British Bachelors: Tempting & New: Seduction Never Lies / Holiday with a Stranger / Anything but Vanilla...
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‘How did you know that?’ she demanded furiously.
‘Your father told me. And, like me, he thinks you could do the job easily. For one thing, the firms I’ve hired are all local, and you’ll probably know them. That’s a big plus.’
He added softly, ‘I’m naturally aware that you’re just waiting to tell me that you’d rather be boiled in oil than accept any help from a totally unreconstructed lowlife like me, but, in fact, I’m the one who needs your help. And all I’m asking is that you think about it.’
‘I have thought,’ she said. ‘And the answer’s “no”.’
‘May I ask why?’
She bit her lip. ‘Because while you may have persuaded my father to trust you, I don’t. So, I prefer to keep my distance.’
‘And so you can,’ Jago said evenly. ‘Didn’t you hear me say that I have to be away a great deal over the coming weeks? Which is exactly why I need a project manager at the house.’
He paused. ‘Besides, you’ll be company for Barbie.’
She said tautly, ‘Who exactly is Barbie?’
‘She’s going to keep house for me.’ He smiled reflectively. ‘I hadn’t banked on her wanting to move in so soon, but it seems she can’t wait for it all to be finished.’
‘How sweet,’ Tavy said icily, aware that her heart had given a strange lurch. ‘In which case, why not let her be project manager? She sounds ideal.’
‘Oh, she is,’ he said gently. ‘In so many ways. Except she doesn’t know one end of a computer from another. Nor does she have your all-important rapport with the locals.’
He got lithely to his feet, and smiled down at her.
‘But with her around, you’d certainly be safe from any unwanted molestation, wouldn’t you. If that’s what you’re afraid of.’
‘I’m not even remotely scared,’ she fired back.
‘Excellent,’ he said smoothly. ‘That’s one weight off my mind.’ He paused. ‘Now, I hope you’ll give some reasonable thought to my proposition, and not allow yourself to be ruled by your very natural prejudice against me. You can contact me at Barkland Grange when you’ve made your final decision.
‘As I’ve said—it’s a job, nothing more and purely temporary.’ He added softly, ‘Besides, half the time you won’t even know I’m there.’
Tavy watched him wander across the lawn and round the side of the house. A minute later, she heard the sound of the departing Jeep.
She leaned limply against the back of the bench, trying to calm her flurried breathing.
If it was anyone else in the world, she thought passionately, she’d seize the opportunity and be grateful. But not Jago Marsh. Not in a million years.
Manipulative swine—talking to her father first, and getting him on side before approaching her.
And how could she now explain to Dad that the situation was impossible without involving the additional explanations she was so anxious to avoid?
Sighing, she glanced at her watch, realising the wedding chat would be drawing to its close and it was probably time she took a tray of tea and biscuits to the study.
And by the time Julie and Graham left, she would probably have amassed a list of perfectly acceptable reasons, excluding all personal stuff, why working at Ladysmere would be a bad idea. Or enough to convince her father that she was making a considered, rational decision.
And now all I have to do to convince myself, she thought as she returned to the house.
As it turned out, she’d forgotten that this was the Sunday that her father went to take Communion to the local Care Home, so she had no chance to speak to him until after Evensong, over their supper of cheese salad.
She said abruptly, ‘Dad, I can’t accept this job offer at Ladysmere.’
Her father helped himself to mayonnaise. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, darling. Any particular reason?’
All the carefully formulated excuses vanished like morning mist. Astonished, she heard herself say, ‘Jago Marsh made a pass at me.’
‘This afternoon?’
‘Well—no. The other day.’ She ate a piece of tomato. ‘You don’t seem too surprised.’
‘Why should I be?’ His smile was gentle. ‘You’re a very lovely girl, Octavia.’
She flushed. ‘Then surely you must see why I want to avoid him.’
He said quietly, ‘I think, my dear, that if you plan to steer clear of every man who finds you attractive, you’re doomed to spend the next years of your life in permanent hiding.’
She stared at him. ‘Hardly, Dad. You seem to forget I’ve been—seeing someone.’
‘Believe me, I’ve forgotten nothing,’ her father said with a touch of grimness. ‘But we’ve seen so little of Patrick Wilding lately that I’d begun to wonder.’
