‘Uh huh,’ said Gabe. ‘And when the aliens invade and take over the earth, they’ll turn my farmhouse into their intergalactic headquarters.’ He started walking away. ‘Get a grip, Tatiana.’
‘You know, I’m not surprised you and Brett Cranley have teamed up. There are so few low-lives in this village, it must be lovely for you to have found a kindred spirit at last.’
Against his better judgement, Gabe stopped and turned around. ‘You know, you’re right. There aren’t many low-lives – although I see you’ve adopted one in Dylan Dick-Hard Jones.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tati said crossly.
‘I mean that all he’s interested in is what’s between your legs, sweetheart. Then again, that’s all you’ve got to offer these days, isn’t it?’
Tati blushed scarlet, but for once had no comeback.
‘Still, there may be a lack of low-lives but at least there are plenty of snobs,’ Gabe went on, twisting the knife. ‘You’ll have plenty of people to commiserate with over croquet and cucumber sandwiches while I’m busy working my land. Enjoy your afternoon with Dick-Hard,’ he called over his shoulder, walking away for good this time. ‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
As always on a Sunday lunchtime, The Fox was packed.
Outside, the pretty beer garden was full of families, parents enjoying their ploughman’s lunches and pints of shandy while their children played on The Fox’s excellent rope swing, a veritable death-trap that propelled one off a high bank right across the river Swell and back again at bone-rattling speed.
Inside, Fittlescombe’s single males propped up the bar, arguing over last night’s football and debating the merits of the new series of Top Gear. Wandering in, in search of Dylan, Tatiana noticed that Archie, the new gardener’s boy at Furlings, was amongst them, although at eighteen he was too young and too shy to join in with the adult banter. He was good looking, though, in a floppy-haired, blond, freckly sort of way. Back in Tatiana’s day, the only gardener allowed to set foot in Furlings’ grounds had been the wizened and taciturn old Jennings. It crossed her mind how much she’d have enjoyed having a toyboy like Archie on the estate, and how much fun it would have been to take him to bed and play Lady Chatterley. If I hadn’t been so lonely there, perhaps I’d have stuck around, she thought wistfully.
Tatiana found Dylan inside, at a small table close to the bar.
‘Everything all right?’ Dylan asked. ‘Gabe Baxter looked as if he was giving you a hard time outside church.’
Tati waved a hand dismissively. ‘Gabe. He’s such a pleb. He’s got it in for me for whatever reason. I suspect it’s to do with his wife.’
‘Laura?’ Dylan waited for her to elaborate.
‘Yes,’ Tati said casually. ‘I might have accidentally slept with her boyfriend once. Ex-boyfriend. The one before Gabe.’
Dylan chuckled. ‘How do you “accidentally” sleep with someone?’
‘I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,’ Tati explained. ‘He certainly didn’t behave as if he did. Anyway, I did Laura a favour. He turned out to be a total dickhead and she and Gabe got together that very night. But of course, now he has decided to rewrite history and paint me as the villain of the piece.’
Dylan changed the subject. He didn’t want to waste his lunch talking about Gabe Baxter, a man with whom he maintained a nominal friendship but whom he’d always secretly envied. Before long he and Tati were chatting away happily about school, and some of the pupils they had in common, over a long, lazy lunch. A couple of Boody Marys and a mouth-watering steak and kidney pie put paid to Dylan’s hangover, and Tati positively glowed with contentment after her second ice-cold glass of Chablis, remembering her bettering of Brett Cranley at church this morning.
By the time they paid the bill and emerged onto the green, it was almost three o’clock on a gloriously warm Sunday afternoon.
‘What are you doing now?’ Dylan asked casually.
Tati’s face clouded over. ‘Paperwork, unfortunately,’ she groaned. ‘I stayed late on Friday but I still have a stack of forms to finish for Years Three and Four. You’ve no idea how time-consuming it is.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Dylan reminded her. ‘I’ve been a teacher for eight years. I’ve done my fair share of mindless form-filling, believe me. If you like you can bring them over to mine and I’ll help you. Maisie’s away and I’m not really doing anything this afternoon.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Tati. She loathed the education department paperwork with a passion, not least because half of it made no sense to her and she had to cross-reference answers between one exam board and another. An experienced teacher like Dylan could get the job done in half the time. ‘You really don’t mind?’