When the Devil Drives (12 page)

training.'

'How very good of you.' Joanna's face felt as if it had set in cement. 'I

hope you've talked this over with Simon. He thinks the world of

Nanny and might not be too happy about seeing her supplanted.'

'I think Fiona has mentioned it, but the final decision should really be

hers.' Mrs Driscoll's smile didn't waver by a fraction. 'It's a very

delicate relationship, after all, and a young mother needs to have

complete confidence in the person looking after her baby.'

'My mother trusted Nanny,' Joanna said tightly. 'And my

grandmother trained her.'

'That's just what I mean.' Mrs Driscoll's tones were honeyed. 'I

feel—we feel that Nanny's had rather too much of her own way in the

past, and has come to feel she's indispensable, which, of course, no

one is. But, while she can still make herself useful to your father,

Fiona wouldn't dream of making any permanent change.' She glanced

at her watch. 'Now, I wonder what's happened to our coffee?'

Joanna's hands, clenched tightly in her pockets, were trembling, but

she kept her voice even. 'As you're one of the family, I suggest you go

to the kitchen and ask. I have to go out.'

'Out again? But you've only just come home. Which reminds me...'

Mrs Driscoll leaned forward, lowering her voice confidentially. 'I

know you won't mind my mentioning it, Joanna, as your own dear

mother isn't here to advise you, but a young widow like yourself

needs to be a little bit careful about her behaviour. I was very

surprised to see you—coming home with the milk, as the saying is.'

'Were you really?' Joanna felt her expression becoming increasingly

glassy. 'I was also extremely surprised to see you.'

Mrs Driscoll disregarded that. 'I've never let Fiona conduct herself

like that. I've no patience with the current code of morality among the

young, and when there's an innocent child to be considered I think it's

important to set proper standards from the first.'

'I agree,' Joanna said too affably. 'But I'd prefer to wait until the

innocent child is actually here before making any drastic alteration in

my way of life.'

Mrs Driscoll glared at her. 'I don't care for that kind of flippancy. I'm

trying to advise you as a friend, remember.'

'Really?' Joanna raised her eyebrows. 'Then all I can say is—God

preserve me from my enemies!'

Bright spots of colour burned in the older woman's cheeks. 'I can't say

your time in America has improved you. You were always a spoiled,

selfish little madam, with too much to say for yourself. You might

remember that you're a guest in your brother's home now.'

Joanna shook her head. 'Wrong. We're all guests in my father's house.

That's something you could bear in mind. Do enjoy your coffee.'

It took all her self-control not to slam the door behind her as she left

the drawing-room. She stood in the hall for a moment, shaking with

temper and an amalgam of other emotions.

She could hardly believe what she'd been hearing. Mrs Driscoll had

always been a rueful joke to the Chalfonts. The kind of

mother-in-law, Simon had once said, on whom music hall jokes were

based.

But she really isn't funny any more, Joanna told herself sombrely as

she mounted the stairs. The writing's on the wall, and she means

business. Daddy's going to be committed to some nursing home,

Nanny and Gresham are to be pensioned off, and I'm to take my

dubious morals elsewhere, leaving Fiona in sole possession.

And the trouble is it could all be managed quite easily while Simon is

so concerned over Fiona and the baby. He'd probably go along with

anything she and her mother dreamed up.

She made her way along to her father's room with a heavy heart.

Nanny greeted her, looking thunderous.

'She'll have to be told,' she said without preamble. 'Mr Anthony can't

do with people barging in on him, asking a lot of daft questions, and

stating their opinions. He's been right upset since she left. What's

come over Mr Simon, asking her to stay?'

'I wish. I knew.' Joanna sat down beside her father, and took his hand.

His eyes were closed and he appeared to be asleep, although that was

not necessarily the case. Sometimes it was just another method of

retreating from reality. 'I'll try and talk to him this evening, but I'm not

sure it will do much good. I think we could have problems.'

Nanny snorted. 'Well, this is the house for them, right enough.' She

gave Joanna a piercing look. 'You don't look so grand yourself.'

Joanna forced a smile. 'I'm all right. I just have a lot on my mind. I'll

stay quietly here with Daddy for a while.'

Nanny nodded approvingly. 'He likes that. He missed you a lot when

you went away.'

I may have to go away again, Joanna thought. And what's going to

happen then? She said quietly, 'Nanny, do you think he's getting

worse?'

Nanny's bright eyes were troubled. 'He doesn't have so many good

days, Miss Jo, and that's a fact, but he's happy enough when he's not

being bothered, and he's with people who understand him.' She

bustled off.

One of the photograph albums was lying at her father's feet, where it

had obviously slipped from his lap. Joanna bent and retrieved it,

turning the pages back to the old family groups.

It was really astonishing to compare the way her grandmother had

been when that miniature was painted with the dowdy,

lifeless-looking creature she'd become in these snapshots. Even

allowing for artist's licence, she was hardly recognisable as the same

woman. What could have happened to bring about such a

sea-change? she wondered with a soundless sigh.

She felt slightly ashamed that she knew so little about the woman

she'd been named after. If her father had been awake, she might have

been tempted to question him gently, encourage him to take one of his

rambling forays into the past. Perhaps she could even discover how

that miniature, which must have been a Chalfont family portrait, had

turned up in Cal Blackstone's possession, although she realised she

would have to tread ultra-carefully over that ground.