Tavy bent her head. ‘Well, you don’t have to. I won’t be seeing him any more.’
‘I see,’ her father said and sighed. ‘It’s a great pity I let you leave university. I love this village but I’ve always known it was something of an ivory tower, and you needed to expand your horizons. You’d have soon developed a strategy for dealing with any unwanted admirers.’ He paused. ‘And, more importantly, to differentiate between them and the real thing.’
She bit her lip. ‘Well, Jago Marsh will always be the wrong thing.’ She hesitated. ‘Did he tell you that he has some woman moving into the Manor?’
‘He mentioned it.’ Mr Denison pushed away his empty plate and reached for the cafetière. ‘I’d have thought that would dispel your anxieties.’
She swallowed. ‘Then—in spite of everything—you really think I should take this job?’
He shrugged. ‘At least it would be a well-paid stopgap for you until we find out what the future holds.’
He paused, reflectively. ‘And he’s certainly a multitalented young man. Did you know that he’s been doing some sketches of Holy Trinity’s interior?’
‘He mentioned it, yes.’
‘He showed them to me. And he gave me this, too.’ He reached into the folder holding his sermon notes and extracted a sheet torn from a drawing block.
Tavy, expecting to see the extravagantly carved pulpit or the font, felt her jaw drop. Because the sketch was of a girl, sitting in the shadow of a pillar, her expression wistful, almost lost.
It’s me, she thought. Me to the life.
She said shakily, ‘He is good. It’s like looking in a mirror.’
Her father said gently, ‘But I could wish there was a happier face looking back at you.’
She bit her lip. ‘There will be, I promise.’
When she’d cleared the supper things, Tavy telephoned Barkland Grange, and asked to be connected to Jago Marsh’s suite.
‘Your name, please?’
‘Octavia Denison,’ she returned reluctantly.
‘Oh, yes, Miss Denison, Mr Marsh is expecting your call.’
Tavy, horrified, was strongly tempted to slam the phone down, but Jago was already answering.
‘It’s good to hear from you,’ he said. ‘Is it a hopeful sign?’
She said stiffly, ‘I’ve decided to take the job after all if that’s what you mean.’
‘Excellent,’ he said calmly. ‘I’d be glad if you could be at the house tomorrow morning at eight-thirty.’
She gasped. ‘So soon?’
‘Of course. Ted Jackson will already be there, and he’ll give you a key for your own use. I’ve been using the former library as an office, and the computer has a broadband connection. You’ll find a preliminary list of the items that need your attention and the names of the firms I’ve hired so far.
‘The heating engineers will be arriving tomorrow to install a new boiler, and I’m expecting someone from the plumbing company to prepare an estimate for turning part of the master suite into a bathroom. Can you handle that?’
‘Yes,’ she managed. ‘I think so.’
‘The kitchen’s perfectly usable at the moment,’ he went on. ‘No doubt regular supplies of tea and coffee will be needed when work starts, so you’d better stock up, making a note of everything you spend.’
He paused again. ‘Now I’ll say goodnight, but please believe, Octavia, that I’m sincerely grateful to you.’
There was a click and he was gone, leaving Tavy feeling limp, as if she’d had a close encounter with a tornado. Brisk and businesslike to the nth degree with not even a hint of the personal touch, she thought, gasping. But surely that was what she wanted? Wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it...?
And couldn’t find an answer that made any kind of sense.
CHAPTER NINE
IT SEEMED STRANGE to be walking up the Manor’s drive to the main entrance rather than sneaking in through the no-longer-broken side gate. Strange, but infinitely safer.
Glancing around, Tavy saw that Ted Jackson and his gang had already done wonders in the grounds. Bushes and shrubs had been ruthlessly cut back to reveal what would once again be herbaceous borders, and a drastic weeding programme was in progress. The lawns had clearly been scythed and were now being mown and rolled.
She imagined work would also have started on the lake, but she was damned if she was going down there to find out. Forbidden territory, she told herself sternly, managing a smile as Ted Jackson appeared.
‘Well, you’re an early bird and no mistake,’ he said genially. ‘My missus couldn’t get over it when Mr Marsh rang last night, and said you’d be working here.’
