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Yet, each time Tavy switched off the phone, she found herself caught in some limbo between misery and anger at her own weakness.
Dinner at the Grange had been a bad mistake. But the picnic, on reflection, was a worse one, because she was already being asked pointedly in the village how the job was going, and if she was enjoying it, so word had clearly got around, and she could afford no more such errors.
Especially when twice recently, she’d gone into the village shop to replenish the supplies of milk and teabags only to find all conversation ceasing abruptly at her entrance.
Although they could simply be discussing the parish meeting her father had called for the following Wednesday evening, when the Archdeacon would be coming to speak about the projected closure of Holy Trinity, and not wish to mention it in front of her.
The surveyor’s letter received three days before had been frankly pessimistic, giving a ball-park figure of two hundred thousand pounds minimum for repairs to the tower, and the fabric of the rest of the building, including the roof.
‘I think,’ Mr Denison had said sadly, ‘that this is what they call a death warrant.’
And the Archdeacon’s phone call had confirmed his view.
Since then, Tavy and her father had been busy posting notices about the meeting all round the village, and Tavy had spent an evening delivering copies of an explanatory newsletter to every household.
Tavy had hoped for an immediate groundswell of protest against the projected closure, but the response had been frankly muted. Strange, she thought, in view of the size of the congregation Holy Trinity attracted each Sunday. Perhaps they’d been shocked into silence.
But she too was in for a surprise. When she got back to the Vicarage on Thursday evening, a little abstracted because, for the first time, there had been no call from Jago, it was to find her father packing a small travel bag.
‘I’m going away for a couple of days,’ he said. ‘To stay with Derek Castleton, an old friend from University days. I’m sure you’ve heard your mother and me talking about him. He was best man at our wedding.’
Tavy frowned. ‘Is he the one who’s been abroad on the missions?’
‘Very much so, but he and his wife have been back for a couple of years now, and living in Milcaster.’ He fastened the zip on his bag. ‘We got back in touch, and I’ve been telling him about the difficult times Holy Trinity is facing. He’s asked me over to discuss the matter.’
‘Do you think he can suggest an answer?’ Tavy asked hopefully.
Mr Denison paused. ‘Perhaps.’ His tone was odd. ‘We shall just have to...wait and see.’ He dropped a kiss on her hair. ‘You’ll be all right, darling, here on your own? I’ll be back some time on Saturday. If there are any emergencies, Chris Fleming at Gunslade has agreed to help out.’
‘Everything will be fine,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll do girly things and watch daft programmes on television.’
‘You’ll be spoiled for choice,’ the Vicar said drily as he left.
The sound of the car had barely died away when the phone rang.
‘I’m afraid Mr Denison has been called away,’ she rehearsed silently as she picked up the receiver and gave the Vicarage number.
‘Octavia.’ The low-pitched, husky voice was unmistakable, and, in spite of herself, her heart lurched in excitement. ‘Sorry I couldn’t ring before. I was delayed.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, adding hurriedly, ‘After all, you don’t have to phone me each evening.’
‘Oh, I think I do,’ Jago said softly, and paused. ‘How else would I know how the house was progressing?’ His tone became brisker. ‘But there’s going to be a change of plan tomorrow. I’ve heard about a table and chairs in a country house sale about thirty miles away.
‘I suggest we drive over in the morning to see them, and, if we like them, stay on and bid for them in the afternoon.’
‘But it’s your dining room and your furniture,’ she said, stumbling a little. ‘There’s no reason to involve me.’
‘Let’s agree to differ,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ll pick you up from Ladysmere at eleven.’ He added, ‘Boss’s orders.’
And he was gone, leaving Tavy to catch her breath.
During her solitary supper and afterwards, she tried to work on her resentment at his arrogant and domineering ways, but all in vain. Because running through her head like a refrain were the words, ‘I shall see him tomorrow. I shall be with him tomorrow.’
