British Bachelors: Tempting & New: Seduction Never Lies / Holiday with a Stranger / Anything but Vanilla.... Liz FieldingЧитать онлайн книгу.
nodded reflectively. ‘And how does the employer feel about that?’
‘That is none of your business!’
‘Oh, dear,’ he said lightly. ‘That bad, eh?’
‘Not at all,’ she denied swiftly. ‘I simply prefer not to discuss it.’ Especially with you...
His eyes never left her. ‘So, exactly how deep is this involvement, or am I not allowed to ask that either?’
Colour rose in her face. ‘No you’re not.’
‘Which totally confirms my suspicions,’ he murmured.
‘Well, you have no right to suspect anything,’ Tavy countered, her flush deepening. ‘Or to indulge in any kind of unwarranted speculation about my personal life.’
‘Wow, that’s serious stuff,’ Jago said, grinning at her. ‘I shall consider myself rebuked.’
‘Now I’ll ask you something,’ she said. ‘What made you choose the Willow Tree of all places tonight?’
‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘In case you think I’m stalking you or something equally sinister. In fact, the former Mrs Latimer suggested it. She and her father came up to the Manor this morning to introduce themselves, and, as they were leaving, I asked her if she’d like to go for a drink.’
He paused. ‘You see? My life, unlike yours, is an open book.’
‘But one I’d prefer not to read,’ she said crisply, seeing with relief that Patrick was returning from the bar, edging gingerly through the crowd with his brimming glass, his face flushed and sullen. ‘Just as I’d rather we kept our distance from each other in future.’
‘That could be tricky,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Hazelton Magna being such a very small village.’ He added softly, ‘Besides, Octavia, you were the one who came calling first. If you remember.’
She took a gulp of champagne to ease the sudden tightness in her throat.
She said thickly, ‘I’m hardly likely to forget.’
His smile seemed to touch her like the stroke of a finger on her skin. ‘Then at least we have that in common,’ he murmured and rose politely as Fiona also reappeared.
After that, it was downhill all the way. Once the complimentary champagne was gone, Jago, to Fiona’s open satisfaction and her own secret dismay, simply ordered another bottle.
She tried to catch Patrick’s eye to hint it was time to go, but her signal was ignored and he went off to the bar in his turn to obtain a third, or, she realised, startled, possibly even a fourth pint.
Which meant that he’d be in no fit state to drive, she thought, taking a covert peep at her watch, and trying to remember the timing of the last bus.
She’d never known him drink as much before. A pint and a half or maybe a couple of glasses of red wine were generally his limit.
I should have talked to him when I first got here, she told herself unhappily. Persuaded him to tell me what was troubling him. Why his day had been so rotten. Now, there’s no chance.
Fiona was off again, describing parties she’d been to in London, film premieres, theatre opening nights. Dropping celebrity names in an obvious effort to establish mutual acquaintances, but without any marked success.
Jago listened politely, but explained that he had spent most of the time since the band split up travelling abroad, and was therefore out of the loop.
‘Oh, but once it’s known you’re back, all that will change,’ Fiona said. ‘Besides, there was a piece in one of the papers only a few weeks ago, saying Descent might be getting back together. How marvellous would that be?’
‘I read that too,’ he said. ‘Pure speculation.’
‘I know you fell out with Pete Hilton,’ she said. ‘But surely you could find another bass player.’
‘Dozens, probably, if we wanted,’ he said, refilling her glass.
‘But you heard the reaction to Easy, Easy here tonight,’ she protested. ‘Imagine that repeated a million times over.’
‘I don’t have to use my imagination.’ There was a sudden harshness in his voice. ‘We experienced it in real life. Now we’ve made different choices.’
‘That’s crap and you know it,’ Patrick said belligerently. ‘With enough money on the table, you’d be off touring again tomorrow.’
Tavy groaned inwardly. She put her hand on his arm. ‘I think it’s time we were going.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I want him to admit it.’
Jago looked down at the table, shrugging slightly. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Whatever you say, mate.’
‘And I’m not your mate,’ Patrick retorted. ‘Face it, you’re going to need a couple more million in the coffers to make that dump you’ve bought hab-habitable.’ He brought the word out with difficulty.
‘Which reminds me,’ Fiona broke in hurriedly. ‘I have a list of some simply marvellous interior designers—top people—that friends of mine used in London. I’ll give it to you.’
‘Thanks,’ Jago said. ‘But I’ve already decided to use only local firms.’
‘Lord Bountiful in person,’ Patrick muttered. ‘Crumbs from the rich man’s table. I hope they remember to touch their forelocks.’
Jago’s lips tightened, but he said nothing, just turned in his chair and beckoned, and Tavy saw the landlord Bill Taylor approaching.
‘Now then, Mr Wilding.’ His voice was polite but firm. ‘Let’s call it a night, shall we? The wife’s phoning for a taxi to take you home, so I’ll have your keys, if I may, and you can pick up your car in the morning. I’ll put it at the back next to mine, so it’ll be quite safe.’
‘I can drive,’ Patrick said. ‘I can drive perfectly well, damn your bloody cheek.’
The older man shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir. I can’t allow that. If anything should happen—if you were picked up by the police, it would reflect on me and the good name of the pub, letting you leave like this.’
He looked at Tavy. ‘And I’ll make sure you get back safely too, my dear.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Tavy, humiliation settling on her like a clammy hand. ‘I can catch the bus.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Jago. ‘I’ll be taking Miss Denison home.’ As Tavy’s lips parted in instinctive protest, he added softly, ‘Not negotiable.’
That was all very well, thought Tavy, her throat tightening, but she knew what Fiona’s reaction would be to having her evening spoiled in this way. She could almost feel the daggers piercing her flesh.
But when she ventured a glance at the other girl, she found Fiona was not even looking her way. Instead her eyes were fixed on Patrick who was still hunched, red-faced, in his chair.
She looks—almost triumphant, thought Tavy in total bewilderment. But why?
It was an awkward journey, with Charlie at the wheel, and all of them seated in the rear of the car, Jago in the middle. There was plenty of room, but Tavy found herself trying to edge further away just the same, squashing into the corner, and staring fixedly out of the window at very little, as she tried not to hear what the others were saying.
And she could well have done without that faint trace of musky scent in the air, released by the warmth of his skin and reviving memories of her own that she could have dispensed with too.
While even more disturbing was the imminent risk of his thigh grazing hers.
‘Ted Jackson.’ Fiona’s voice had lifted