to see or hear.
Reluctantly, she straightened and forced herself to look up at Jago Marsh. No black today, she noticed, but a pair of pale chinos topped by a white shirt. To show off his tan presumably, she thought, her mouth drying.
‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice sounded strained and husky.
‘I arrived earlier,’ he said. ‘I wanted to sketch that rather nice pulpit. And do some quiet thinking.’
‘Sketching?’ she repeated. ‘You?’ Then paused. ‘Oh—you went to art school. I’d forgotten.’
He grinned. ‘I’m flattered you bothered to find out.’ He paused. ‘But let’s get back to you, my fellow refugee. Why are you here?’
‘My father said some of the kneelers needed mending,’ Tavy improvised swiftly. ‘I came in to collect them.’
‘I saw you creep in,’ he said. ‘You didn’t look like a woman with a mission. More as if you wanted somewhere to hide.’
She said shortly, ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’ And rose to her feet, thankful that she hadn’t allowed her feelings of pain and insecurity to cause her to break down altogether.
‘Well, I must be getting on,’ she added with a kind of insane brightness, unhooking the kneeler from the pew in front.
‘Are you intending to repair them here?’
‘No, I’ll take them back to the Vicarage,’ said Tavy, wishing now that she’d picked some other—any other—excuse for her presence.
‘I have the car outside. I’ll give you a hand.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
The tawny eyes glinted. ‘Planning on transporting them one at a time?’ he enquired affably.
‘No,’ she said, tautly. ‘Deciding the repairs can wait.’
‘Very wise,’ he said. ‘You can show me round the church instead.’
‘It’s hardly big enough to merit a guided tour.’ She gestured round her. ‘What you see is what you get. Plain and simple.’ She paused. ‘And I’m sure there’s a whole section about it in the book Dad lent you.’
‘Indeed there was,’ he said. ‘For instance, I know it was built by Henry Manning, the owner of Ladysmere just after Queen Victoria came to the throne. He gave the land and paid for the work, also adding a peal of bells to the tower in memory of his eldest son who was killed at Balaclava.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘William Manning. There’s a plaque on the wall over there. But now there’s only one bell, rung before services. The others were removed several years ago.’
‘People objected to the noise?’
‘No, nothing like that. As a matter of fact, everyone was very sad about it. But it turned out the tower just wasn’t strong enough to support them any longer.’
He frowned. ‘That sounds serious.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is. Very. But it’s not your problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me...’
‘To do what? Count the hymn books?’ He paused. ‘Or change the altar flowers, perhaps.’ His faint smile did not reach his eyes. ‘They must be past their best by now.’
Tavy’s face warmed. ‘The flowers aren’t my responsibility,’ she said, replacing the kneeler.
‘Tell me, do you recycle all your unwanted bouquets in this way?’
‘I don’t get flowers as a rule.’ She gave him a defiant look. ‘As I said—I assumed it was a mistake.’
He said silkily, ‘But one that won’t be repeated, if that’s any reassurance.’
‘And now I’ll go,’ she went on. ‘And let you return to sketching.’
‘I’ve done enough for one morning. I’ll drive you back to the Vicarage instead.’
Oh, no, she fretted silently. It was still much too early for that.
‘Thanks, but I’m not going straight home.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Could I be interrupting some assignation?’
Her breath caught. ‘Please don’t be absurd.’
He said slowly, brows lifting, ‘Anyway, you work on Saturday mornings. Is that why you’re lurking in here—hiding away—because you’re skiving off? Playing truant from school?’ He tutted. ‘What would your father say?’
She said hoarsely, ‘I’m more concerned about how he’ll react when he hears I’ve been fired. Thrown out on my ear.’ Her voice cracked suddenly. ‘Just as if things weren’t bad enough already.’
And, all her good intentions suddenly blown, she sank down on to the pew and began to cry. Not just a flurry of tears but harsh, racking sobs that burnt her throat, and which she could not control.
And in front of him. Of all people.
She would never recover from the shame of it. Or from the knowledge that he was now sitting beside her. That his arm was round her, pulling her to him so that her wet face was buried against his shoulder. So that she was inhaling the warm musk of his skin through the fabric of his shirt with every uneven gasping breath, as she struggled for composure, and for a semblance of sanity, as she realised his free hand was stroking her hair, gently and rhythmically.
When the sobs eventually choked into silence, she drew away, and he released her instantly, passing her an immaculate linen handkerchief.
Sitting rigidly upright, she blotted her face, and blew her nose, trying to think of something to say.
But all that she could come up with was a mumbled, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What do you have to apologise for? I’d have thought the boot was on quite a different foot.’
‘I mean I’m sorry for making such a fool of myself.’
‘You’ve had a shock.’ His tone was matter-of-fact. ‘Under the circumstances, I’d say tears were a normal human reaction.’ He paused. ‘So what were the grounds for your dismissal? Have you had the usual verbal and written warnings?’
Tavy shook her head. ‘Nothing like that. She just told me I wasn’t up to the job as she saw it, handed me a cheque and told me to go.’ She swallowed another sob. ‘But what’s going to happen to the office? She has no idea about the computer. I don’t think she even knows how to switch it on.’
‘I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure she has your successor already in place.’ He watched her absorb that, and nodded. ‘However she’s driven a horse and cart through your statutory rights. You could take her to a tribunal.’
Tavy shuddered. ‘No—I really couldn’t. I simply want to find another job and get on with