And will now be busily spreading the news on the bush telegraph, Tavy thought, gritting her teeth.
‘Funny old business up at the school,’ he went on with relish. ‘My June says she can’t imagine Mrs Wilding and that Culham girl seeing eye to eye for very long. Fireworks pretty soon, she reckons.’
Tavy felt her jaw drop. Fiona, she thought with disbelief. Fiona—hardly one of the world’s workers—had taken her place and become the new PA?
Aware that her reaction to the news was being watched with keen interest, she pulled herself together. Even shrugged. ‘Not my problem, I’m thankful to say. But I mustn’t keep you.’
‘And when Mr Marsh gets in touch, tell him Bob Wyatt can start on the conservatory tomorrow,’ he added, handing her a key.
Tavy frowned. ‘What’s going to happen to it?’
‘He’s going to use it as a studio for his painting, seemingly. The right light, or some such.’
Another piece of information she hadn’t been expecting, Tavy thought, turning away. Yet becoming a professional artist was, presumably, the new beginning he’d once mentioned.
As she let herself into the house, her first impression was that the cleaners had done an impressive job, although their efforts couldn’t hide peeling wallpaper and shabby paintwork. And in spite of the fresh scent of cleaning liquid and polish, the overall impression was still one of neglect, she thought, carrying her bulging carrier bags down the long corridor to the kitchen at the back of the house.
She put the teabags, coffee and paper cups in the massive dresser, and placed the milk into the elderly, cumbersome fridge.
She made herself a coffee and carried it to the library, now just a room with a lot of empty shelves, and hoped with a pang that Sir George’s books had found good homes.
There was a large table in the middle of the room holding a smart new laptop, plus a printer and a telephone, while, under the window, was a stationery trolley with printer paper, notebooks, pens and markers, and two large box files, one containing quotations, the other catalogues mainly for white goods, furniture and bathroom equipment.
When she switched on the laptop, there was mail waiting. Hesitantly, she clicked on the icon and read, ‘I hope you had a restful night with sweet dreams.’
She swallowed, knowing how far that was from the truth. Because some of last night’s dreams, which she was still embarrassed to remember, had been far from conventionally sweet. In fact they’d provided the incentive for today’s early start.
Because she’d been driven into getting up, afraid to go back to sleep in case she once again experienced a man’s warm, hard body pressing her into the softness of the mattress, or found herself drinking from his kisses and breathing the heated, unmistakable fragrance of his skin as she lifted herself towards him in silent yearning for his possession.
Fantasies, she thought, that were the total opposite of restful and should never be recalled in daylight. But at least she’d never seen his face or put a name to her dream lover.
She took a deep breath and went on reading.
I suggest you spend some time today going over the place so that you’re thoroughly familiar with the layout. Open any mail that comes, deal with what you can, put the rest aside for my attention.
In case any serious problems arise and you need backup, I’m sending you my contact details, but these are strictly for your personal use, not to be disclosed to anyone else.
I’m using the master bedroom as temporary storage for my painting stuff until work on the studio is finished.
I have as yet no firm idea when Barbie will be arriving, but you’ll find new linen in the adjoining room, which I’d like you to prepare for her, together with the bathroom opposite, and make sure there are always fresh flowers waiting.
He signed it simply ‘Jago’ adding his email address and mobile number underneath, together with the PS, ‘I shall be dropping in occasionally to check progress.’
And no doubt to check on Barbie too, thought Tavy, her mouth tightening, wondering why he didn’t drop the pretence and simply move the lady into the master bedroom from day or perhaps night one.
It occurred to her that perhaps Barbie was the girl that he’d fought over with Pete Hilton. If so, it must be a serious relationship to have lasted this long, and not one of many casual sexual encounters as he’d implied.
On the other hand, she was here to do a job, not to brood on her employer’s morals, such as they were. And as she was scheduled to leave at six each evening, she would not, with luck, be around to witness their reunion.
* * *
Long before the end of the day, Tavy felt as if she’d been taking part in a marathon and was due to finish last.
Because the task ahead of her was larger and more complex than she’d imagined, she realised as she downloaded and printed off Jago’s instructions for the work he was commissioning.
