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‘Good riddance,’ she muttered as she went back to the kitchen.
Back in the kitchen, she picked fresh herbs from the pots outside the back door to add to the omelettes she was planning for lunch in case the surveyor joined them, then set about assembling the ingredients for supper’s cottage pie. The browned meat was simmering nicely on the stove with diced onion and carrot when her father returned.
‘Well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ he said, smiling with an obvious effort.
‘I was given the afternoon off.’ Tavy saw with concern the bleakness in his eyes.
‘Because we have a visitor,’ he went on.
So the surveyor was with him, she thought, summoning a welcoming smile. Which froze as Jago Marsh followed him into the kitchen, carrying, she saw with horror, the roses she’d put in the bin only a short while before.
‘And also something of a mystery,’ her father added. ‘We found these beautiful flowers outside, apparently thrown away.’
‘I suggested you might be able to shed some light on the subject.’ Jago put the bouquet back on the kitchen table, his mouth twisting ironically as he studied her flushed face. ‘Can you?’
‘Not really,’ said Tavy, keeping her voice steady with an effort. ‘I—I found them on the doorstep when I got home. They’re obviously a mistake.’
‘If so, they’re an expensive one,’ he commented levelly.
‘So I—disposed of them,’ she added lamely, not looking at him.
‘What a shame,’ said the Vicar. ‘I suppose we should try and trace the recipient, even though the card seems to be missing.’
That, thought Tavy, was because it was currently burning a hole in her pocket.
Aloud, she said, ‘Maybe they just weren’t wanted. And ours was the nearest bin.’
‘Ah,’ said her father. ‘A token of unrequited love, perhaps. How sad. In which case I’ll take them over to the church, where they’ll make a welcome change from Mrs Rigby’s everlasting spray chrysanthemums.’ He lifted the bouquet carefully from the table. ‘Jago came to return the book I lent him, my dear. See if you can persuade him to stay for lunch.’
He strode purposefully out and a few seconds later Tavy heard the front door close behind him.
Leaving her alone. With him. In the world’s most loaded silence.
Which he was the first to break. ‘So,’ he commented sardonically. ‘Not peace but a sword?’
She lifted her chin. ‘Did you ever doubt it?’
He looked at the mutinous set of her mouth and smiled. ‘There were odd moments,’ he drawled.
‘In your dreams, Mr Marsh,’ she said, her breath quickening. She began to whisk the eggs in an effort to hide that her hands were trembling. ‘And there is no invitation to lunch,’ she threw at him. ‘In case you were hoping.’
‘I’m not that much of an optimist.’ He looked at the bunch of herbs on the chopping board. ‘Besides, you might be tempted to include hemlock in my share.’ He turned to the door. ‘However, please give your father my regards, and tell him I look forward to our next meeting.’
And there would be one, Tavy thought, as she added the chopped herbs and seasoning to the eggs. It was almost inevitable. She would simply arrange not to be around when it happened.
‘Has Jago gone?’ her father asked on his return, sounding disappointed.
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Tavy said with spurious regret. ‘He has places to go, people to see. You know how it is.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, how was the meeting?’
‘Not good,’ Mr Denison said heavily. ‘It’s bad news, I’m afraid.’
Tavy abandoned the eggs and made two mugs of strong tea instead. She sat beside her father at the table and took his hand. ‘I suppose it’s the roof.’
‘That’s certainly part of it. Apparently, it’s gone beyond repair and would need totally replacing.’ He paused. ‘But the main problem is the tower.’
‘So what does he suggest?’
‘That we go on as usual until he has given his report to the Bishop and some decision about Holy Trinity’s future has been reached.’
He shook his head. ‘And, as he pointed out, it’s just another church—Victorian Ordinary instead of Victorian Gothic—with no great age or historical significance that might entitle it to special treatment. And, of course, only a small congregation.’
He took a deep breath. ‘I suspect the Bishop means to close it.’
