British Bachelors: Tempting & New: Seduction Never Lies / Holiday with a Stranger / Anything but Vanilla.... Liz Fielding

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СКАЧАТЬ she much preferred Sauvignon Blanc, and faintly piqued because he hadn’t noticed the new dress. ‘What’s been the matter?’

      He shrugged. ‘Oh, just another bloody Monday, I suppose. Look, those people are going. Grab their table while I get another pint.’

      Bad-tempered Mondays seemed to be a family trait, thought Tavy ruefully as she sat down. Something, perhaps, to bear in mind for the future. Or devise some way of omitting Monday altogether and starting the week on Tuesday instead.

      When he joined her, she said, ‘It seems to have been one of those days all round. The diocesan surveyor is going to take another look at the church. I think my father’s worried about it.’

      ‘I’m not surprised.’

      Tavy bit her lip. ‘I was hoping for some positive thinking,’ she said quietly.

      ‘Not much of that around where money’s concerned, I’m afraid.’ His tone was blunt. ‘And Mother’s always said Holy Trinity would cost a fortune to put right. It’s been neglected for too long.’

      ‘But not by Dad,’ she protested. ‘The problems started before he came, and he’s done his utmost to get the diocese to take action. Your mother must know that.’

      ‘At the moment, she has her own troubles,’ he said stiffly. ‘As you of all people must be aware.’

      Tavy sighed under her breath and took an unenthusiastic sip of her wine. It was clear that getting back on terms with Patrick, currently staring moodily into his beer, wasn’t going to be as simple as she’d first hoped. Because she could never explain how the thing with Jago Marsh had begun or why she’d been pressured into accepting his invitation to dinner.

      On the whole, it was best to keep quiet and hope that Jago Marsh would do the same, if not for her sake, then out of what appeared to be genuine respect for her father.

      She leaned back in her chair, listening to the ebb and flow of conversation around her, the buzz of people letting their hair down after a working day, the squeak of the door as customers came and went, and, underlying it all, the soft throb of music from the digital jukebox.

      She began, almost in spite of herself, to feel soothed and waited to feel that special lift of the heart that being with Patrick usually produced.

      The door hinges protested again, accompanied by a draught of cold, damp air, and then, as if a switch had suddenly been thrown, there was silence.

      She glanced up in surprise, and saw that everyone was looking towards the door, standing on tiptoe, craning their necks, exchanging looks and comments. And knew, in one heart-stopping instant, exactly who the newcomer must be to be so immediately and universally recognised.

      He was wearing his signature black—this time jeans and a T-shirt—smiling and exchanging greetings with people in the crowd that was parting for him, giving him access to the bar. Acknowledging the star in their midst.

      Fiona Culham walked beside him in a dress the colour of mulberries, very cool, very chic, very much in command of the situation. Possibly even revelling in it.

      Tavy saw Jago glance round. Felt him fleetingly register her presence, then, thankfully, move on.

      ‘Oh, God,’ Patrick muttered. ‘This is all I need.’

      But just what I need, Tavy told herself resolutely. Jago and Fiona, the perfect pairing. So, no repetition of the other night’s nonsense. No waiting, dreading the moment when I’d see him again, because whatever game he’s been playing is now over, and there’ll be no more...anything between us.

      So I can quit worrying and get on with my life. Just as I wanted.

      ‘Hi,’ said Fiona. ‘I see it’s the usual scrum in here tonight. Mind if we join you?’

      There was certainly room enough at the table. Stunned, Tavy glanced at Patrick, waiting for him to say something. Make some excuse. Preferably that they were just leaving.

      Only to hear him say stiffly, ‘Of course, no problem.’

      ‘Thanks.’ Fiona sank gracefully down on to the chair next to him, then laughed as a blast of raw rhythmic frenzy surged into the room, amid applause. ‘Oh, someone’s put on Easy, Easy. How very sweet.’

      Her mocking gaze surveyed Tavy’s evident bewilderment. ‘Poor Octavia. You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you? This was Descent’s first big hit, my pet. Made them superstars overnight.’

      ‘And what are they now?’ Tavy asked coolly, needled by the other’s patronising tone. ‘White dwarfs?’

      ‘Well, at least we haven’t disappeared into a black hole,’ Jago said silkily as he joined them, seeming to appear once again from nowhere. ‘Much as many people might wish. But not the landlord, fortunately.’ He smiled round the table, the tawny eyes glittering when they rested briefly on Tavy’s flushed face, and the spill of auburn hair on her shoulders. ‘In fact, he’s sending over champagne as a “welcome to the district” offering.’

      He took the seat opposite her, stretching out long legs, making her hurriedly draw back her own chair to avoid any risk of contact. And seeing his mouth curl cynically as he registered her hasty movement.

      ‘Free champagne,’ Fiona echoed and gave a little trill of laughter. ‘Wow.’ She put a perfectly manicured hand on Jago’s arm. ‘I can see it’s going to be non-stop party time in future.

      ‘You must have a house-warming—when the Manor’s fit for you to move into. Although my father says you’d be better off pulling it down and starting again. After all, it’s hardly a listed building.’

      ‘That’s one viewpoint certainly,’ Jago said courteously. ‘But not one I happen to share.’ He paused, looking at Patrick. ‘And on the subject of friends and neighbours, shouldn’t you introduce me?’

      ‘Of course. How totally dreadful of me,’ Fiona gushed. ‘This is Patrick Wilding who’s a fabulous accountant, and whose mother runs the most marvellous girls’ preparatory school in the village.’

      She added, ‘Funnily enough, Octavia has a little job there too, when she’s not rushing round the district, of course, doing good works.’ She smiled brilliantly, ‘So, Patrick, meet Jago Marsh.’

      ‘How do you do?’ Jago leaned forward, proffering a hand which Patrick accepted with barely concealed reluctance, muttering an awkward reply.

      Which, in the good manners stakes, left Jago leading by a length, thought Tavy, biting her lip as the champagne arrived in an ice bucket, accompanied by four flutes.

      As Jago began to fill them, she said, ‘I already have a drink, thank you.’ Sounding, she realised with vexation, like a prim schoolgirl.

      ‘Which you don’t seem to be enjoying particularly,’ he said, looking at her untouched glass. He put a gently bubbling flute in front of her. ‘Have this instead.’

      ‘Not for me, thanks,’ Patrick said shortly. ‘I’ll stick to beer.’

      ‘But I still hope you’ll join me in a toast.’ Jago raised his glass. ‘To new beginnings,’ he said softly. ‘And new friends.’

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