of advice. Open your eyes, Octavia, before it’s too late.’
Then he turned and crossed the road to where a Jeep was parked under a chestnut tree, swung himself into the driver’s seat, and roared off without a backward glance.
Leaving her staring after him, a shaking hand pressed to her swollen mouth.
IT WAS A subdued afternoon. Lloyd Denison listened gravely to everything Tavy had to say, although she kept back her encounter with Jago and its shameful aftermath, then retired to his study with the comment, ‘She does not deserve you, my dear, and never did.’
He was distressed for her, thought Tavy, but not particularly surprised.
She did her best to be upbeat, checking online that she had the requisite qualifications to train for a B.Ed, although she found with dismay that she’d have to wait until September to apply for the following year.
Which meant she had to find some way to support herself in the interim period.
And, to her bewilderment, there was still no word from Patrick, making it difficult to altogether dismiss Jago’s unpleasant comments.
I’ll just have to tackle him myself, she thought.
Accordingly, after breakfast the following morning, she asked if she might absent herself from Morning Prayer and borrow the Peugeot. ‘There’s something I need to do.’
‘Yes, of course you may.’ Mr Denison studied her for a moment. ‘Want to tell me about it?’
She forced a smile. ‘Not right now.’
Market Tranton’s streets were quiet as Tavy made her way across town to the modern block where Patrick had his flat. She was just about to turn into the parking lot when a car pulled out in front of her, forcing her to brake sharply.
It was a convertible with the hood up, but she recognised it instantly, as it sped off. It was Fiona Culham’s car, and she was driving it, wearing sunglasses and with a scarf tied over her blonde hair.
Tavy sat very still for a moment, aware that her pulses were drumming oddly, as she told herself that there was probably a perfectly logical explanation, and that driving straight back to Hazelton Magna was the coward’s way out.
Then, taking a deep breath, she turned into the car park and found another car hurriedly departing, leaving an empty bay. An elderly woman was just emerging from the main entrance as she arrived, and she held the door open with a friendly smile. Tavy took the stairs to the first floor, and rang Number Eleven’s bell.
Patrick answered the door almost immediately. He was bare-legged, wearing a towelling robe and an indulgent smile.
‘So, what have you forgotten...?’ he began, then paused gaping as he registered his visitor’s identity. ‘Tavy—what the hell are you doing here?’
‘I think it’s called “wising up”.’ She couldn’t believe how calm she sounded when, by rights, she should be falling apart. ‘May I come in?’
There was another pause, then he reluctantly stood aside. She walked into the living room and looked around. The table in the window still held the remnants of breakfast for two, while the bedroom door was open affording a clear view of the tumbled bed.
‘So,’ she said. ‘You and Fiona.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘As it happens. I didn’t know you’d been spying on us.’
‘Spying?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I had no idea until I saw her driving away.’ She paused. ‘When did it start?’
‘Does it matter?’ His tone was defensive. He looked uncomfortable. Even shifty.
‘I think I’m entitled to ask.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ he said impatiently. ‘You’re a nice kid, Tavy, but it was never really serious between us. Surely you realised that.’
She said quietly, ‘I’m beginning to. But what I can’t quite figure is why “we” happened at all.’
He shrugged. ‘When I came down here, I needed a local girlfriend, and you...filled the bill.’
‘And was that why we only met outside the village—so that you could dump me for Fiona without looking quite so much of a bastard?’
‘Oh, do we really have to pick it all over?’ he asked irritably. ‘Let’s just say we had some nice times together and leave it there. Things change.’
Yes, thought Tavy. I’ve lost my job. I may lose my home and now I’ve lost you—except it seems that I never had you in the first place.
She lifted her chin. Smiled. ‘In that case,’ she said. ‘Let me wish you both every happiness.’ She paused. ‘I presume you will be getting married.’
‘Yes, when her divorce is finally settled, among other things.’ He didn’t smile back. ‘Until then, perhaps you’d be good enough to keep your mouth shut about us.’
‘Who,’ she asked, ‘could I possibly want to tell?’
And walked out, closing the door behind her.
She drove steadily back to Hazelton Magna. About a mile from the village she pulled over on to the verge, switched off the engine and sat for a while trying to gather her thoughts and gauge her own reactions. Waiting, too, for the pain to strike as if she’d just deliberately bitten down on an aching tooth.
After all, Patrick was the man she’d believed she was in love with—wasn’t he?
Only, there was nothing. Not even a sense of shock. Just a voice in her head saying, ‘So that’s it.’ Rather like being handed the solution to a puzzle—interesting, but not particularly important.
Looking back with new and sudden clarity, she could see she’d been flattered by Patrick’s attentions because of the memory of that long-ago crush.
She’d let herself think a new chapter had opened in her life. Yet how in the world could she have mistaken lukewarm for passionate? Except, of course, she had no benchmark for comparison. Or, at least, not then...
No, don’t go there.
Switching her mind determinedly back to Patrick, she could see now why there had been no pressure from him to consummate their relationship. Not consideration as she’d thought but indifference.
My God, she thought wryly. Even Dad saw that I was fooling myself.
And so did Jago...
Jago...
Even the whisper of his name made her tremble.
Now, there she could find pain, she thought. Pain that was immeasurably deep and frighteningly intense. Even life-changing. The certainty of it tightened her throat and set her pulses thudding crazily.
Patrick’s kisses had been enjoyable but had always left her aware she should have wanted more but wondering about her uncertainty. Yet the mere brush of Jago’s mouth on hers had opened a door into her senses that she’d never dreamed could exist. Offered a lure as arousing as it was dangerous.
And he hadn’t even been trying. In fact, he’d probably been amusing himself by gauging the precise depth of her innocence.
Maybe because he too thought she was ‘a nice kid’, she told herself, and flinched.
Hang on to that thought, she adjured herself almost feverishly. That’s the way to armour yourself against him, because you must do that. No out of the frying pan into the fire for you, my girl.
Tomorrow you go back to Market Tranton and you find a job stacking shelves or anything else that offers pay.
And you forget the past, disregard the