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‘But you haven’t told him yet.’ It was a statement not a question.
Tavy shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ll telephone Barkland Grange later. But he may be away. He often is.’
‘Of course. He’s a very busy young man.’ He smiled at her as he got up. ‘And now, I must go and be busy at Morning Service.’
Even with the house to herself, Tavy was reluctant to make the call to Jago. The ironing had been done, the vegetables prepared and a chicken was roasting in the oven before she went to the telephone, hoping he would be elsewhere.
But found herself put straight through to his suite.
‘Octavia,’ he said. ‘I had a feeling you would call, no doubt to tell me you’re giving up your job.’
She said stiffly, ‘Well, yes. You see—I won’t be around.’
There was a silence, then he said, ‘Running away, Tavy?’
‘Not at all,’ she denied quickly. Maybe too quickly. ‘It’s just that we’ll be moving to Milcaster quite soon. My father’s going to be the new Dean.’
‘And you’re going to be—what?’ he drawled. ‘The Dean’s daughter serving tea to clergy wives, like something out of Trollope?’
She bit her lip. ‘For a while. Until I can get on a teacher training course.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Then it seems I shall just have to let you go.’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t want to leave you in the lurch, so I could make sure the furniture arrives safely tomorrow.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘Barbie is arriving later today. She’ll see to it.’ He paused. ‘Unless, of course, you’d like to meet her.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping he hadn’t picked up her swift intake of breath. ‘But—no. I’m going to have a thousand things to do here.’
His voice was courteous. ‘Then I mustn’t keep you.’
‘No,’ she said again. ‘Well—goodbye.’ And put the phone down, her hand shaking.
After lunch, she decided to go into the garden for a little desultory weeding, which turned into a marathon.
She was just on her way back to the house for a cold drink when she met her father, holding an envelope.
‘Someone called Charlie has just brought this for you, darling. Orders from the boss, he said.’
‘He’s Jago’s chauffeur.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s probably the equivalent of a P45.’
But inside the envelope was a cheque, and a note which read, ‘For services rendered,’ both signed ‘Jago Marsh.’
She said her voice husky with disbelief, ‘Dad—this cheque’s for—two thousand pounds. I can’t accept all that. Not when I only worked for such a short time.’
The Vicar said calmly, ‘Of course you can, my dear. You were clearly a valued employee, and he’s chosen to give you a bonus.’
‘Then I shall put it in the charity box.’
‘You will not,’ her father said firmly. ‘Remember how you worked at that school for a pittance. On this occasion charity can begin at home.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Why not get away for a holiday somewhere. Buy yourself some new clothes too.’
He paused. ‘You must thank him, of course.’
Tavy crushed Jago’s note in her hand. She said tautly, ‘I’ll write to him.’ And went indoors.
* * *
‘Is the Archdeacon meeting us at the village hall?’ Tavy asked as she and her father left the Vicarage on Wednesday evening.
‘Apparently he’s on his way. He seemed rather ill-humoured when he rang yesterday. Asked if we’d been complaining to the newspapers about Holy Trinity’s closure. Of course, I told him no.’
‘Maybe we should have done,’ Tavy said thoughtfully. ‘Mounted a campaign.’ She sighed. ‘But it’s too late now.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Mr Denison returned briskly. ‘Maybe the age of miracles isn’t over yet.’
That, Tavy decided wryly, was being over-optimistic.
There’d been an odd atmosphere in the village this week, she thought. And her feeling that conversations were being terminated at her approach had intensified.
It was clear that the new presence at Ladysmere and her own absence had been duly noted.
And only that morning she’d overheard June Jackson talking to another woman. ‘New furniture arriving every day,’ she’d declared. ‘And about the biggest mattress Ted’s ever seen. It took four of them to get it upstairs.’ She chuckled. ‘So you can tell what’s on that gentleman’s mind, all right.’
