father was killed in an accident when I was fifteen.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The apology had come instinctively. ‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’ she enquired gently—and wondered as his expression hardened what she had done now.
‘That’s none of your business!’ he retorted bluntly.
Taye stood up and this time he did nothing to prevent her from leaving. ‘I made the tea,’ she said pointedly. ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to wash the cups and saucers.’ With that she put her nose in the air and stormed out. It wasn’t a brilliant exit line, but it was the best she could think of on the spur of the moment.
Thankfully she saw little of him the next day. And on Tuesday she woke up and made herself think not long now before she got rid of him. From where she was viewing it, though, July and August, not to mention September, were going to stretch out endlessly.
She worked late on Wednesday, but found, Magnus home before her, that there was a mild thawing of hostilities in that, making tea for himself, he actually offered her a cup. ‘Good day at work?’ he enquired when, choosing to drink her tea in the kitchen, she pulled out a chair and he followed suit.
‘Not bad,’ she answered, not trusting him—he was as changeable as the wind.
‘Where do you work?’ he wanted to know. He had been living under the same roof for a week and only now he wanted to make overtures of friendship? He could take a running jump.
‘Julian Coombs Comestibles,’ she answered briefly.
‘Which is where you met Julian Coombs Junior?’
Again Taye had an uncanny feeling that she was being given the third degree. But she’d had some of this merchant before, with his draw-her-out tactics and then, when she started asking questions in return, slapping her down.
‘True,’ she answered warily.
‘How long have you been going out with him?’ Magnus asked crisply.
She expected the big freeze any moment now. ‘Long enough,’ she replied.
He let that pass, but, ‘What do you do there—at Coombs Comestibles?’ he wanted to know.
He could not possibly be interested. But, perhaps he wanted to build a few bridges this time. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. ‘I work for the Finance Director,’ she conceded a little.
‘You’re an accountant?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t have any qualifications. I just sort of seem to have a head that’s happy absorbing numbers,’ she answered modestly, aware that she was quite well thought of at Julian Coombs Comestibles. ‘I seem to have inherited my father’s aptitude for figure work,’ she expanded, then decided, for all Magnus Ashthorpe appeared to look interested, that she had said quite sufficient.
‘Your father’s a mathematician?’
‘He did at one time work in the upper echelons of complicated calculations, but he’s a farm hand now,’ she replied. ‘Though he still keeps his hand in with accountancy,’ she added, and explained, ‘Only last weekend he was saying how he’d taken a look at his employer’s figure-work to help out, and now seems to be doing more paperwork than anything else.’
‘And he’s happy with that?’
Taye