In spite of herself, she was impressed. He didn’t appear to have missed a thing. And, for the first time, she began to believe that buying Ladysmere was not simply a momentary whim. That this care and attention to detail indicated that he really intended to make it his home. A place where he would settle down and perhaps raise a family.
An odd shiver went down her spine at the prospect and, for a moment, she sat staring into space with eyes that saw nothing.
But she swiftly reminded herself that, whatever his plans, they were no concern of hers. By the time they came to fruition, she would be far away and recent events would seem like a bad dream.
Then, as if a starting pistol had been fired, the phone began to ring, one call following another, while the doorbell signalled the arrival of the heating engineers. After that, there was a constant stream of people bringing books of wallpaper and fabric patterns as well as large books of carpet samples.
Giving ‘home shopping’ a whole new slant, thought Tavy ironically, as the empty shelves in the library began to fill up.
The plumber arrived just as she was finishing her lunch of cheese and tomato sandwiches, and she conducted him upstairs and along the passage to the imposing pair of double doors leading to the master suite, thankful to escape from the banging from the boiler room in the cellar.
It was dim inside the room, most of the light being blocked by heavy tasselled blinds. Tavy went to the windows and raised them, while the plumber disappeared through a communicating door into the soon-to-be converted dressing room to begin his calculations.
It was a big room, its size diminished by the dark, formal wallpaper which in turn detracted from the elaborate and beautiful plaster frieze above it. On the wall facing the door was a massive four-poster bed, standing like a skeleton, stripped of its canopy, mattress and curtains, but still dominating its surroundings.
Tavy walked over to take a closer look. It was a beautiful thing, she thought, running her hand down a smooth post, which like the panelled headboard set into the wall, was constructed from mellow golden oak.
Clearly an attempt had been made to pry the bed loose because it was slightly damaged.
Jago Marsh’s orders, no doubt, she told herself. Not quite his image, a bed like this, and certainly no love nest for someone named after a plastic doll. No, he’d want something emperor-sized with black satin sheets...
And stopped there, wrenching herself back to reality.
What the hell do you know about men and what they want? she asked herself with derision.
When you’ve only been kissed with real passion once in your life—and that was by the wrong man because he was angry.
Aware her heartbeat had quickened, she went back to the window and unfastened it, pushing it open to dispel the faint mustiness in the air.
As she turned, she noticed an easel, together with a stack of portfolios and even canvases leaning against a wall, and remembered what Jago had said about storage.
She was sorely tempted to have a look at them and see if his painting was as good as his drawing, but restrained herself with an effort. Like so much else in his life, it was none of her business.
Calling to the plumber that she’d be next door, she went reluctantly into the room designated as Barbie’s, which seemed the only furnished room in the house. There was a round table holding a pink-shaded lamp, a neat chest of drawers, a small armchair upholstered and cushioned in moss green, a sheepskin rug, and of course the bed—brand-new and double-sized, its mattress still in its protective wrapping. As was the bedding, the sheets pale pink and the quilt and pillow cases white, sprigged with pink rosebuds, with matching curtains already hanging at the window.
‘Very romantic,’ she muttered, as she tore off the wrappings, nearly breaking a nail in the process.
She made up the bed with the precision of a mathematical formula, checked the fitted wardrobe in one corner for hangers, then put soap and towels in the old-fashioned bathroom across the passage.
‘Lot of space in that dressing room,’ observed the plumber as he emerged from the master suite. ‘How about a bath as well as a shower because there’s plenty of space? And what about fittings—chrome or gold?’ He paused. ‘And I’ve brought some tile samples on the van. Italian—top of the range.’
‘They sound lovely,’ said Tavy. ‘And I’ll ask Mr Marsh to contact you about the rest.’
‘It’s usually the lady that decides that kind of thing.’ He grinned at her. ‘Doesn’t he trust you?’
Colour rose in her face. ‘I shan’t be living here. I’m simply the project manager.’
His glance was frankly sceptical as he turned away. ‘Just as you say, love.’
The tile samples went to fill another gap on the shelves and Tavy was just adding the queries about bathroom fixtures and fittings to the email she planned to send Jago, when the doorbell rang, only to sound another prolonged and more imperious summons as she reached the hall.
Patience is a virtue, she recited under her breath as she threw open the front door, only to come face to face with Fiona Culham.
