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He glanced at Tavy’s stricken face and grinned unpleasantly. ‘No, I thought not. Although, thanks to you, she’s hardly the Vicar’s untouched and untouchable daughter any longer so maybe she won’t be too shocked.’
His smile widened. ‘In fact, it’s her father who has the nasty surprise coming to him. And it couldn’t happen to a nicer family.’
He bundled up the photographs and went, pushing his way aggressively out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, they heard the front door slam.
‘Ouch,’ Jago remarked. ‘That reminds me. We need to call a glazier. Shall we do that before or after coffee?’
She stared at him. ‘You could do that? You could sit down and have breakfast—as if nothing had happened?’
He said coolly, ‘I told you what was going to happen, Octavia. If it helps, I’m sorry to be proved right.’ He paused. ‘By the way, what was all that talk about unpleasant surprises?’
She gestured impatiently. ‘Does it matter? Just Patrick hitting back, I suppose.’ She added bitterly, ‘Probably trying to hide that his heart’s just been broken.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure it will mend quite quickly.’
She poured the coffee and brought it to the table. She said stonily, ‘Unlike Pete Hilton’s, apparently. And would you like a boiled egg?’
‘That,’ he said, ‘was rather different. And, yes, four minutes, please.’
There was a silence, then he said, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me about my part in Pete’s marriage break-up, and its aftermath?’
‘No,’ Tavy said, setting a pan of water to boil and taking the eggs from the crock. ‘It’s none of my business.’
As she set egg cups, plates and spoons on the table, Jago caught her hand. His voice was harsh and urgent. ‘Is that all you have to say? Your usual bloody response?’
Now if ever was the time to ask. To say to him, ‘Was your friend’s wife called Barbie? Is this why you’ve chosen to bury yourself in the country, so that the newspapers won’t find that she’s with you again, and rake up the old scandal?’
But I can’t ask, because I don’t want to hear the answer, she thought. Because I may not be able to bear it.
She made herself shrug. Removed her hand from his clasp. ‘What else is there to say? You have your life. I have mine. And I can’t share your cavalier attitude to love, marriage and fidelity.’
She swallowed. ‘But I take it that, as a result of what happened, the Hiltons are now divorced?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I don’t need to know anything else.’
‘OK, let’s leave that to one side for a while.’ His voice was level. ‘However, there is something else we must talk about.’ He paused. ‘Last night.’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Again, there’s nothing to discuss. You were quite right,’ she went on, the words squeezed from the tightness of her throat. ‘I was scared and behaved badly. That’s all there is to it and I—I can only apologise.’
There was a silence, then Jago said very quietly, ‘As you wish.’ His chair scraped across the floor as he rose. ‘On second thoughts, it might be better if I didn’t stay for breakfast. Thanks for the coffee.’ He paused at the door, looking back at her, his mouth twisting cynically. ‘And, of course, for the use of the sofa.’
And he was gone, leaving the house feeling empty and silent behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WORK WAS THE thing. Work would fill all the echoing empty spaces. Remove the opportunities for thinking and the agony of a regret she could not afford.
Because I am better off without him, she told herself fiercely. I have to keep telling myself that until I believe it. And he was never mine, anyway. I must remember that too.
She rang a glazier who promised to be there before noon, then, teeth gritted, she flung herself into a whirlwind of housework.
By early afternoon, she had just unloaded the washing machine and was pegging towels and pillow cases on the line in the garden when she heard her father’s voice calling to her, and turned to see him crossing the lawn.
He had a piece of paper in his hand, and she swore under her breath as she recognised the glazier’s receipt, which she’d meant to put away.
‘Well, my pet.’ He hugged her. ‘Been having a smashing time, I see. What’s happened to the front door?’
