Free Seduction Never Lies by Sara Craven Page A

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