As the kitchen door swung open behind her with its usual squeak, she braced herself and turned, hoping that her face did not betray her inner emotional turmoil and wretchedness.
But to her astonishment, it was not Jago but Patrick who stood there, looking daggers at her.
‘So,’ he said bitingly. ‘I hope you’re pleased with yourself.’
Never less so, she thought, but you, thank heaven, don’t ever need to know that.
She lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t hear the doorbell.’
‘Because I didn’t ring it. I imagine you were expecting me.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Unless you’ve come to apologise for your girlfriend’s act of vandalism.’
‘In your dreams.’ He walked to the kitchen table, spilling the contents of a manila envelope he was carrying across its surface. ‘See these photographs?’
‘She could hardly miss them,’ Jago said from the doorway. He was wearing the dark jeans, his hair was damp and he was barefoot, moving silently as a cat as he came to Tavy’s side.
‘Brought your holiday snaps to show us, Patrick?’ he asked affably. He picked up some of them, brows raised. ‘A block of flats, rather than luxury apartments in the sun, I’d say. And there’s Fiona leaving, and you on the doorstep kissing her goodbye in your bathrobe, of all things. Just a hint—do you think the world is ready for those legs?’
Patrick was crimson with anger as he made an unavailing grab for the photographs.
‘You keep your bloody nose out,’ he yelled. ‘And what are you doing here anyway?’
Jago shrugged. ‘After your girlfriend’s performance yesterday, I decided Octavia needed some personal protection.’
‘Oh, yes,’ the other sneered. ‘And we all know what that means, don’t we?’
‘It means I spent an uncomfortable night on the Vicarage sofa. Nothing else.’
‘A likely bloody story.’ Patrick swung round on Tavy. ‘But you’re going to be so sorry for this, you treacherous little bitch. Because you’re not the only one who can take photographs.’
‘What are you saying?’ Tavy dropped the photo she was studying back on the table. ‘That I had something to do with—this?’ She shook her head. ‘For God’s sake, Patrick. I don’t even have a camera.’
‘You were there, sneaking about that Sunday morning.’ He glared at her. ‘Who else could it have been?’
‘I imagine a professional with a zoom lens,’ Jago drawled. ‘One of the enquiry agents that Hugh Latimer has been using to report on his former wife’s affairs. Or did you think such people never ventured out of London?’ He tutted. ‘Big mistake, Mr Wilding. One of many, I suspect.’
‘You shut your bloody mouth, or I’ll do it for you,’ Patrick snarled.
‘Inadvisable,’ said Jago silkily. ‘I work out. You don’t.’
Tavy said shakily, ‘Jago...no...please.’
The glance from the tawny eyes was hooded. His tone faintly brusque. ‘Don’t worry, Octavia. I won’t do too much damage. He’s probably bruised enough already.’ He added critically, ‘Although my old nanny would probably say he should have his mouth washed out.’
He looked contemptuously at Patrick. ‘So, the great love affair died with Fiona’s dreams of fortune. Did you really think it would survive—or that you were the only one in her extra-marital life?’
‘What the hell do you know about it?’
‘More than you, certainly,’ Jago returned. ‘Because Hugh Latimer tells me these weren’t the only photographs of Fiona’s fond farewells to be produced at the divorce settlement meeting, which explains why the negotiations stopped so abruptly, and so disastrously for her.
‘Her lawyers backed away when they recognised among the usual suspects an important married client who would certainly not wish to be involved in a divorce.’
Patrick gave him a venomous look. ‘You’re lying.’
‘In that case, tell me where she is,’ said Jago quietly. ‘And I’ll rush round and apologise.’ He paused, allowed the silence to lengthen, and nodded. ‘My guess is that her work on the Vicarage front door was a parting shot on her way out of Hazelton Magna, leaving no forwarding address.’
‘And who are you to take the moral high ground anyway, you womanising scum?’ Patrick demanded. ‘Have you told Little Miss Virtue here how your best mate had a complete mental breakdown after you went off with his wife? How the two of you have never spoken since you destroyed his marriage?’