before approaching her.
And how could she now explain to Dad that the situation was impossible without involving the additional explanations she was so anxious to avoid?
Sighing, she glanced at her watch, realising the wedding chat would be drawing to its close and it was probably time she took a tray of tea and biscuits to the study.
And by the time Julie and Graham left, she would probably have amassed a list of perfectly acceptable reasons, excluding all personal stuff, why working at Ladysmere would be a bad idea. Or enough to convince her father that she was making a considered, rational decision.
And now all I have to do to convince myself, she thought as she returned to the house.
As it turned out, she’d forgotten that this was the Sunday that her father went to take Communion to the local Care Home, so she had no chance to speak to him until after Evensong, over their supper of cheese salad.
She said abruptly, ‘Dad, I can’t accept this job offer at Ladysmere.’
Her father helped himself to mayonnaise. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, darling. Any particular reason?’
All the carefully formulated excuses vanished like morning mist. Astonished, she heard herself say, ‘Jago Marsh made a pass at me.’
‘This afternoon?’
‘Well—no. The other day.’ She ate a piece of tomato. ‘You don’t seem too surprised.’
‘Why should I be?’ His smile was gentle. ‘You’re a very lovely girl, Octavia.’
She flushed. ‘Then surely you must see why I want to avoid him.’
He said quietly, ‘I think, my dear, that if you plan to steer clear of every man who finds you attractive, you’re doomed to spend the next years of your life in permanent hiding.’
She stared at him. ‘Hardly, Dad. You seem to forget I’ve been—seeing someone.’
‘Believe me, I’ve forgotten nothing,’ her father said with a touch of grimness. ‘But we’ve seen so little of Patrick Wilding lately that I’d begun to wonder.’
Tavy bent her head. ‘Well, you don’t have to. I won’t be seeing him any more.’
‘I see,’ her father said and sighed. ‘It’s a great pity I let you leave university. I love this village but I’ve always known it was something of an ivory tower, and you needed to expand your horizons. You’d have soon developed a strategy for dealing with any unwanted admirers.’ He paused. ‘And, more importantly, to differentiate between them and the real thing.’
She bit her lip. ‘Well, Jago Marsh will always be the wrong thing.’ She hesitated. ‘Did he tell you that he has some woman moving into the Manor?’
‘He mentioned it.’ Mr Denison pushed away his empty plate and reached for the cafetière. ‘I’d have thought that would dispel your anxieties.’
She swallowed. ‘Then—in spite of everything—you really think I should take this job?’
He shrugged. ‘At least it would be a well-paid stopgap for you until we find out what the future holds.’
He paused, reflectively. ‘And he’s certainly a multitalented young man. Did you know that he’s been doing some sketches of Holy Trinity’s interior?’
‘He mentioned it, yes.’
‘He showed them to me. And he gave me this, too.’ He reached into the folder holding his sermon notes and extracted a sheet torn from a drawing block.
Tavy, expecting to see the extravagantly carved pulpit or the font, felt her jaw drop. Because the sketch was of a girl, sitting in the shadow of a pillar, her expression wistful, almost lost.
It’s me, she thought. Me to the life.
She said shakily, ‘He is good. It’s like looking in a mirror.’
Her father said gently, ‘But I could wish there was a happier face looking back at you.’
She bit her lip. ‘There will be, I promise.’
When she’d cleared the supper things, Tavy telephoned Barkland Grange, and asked to be connected to Jago Marsh’s suite.
‘Your name, please?’
‘Octavia Denison,’ she returned reluctantly.
‘Oh, yes, Miss Denison, Mr Marsh is expecting your call.’
Tavy, horrified, was strongly tempted to slam the phone down, but Jago was already answering.
‘It’s good to hear from you,’ he said. ‘Is it a hopeful sign?’
She said stiffly, ‘I’ve decided to take the job after all if that’s what you mean.’
‘Excellent,’ he said calmly. ‘I’d be glad if you could be at the house tomorrow morning at eight-thirty.’
She gasped. ‘So soon?’
‘Of course. Ted Jackson will already be there, and he’ll give you a key for your own use. I’ve been using the former library as an office, and the computer has a broadband connection. You’ll find a preliminary list of the items that need your attention and the names of the firms I’ve hired so far.
‘The heating engineers will be arriving tomorrow to install a new boiler, and I’m expecting someone from the plumbing company to prepare an estimate for turning part of the master suite into a bathroom. Can you handle that?’
‘Yes,’ she managed. ‘I think so.’
‘The kitchen’s perfectly usable at the moment,’ he went on. ‘No doubt regular supplies of tea and coffee will be needed when work starts, so you’d better stock up, making a note of everything you spend.’
He paused again. ‘Now I’ll say goodnight, but please believe, Octavia, that I’m sincerely grateful to you.’
There was a click and he was gone, leaving Tavy feeling limp, as if she’d had a close encounter with a tornado. Brisk and businesslike to the nth degree with not even a hint of the personal touch, she thought, gasping. But surely that was what she wanted? Wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it...?
And couldn’t find an answer that made any kind of sense.
IT SEEMED STRANGE to be walking up the Manor’s drive to the main entrance rather than sneaking in through the no-longer-broken side gate. Strange, but infinitely safer.
Glancing around, Tavy saw that Ted Jackson and his gang had already done wonders in the grounds. Bushes and shrubs had been ruthlessly cut back to reveal what would once again be herbaceous borders, and a drastic weeding programme was in progress. The lawns had clearly been scythed and were now being mown and rolled.
