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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?’
For a moment, she was sorely tempted, even if he had ticked all the boxes he’d mentioned and more.
She tried to smile. ‘Can we make it another time? Actually, I’ve promised myself a quiet night at home after Evensong.’
I feel as if I need it, she thought when she was alone. Which isn’t me at all. In fact, I feel as if I’m starting to learn about myself all over again. And I don’t like it.
* * *
It was clear when she reported for duty on Monday morning that her fall from grace had not been forgiven or forgotten.
Mrs Wilding was chilly to the nth degree.
‘I have to say, Octavia, that I thought your father would share my concerns about this new addition to the neighbourhood. But I gather he seems prepared to accept him at face value, which in my opinion shows very poor judgement.’
Tavy remembered just in time that Mrs Wilding was a prominent member of the parochial church council, which her father chaired as Vicar, and bit her tongue hard.
Fortunately, she did not have to see very much of her employer who departed mid-morning on some unexplained errand, and returned late in the afternoon, tight-lipped and silent.
As soon as she’d signed her letters, she told Tavy she could go home after she’d taken them to catch the post.
Something’s going on, Tavy thought as she cycled to the village. But she’s hardly likely to confide in me, especially now.
As she was putting the letters into the mail box, June Jackson emerged from the post office.
‘Afternoon, Miss Denison.’ She lowered her voice, her smile sly. ‘I hear you’ve got yourself an admirer up at the Manor.’
‘Then you know more than I do, Mrs Jackson,’ Tavy returned coolly. ‘It’s extraordinary how these silly stories get about,’ she added for good measure.
‘Just a story, is it?’ The smile hardened. ‘But there aren’t any others with your shade of hair in the village, not that I can call to mind. And I also hear that he didn’t waste any time calling at the Vicarage either.’
Tavy climbed back on her bicycle. ‘My father has a lot of visitors, Mrs Jackson. It comes with the territory.’
And imagining that anyone could keep anything quiet in this village was too good to be true, Tavy thought as she pedalled home.
As she walked into the house, she could hear him talking on the phone in his study, sounding tired.
‘Yes, I understand. I’ve been expecting something of the kind.’ A pause. ‘Tomorrow morning then. Thank you.’
For a moment, she hesitated, tempted to go into the study and ask what was going on.
Instead, she called, ‘I’m home,’ and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
She was pouring the tea when her father appeared, leaning a shoulder wearily against the door frame.
He said, ‘Someone’s coming from the diocesan surveyor’s office to look at the church, and prepare a report.’
‘But they did that before, surely. Isn’t that why you launched the restoration fund?’
‘I gather the surveyor’s visit is to check what further deterioration there’s been in the stonework of the tower, and to carry out a detailed examination of the roof. Apparently they’ve heard we have to put buckets in the chancel when it rains.’
