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The killer blow, thought Tavy.
She glared at him mutinously. ‘How many times do I have to tell you—both of you, for that matter—that I’m not a child?’
‘Well, when I’m convinced,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know.’ Adding unforgivably, ‘And sulking does not help your cause, my sweet.’
He paused, then said more gently, ‘Do you really want to spend the night with your head under the covers, Octavia, jumping at every strange noise, yet too scared to go downstairs and check them out?’ His sudden grin was coaxing. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to settle for the sound of my snoring?’
‘I don’t know.’ She bit her lip, trying not to smile back. ‘Do you snore?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea, but I could obtain references.’
She winced inwardly, but kept her voice light. ‘Maybe I’ll just put cotton wool in my ears.’
‘Good thinking.’ Jago finished his beer and rose. ‘As regards food, there’s a good Indian place in Market Tranton that delivers. I suggest that when I’ve finished here and showered, we order in, and spend a quiet evening watching television.’
‘You actually think someone’s going to bring us curry all that way?’ Tavy shook her head, resolutely turning her mind from unwelcome images of Jago in the shower. ‘Never in a million years.’
‘Want to bet?’ He studied her for a moment. ‘If I win, you change out of that business garb into something a little more appealing.’
She swallowed. ‘And if I win?’
He said softly, ‘Then you can name your own price—except, of course, sending me on my way.’
Just as the ensuing silence between them began to stretch out into tingling eternity, she heard herself say huskily, ‘Except, of course, I’m not a gambler. Therefore I’ll have chicken biriyani with naan bread.’
Then turned and went back the way she’d come.
* * *
In the end, in spite of herself, she did change into a floral cotton dress which was, quite deliberately, neither new nor particularly exciting. And that was probably Jago’s estimation too, because when he came into the kitchen after telephoning the curry house, barefoot, his dark hair gleaming damply and his shirt hanging open over his stained and grubby pants, he glanced at her but said nothing.
As she began to set the kitchen table, she said huskily, ‘I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to Dad about the door.’ She shrugged almost helplessly. ‘He’s got so much on his mind, I don’t want to give him further worries.’
‘For all that, I think you have to tell him the truth, Octavia.’ His tone was level. ‘He has a right to know.’
‘But it would hurt him terribly—to know someone disliked me enough to do such a thing.’
He said meditatively, ‘Someone once said that to be hated by certain people should be regarded as a compliment. I think he had a point.’
She sighed. ‘Perhaps, but I doubt if Dad will see it like that.’ She paused. ‘Thank you for blocking up the hole in the glass, by the way. I’ll try and get it properly fixed in the morning.’
He nodded. ‘Everything will seem better tomorrow.’
Supper was delicious, starting with poppadums accompanied by relishes in little pots, and proceeding to Tavy’s beautifully spiced biriyani with its exotic vegetable curry and Jago’s lamb balti and pilau rice, with cans of light beer to wash it all down.
As they cleared away, Tavy said lightly, ‘After all this alcohol, I’d better have my coffee black.’
He grinned at her. ‘Then I can’t tempt you to some more cognac?’
You could probably tempt me to walk with you to the gates of hell. The thought came unbidden and was instantly pushed away.
She reached down to empty the sink, keeping her face averted to conceal her rising colour. ‘Not unless you want me to fall asleep in front of the television.’ That struck the right note—jokey and casual. Now all she had to do was keep it that way. Until bedtime, anyway...
It was easier than she thought. She wasn’t a great television fan, and neither was Mr Denison who confined his interest to sport, and the occasional classic serial.
But Jago found a channel showing a recent hit production of HMS Pinafore and she settled down on the sofa opposite to his and revelled in Gilbert and Sullivan’s glorious absurdities.
At the interval, she said hesitantly, ‘You must find this very dull.’
