Official Town Business (Fox & Oakby Murder Mysteries Book I)

Capacities and Charges

Imogen slowly turned to the Mayor and said, "Sir, could I please speak in my private capacity, and not as your assistant?"

The Mayor was still studying his scratched knuckles with a shocked expression on his face, eyebrows raised, his blue eyes widened.

"Yes, please," he muttered, and Imogen gathered lungfuls of air.

"What were you thinking?!" she hissed, keeping her voice down for the sake of the children upstairs. "The little'uns could have heard you! They're right there!" 

She unnecessarily pointed up with her index finger. The Mayor blinked purposefully and finally looked at her. His face grew pitiful.

"He knows how to press my buttons," he said quietly.

"Even more reasons to keep your temper under control! Why give the man the satisfaction of getting under your skin?"

"I don't know," he said in a small voice, walked to the sofa, and dropped onto it.

And then he patted the sofa near him. Imogen felt utterly conflicted. On one hand, everything inside her rejoiced. He wanted her to sit with him, exactly in the cosy domestic way she'd dreamt about - and this time there was no audience to justify this invitation! On the other hand, she felt some clarification was due.

Some sort of a stubborn mettle woke up in Imogen. Perhaps, the mental file "To agonise over later" she'd been compiling in her mind had been filled to its full capacity. Perhaps, the Mayor's recent uncharacteristically unprofessional behaviour - including the morning charade, the 'grab and snog' maneuver at the fete, and holding her hand in the ambulance - had something to do with it. Or perhaps, quite simply, the words 'the woman I love' that he had shouted in the face of his Father were just impossible to ignore.

"I just can't believe you've punched him," she said. "Surely, by now you know his character, and his behaviour could have been anticipated. And you'd said it yourself before, he'd choose the topic that would emotionally affect you the most."

Imogen paused, giving him a chance to confirm or deny that indeed she was 'the topic that would emotionally affect him the most.' The Mayor rubbed his forehead, and puffed some air out through rounded lips, still not looking at her.

"I apologise that you had to witness it," he said and looked up at the ceiling with a keen interest on his face. 

Imogen glanced up as well. There was nothing fascinating there. She gingerly wondered whether the Mayor was cowardly avoiding meeting her eyes. 

"I just— didn't expect he'd get to me," the Mayor grumbled. "I knew he'd only see only what he's able of seeing. But I'd foolishly assumed that if I claimed that my intentions went beyond the 'dalliances,'" he venomously repeated his Father's word, "he would at least pretend to respect my choice, for the sake of the family's public image."

Imogen had to affirm at this stage that the time had come when postponing the agonising was possible no more. The time to panic, meanwhile, was upon her. The file couldn't contain both the potential relationship going beyond 'dalliances' and the public image of the Oakby family. Also, her right eye had just started twitching at the sudden realisation that her most private matters - all puns intended - would influence not only her individual reputation, but also that of one of the society pillars of Fleckney Woulds. Somehow, she'd only previously thought - and hardly at all - of what people would say of Mops Fox who was now a Jezebel and a tufthunter. What said people would say of Tommy Oakby and his 'dalliances' with his employee - younger, orphaned, and poor - was quite a different question, wasn't it?

Imogen needed to calm down and gather her bearings, and that meant only one thing - she needed to make a cup of tea. She squeaked some excuses and minced to the kitchen. While Mrs. Dyre's posh kettle was whistling its tune, Imogen drummed her fingers on the table and counted her breaths. That helped little.