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‘That’s crap and you know it,’ Patrick said belligerently. ‘With enough money on the table, you’d be off touring again tomorrow.’
Tavy groaned inwardly. She put her hand on his arm. ‘I think it’s time we were going.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I want him to admit it.’
Jago looked down at the table, shrugging slightly. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Whatever you say, mate.’
‘And I’m not your mate,’ Patrick retorted. ‘Face it, you’re going to need a couple more million in the coffers to make that dump you’ve bought hab-habitable.’ He brought the word out with difficulty.
‘Which reminds me,’ Fiona broke in hurriedly. ‘I have a list of some simply marvellous interior designers—top people—that friends of mine used in London. I’ll give it to you.’
‘Thanks,’ Jago said. ‘But I’ve already decided to use only local firms.’
‘Lord Bountiful in person,’ Patrick muttered. ‘Crumbs from the rich man’s table. I hope they remember to touch their forelocks.’
Jago’s lips tightened, but he said nothing, just turned in his chair and beckoned, and Tavy saw the landlord Bill Taylor approaching.
‘Now then, Mr Wilding.’ His voice was polite but firm. ‘Let’s call it a night, shall we? The wife’s phoning for a taxi to take you home, so I’ll have your keys, if I may, and you can pick up your car in the morning. I’ll put it at the back next to mine, so it’ll be quite safe.’
‘I can drive,’ Patrick said. ‘I can drive perfectly well, damn your bloody cheek.’
The older man shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir. I can’t allow that. If anything should happen—if you were picked up by the police, it would reflect on me and the good name of the pub, letting you leave like this.’
He looked at Tavy. ‘And I’ll make sure you get back safely too, my dear.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Tavy, humiliation settling on her like a clammy hand. ‘I can catch the bus.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Jago. ‘I’ll be taking Miss Denison home.’ As Tavy’s lips parted in instinctive protest, he added softly, ‘Not negotiable.’
That was all very well, thought Tavy, her throat tightening, but she knew what Fiona’s reaction would be to having her evening spoiled in this way. She could almost feel the daggers piercing her flesh.
But when she ventured a glance at the other girl, she found Fiona was not even looking her way. Instead her eyes were fixed on Patrick who was still hunched, red-faced, in his chair.
She looks—almost triumphant, thought Tavy in total bewilderment. But why?
It was an awkward journey, with Charlie at the wheel, and all of them seated in the rear of the car, Jago in the middle. There was plenty of room, but Tavy found herself trying to edge further away just the same, squashing into the corner, and staring fixedly out of the window at very little, as she tried not to hear what the others were saying.
And she could well have done without that faint trace of musky scent in the air, released by the warmth of his skin and reviving memories of her own that she could have dispensed with too.
While even more disturbing was the imminent risk of his thigh grazing hers.
‘Ted Jackson.’ Fiona’s voice had lifted a disapproving notch. ‘I do wish you’d talked to Daddy before hiring him. His wife is the most appalling gossip, but Ted can match her, rumour for rumour. You won’t be able to keep anything secret.’
‘I doubt I have any secrets left,’ said Jago. ‘The tabloids did a pretty good dissection of my life and crimes while I was still with the band.’
‘They say your quarrel with Pete was over a woman.’
‘I’m sure they do,’ he said. ‘However, I prefer the past to remain that way and concentrate instead on a blameless future.’
‘That sounds terribly dull,’ Fiona said with a giggle. ‘Everyone needs a few dark corners.’
‘Even Octavia here?’
Tavy heard the smile in his voice, and bit her lip hard.
‘Oh, no,’ said Fiona. ‘The Vicar’s good girl never puts a foot wrong. An example to us all.’
Her tone made it sound a fate worse than death.
‘How very disappointing,’ he said lightly. ‘Yet people like the Jacksons can be very useful. For a newcomer to the district, anyway. You can find out a hell of a lot quite quickly.’