‘And about time,’ Fiona began, then halted, staring. ‘Octavia? What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Working,’ said Tavy. ‘I lost my job so Jago offered me another.’
The other girl’s eyes narrowed. ‘Presumably your father has somehow convinced him that charity begins at home.’ She took a step forward. ‘Now, if you’ll be good enough to stand aside, I’d like a word with him.’
‘I’m afraid Jago—Mr Marsh—isn’t here, Miss Culham. He’s away on business.’
‘But he must have left a contact number.’ Fiona walked past her into the hall. ‘You can give me that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tavy said politely. ‘But I’ve been instructed it’s for my use only.’
Fiona gave the slightly metallic laugh that Tavy hated. ‘Aren’t you getting a little above yourself? This must be your first day in the job.’
‘Yours too, I believe.’
There was a simmering silence, then Fiona said, ‘I suppose I can leave a message.’
‘Certainly. I’ll get my notebook.’
‘I’d prefer a sheet of paper.’ Fiona took a pen from her handbag. ‘And an envelope, please.’
Tavy nodded. ‘I’ll get them for you.’
As she reached the office, the telephone was ringing, the caller being the electrician with a preliminary quotation which he would confirm in writing.
Tavy made a note of the details, collected the stationery and returned to the hall, only to find it empty. For a moment she thought that Fiona had got tired of waiting and left, then the sound of footsteps alerted her and she saw the other girl coming down the stairs.
‘I needed the bathroom,’ she announced. ‘Hope you don’t mind.’
‘I would have shown you...’
‘Unnecessary.’ Fiona’s smile held an odd satisfaction. ‘I’ve been a visitor here so many times, I know the place like the back of my hand.’
She wrote swiftly on the paper, folded it and put it in the envelope, sealing it with meticulous care before handing it over. ‘I must emphasise this is strictly confidential.’
Tavy nodded. ‘There’s a lot of it about,’ she said, and received a venomous look in return.
‘Then, on that understanding, let me strongly advise you to keep your mouth shut—because, if you don’t, you’ll find that coming here has been a terrible mistake.’ Fiona paused. ‘Just a friendly warning.’
The door safely closed behind the unwelcome visitor, Tavy leaned back against the heavy timbers for a moment, taking a calming breath. If that’s friendly, she thought, I wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of hostile.
The Jacksons were wrong, she told herself grimly. Fiona and Mrs Wilding are a match made in heaven.
But—I will not let her get to me.
And on that heartening note, she went back to the office and began devising a spreadsheet to keep track of the renovations on a daily and weekly basis.
She broke off for a brief chat with the heating engineers before they left, the new boiler installed, then locked the door behind them and returned to the computer, glad that the house was now quiet and concentration not such a problem.
For the next hour or so she sat totally engrossed, the evening sun pouring through the window.
With a brief sigh of satisfaction, she aimed the mouse at ‘Print’ then paused, aware of a noise that was not just the creaks and groans of an old house settling around her but, instead, sounded uncannily like footsteps approaching.
Tavy froze, staring at the door. But I locked up, she thought, swallowing. I know I did.
But you forgot to shut the window in the master bedroom, a small voice in her head reminded her. And a clever thief would have no problem at all—apart from finding something to steal.
Picking up the phone, she went to the door. She called loudly, ‘Whoever you are, I’m not alone. We’ll count to three, then call the police.’
‘Instead of the police, try an ambulance,’ an acerbic voice returned. ‘Because you’ve just shocked the hell out of me.’ And Jago came down the passage towards her, a shadowy figure in a grey linen suit and collarless white shirt.
Tavy sagged against the door frame. ‘You,’ she said gasping. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was about to ask you the same thing.’
‘I had some work I wanted to finish.’
‘How industrious,’ he said. ‘I presume it’s on overtime rates.’
‘Not at all,’ she said indignantly. ‘I just wanted some peace and quiet.’
‘Which I have now ruined.’
‘No. The work’s done and ready to print.’ She hesitated. ‘If you were hoping to see Barbie, she’s not here yet.’
‘Always a law unto herself,’ he said and smiled. ‘What else has been happening?’
‘I have a list.’ She handed it to him. ‘And Ted Jackson says work on your studio will begin tomorrow.’