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Tavy was taken aback. ‘Well, he certainly can’t stop the sale. And I don’t think he’d want to make any pre-judgements,’ she added carefully.
Mrs Wilding snorted. ‘In other words, he won’t lift a finger to protect moral standards. Whatever happened to the Church Militant?’
She put down her cup. ‘Anyway, it’s time you made a start, Octavia.
‘You’ll find yesterday’s correspondence waiting on your desk. When you’ve dealt with that, Matron needs a hand in the linen room. Also we need a new vegetable supplier, so you can start ringing round, asking for quotes.’
From doom and disaster to business as usual, thought Tavy as she went to her office. But to be fair, Mrs Wilding probably had every right to be concerned now that this bombshell had exploded more or less on her doorstep.
She found herself wondering if the unpleasant tough at the lake was the shape of things to come. Security perhaps, she thought. And I rambled on about CCTV. No wonder he was amused.
Let’s hope he advises his boss to increase the height of the perimeter wall, and then they both stay well behind it.
* * *
It was a busy morning, and Mrs Wilding’s temper was not improved when Tavy gave her the list of bedding, towels and table linen that Matron considered should be replaced as a matter of urgency before the start of the new school year in September, and told her that no one seemed able to provide vegetables more cheaply or of a better quality than the present supplier.
‘Perhaps I should wait and see if we still have any pupils by the autumn,’ Mrs Wilding said tight-lipped, and told Tavy she could go.
Tavy’s own spirits had not been lightened by Patrick whispering apologetically that he wouldn’t be able to see her that evening after all.
‘Mother wants a strategy meeting over dinner, and under the circumstances, I could hardly refuse.’ He gave her a swift kiss, one eye on the door. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’
As she cycled home, Tavy reflected that for once she was wholly on the side of her employer. Because the advent of Jago Marsh could well be the worst thing to hit the village since the Black Death, and, even if he didn’t stay for very long, the damage would probably be done and quiet, sleepy Hazelton Magna would never be the same again.
Pity he didn’t stay in Spain, she thought, as she parked her bike at the back of the house and walked into the kitchen.
Where she stopped abruptly, her green eyes widening in horror as she saw who was sitting at the scrubbed pine table with her father, and now rising politely to greet her.
‘Ah, here you are, darling,’ the Vicar said fondly. ‘As you can see, a new neighbour, Jago Marsh, has very kindly come to introduce himself.
‘Jago—this is my daughter Octavia.’
‘Miss Denison.’ That smile again, but faintly loaded. Even—oh, God—conspiratorial. One dark brow quirking above that mocking tawny gaze. ‘This is indeed a pleasure.’
Oh, no, she thought as a wave of hotly embarrassed colour swept over her. It’s the Dark Lord himself. I can’t—I don’t believe it...
Only this time he wasn’t in black. Today it was blue denim pants, and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, with its sleeves rolled back to his elbows, adding further emphasis to his tan. That unruly mass of dark hair had been combed back, and he was clean-shaven.
He took a step towards her, clearly expecting to shake hands, but Tavy kept her fists clenched at her sides, tension quivering through her like an electric charge.
‘How do you do,’ she said, her voice on the chilly side of neutral, as she observed with astonishment a couple of empty beer bottles and two used glasses on the table.
‘Jago is a musician,’ Mr Denison went on. ‘He’s coming to live at the Manor.’
‘So I’ve heard.’ She picked up the dirty glasses and carried them to the sink. Rinsed out the bottles and added them to the recycling box.
Mr Denison looked at his guest with a faint grimace. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The village grapevine, I’m afraid.’
Jago Marsh’s smile widened. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. As long as they keep their facts straight, of course.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Tavy said shortly. ‘They generally get the measure of newcomers pretty quickly.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘That can work both ways. And, for the record, I’m now a retired musician.’
‘Really?’ Her brows lifted. ‘After the world arenas and the screaming fans, won’t you find Hazelton Magna terribly boring?’