As it was, her grandmother's picture was providing an unexpected

private mystery in what had always been a very public feud, and this

she found oddly disturbing, even if it was the least of her problems at

the moment.

She sat with her father for nearly an hour, but he remained peacefully

remote. Eventually Nanny returned, to tell her she was wanted on the

phone.

I don't have to ask by whom, Joanna thought, her stomach churning as

she went down to the hall, and lifted the receiver. 'Yes?' Her voice

was guarded.

'Mrs Bentham?' The voice was male, but not the one she'd expected.

'This is Markham and Wilby, estate agents. We have an appointment

with you to show you a cottage at Nethercrag this morning. We

wondered if you'd been delayed.'

'Oh, I'm sorry!' Joanna was appalled. 'I—I'd completely forgotten. Is

it too late?'

'By no means,' the voice said briskly. 'But perhaps it would be easier

for you to make your own way there instead of from our office.

Kirkgate Cottage is in the main street, and our board is outside. You

can't miss it..'

'That's fine.' Joanna glanced at her watch. 'Shall we say fifteen

minutes?'

How dreadful of me, she thought as she hastily collected her bag and

car keys, but was it any wonder that my normal arrangements have

gone by the board, with everything else going on in my life?

The appointment to view the cottage seemed to have been made in a

different lifetime. In the year BC, she thought. Before Cal...

If the cottage was even reasonably habitable, she might take it, she

thought as she went out to the car. Take it and put up the barricades.

Show Cal Blackstone once and for all that she intended to live alone.

And that he couldn't dictate to her totally.

Nethercrag was a small village, consisting of little more than one

narrow main street, lined with former wavers' cottages, and a few

shops. Joanna parked her car on the cobbles and crossed to where a

young man, file of papers in hand, was waiting for her.

'Good morning.' He shook hands briskly. 'I'm Alan Morris. I'm so

glad you could make it. There's a lot of interest being generated in this

particular property, and we wouldn't want you to miss out.'

Joanna suppressed a cynical smile, yet she had to admit that, on the

face of it, the cottage looked good. The exterior had been well

maintained, she thought as she followed Mr Morris up the flagged

stone path, and the small front garden was bright with annuals and a

variety of roses, just coming into bloom.

'They're waiting for us,' Mr Morris said as he lifted the latch on the

solid oak front door and led the way into a square hall.

'Indeed we are,' Cal drawled from the doorway he'd suddenly

appeared in. 'What kept you, darling?'

Involuntarily, Joanna took a step backwards. 'What are you doing

here?' she demanded huskily.

He lifted an eyebrow in exaggerated surprise. 'I told you I was

planning to look at houses today. This was first on my list, and when

Gordon Wilby told me you were being shown it this morning I

decided the sensible thing, in the circumstances, was to bring my own

appointment forward, and look over it together. When I explained to

Gordon, he totally agreed with me. Why, is something wrong?' His

eyes glinted at her in challenge.

Joanna took a deep breath, suppressing the angry protest trembling on

her lips. 'Not a thing,' she said stonily, acutely aware of Alan Morris's

interested presence.

Cal turned to him. 'I suspect she wanted to look round the cottage on

her own, then present me with a
fait accompli
,' he said. 'I'm sorry,

darling. Have I spoiled your surprise?'

'Something like that,' Joanna said grimly, lifting her chin as she

walked past him into the sitting-room.

What the room lacked in size, it made up for in charm, with its

beamed ceiling and old-fashioned stone fireplace, now filled with a

lavish arrangement of dried flowers. A tall white-haired woman rose

to her feet from a chintz-covered sofa, and came forward to greet

them.

'Good morning.' Her handshake was firm. 'I'm Rosalie Osborne.

These are always such awkward occasions, aren't they? I've

suggested to your fiance that Mr Morris shows you round, while I

make some coffee and prepare to answer any questions you may

have. Would that suit you?'

'It sounds—ideal.' Joanna was tautly aware of Cal's hand, firmly

clasping her arm.

'I'm sure she'll love the cottage, Mrs Osborne,' he said pleasantly.

'Come along, darling. Shall we start with the kitchen?'

It was immediately apparent that no expense had been spared on the

cottage's refurbishment. The kitchen boasted a lavish range of fitted

oak units, as well as a generously sized dining area complete with

traditional dresser.

'Well, my sweet?' Cal's smiling gaze quizzed her. 'Can you see

yourself cooking delicious dinners for two at that stove?'

'Hardly,' Joanna returned tersely, through gritted teeth. 'Cooking isn't

one of my strong points,' she went on mendaciously. 'Perhaps you

could arrange for meals on wheels to be sent over from the country

club.'

'No need to go to those lengths,' he said drily. 'I'm considered a fair

chef myself. We won't starve.'

'That's good,' she said brightly. 'Shall we look at the rest?'

Mr Morris led the way upstairs, talking knowledgeably about loft

storage, timber guarantees, damp- proof courses and secondary

double glazing. Joanna let it all wash over her.

If she'd seen Kirkgate Cottage a week earlier, she would have made

an offer for it without hesitation, she thought sadly. It was exactly

what she wanted. Besides that, the whole cottage exuded a warm

tranquillity that appealed directly to her troubled senses. For the first

time in her life she could have created a home of her own.

'This is the main bedroom.' Mr Morris threw open a door with a

flourish. 'Incorporating one of the property's most appealing features.'

Cal stopped dead in his tracks. 'Good God,' he said blankly.

Joanna looked past him, her own lips parting in astonishment.

Greeting her gaze was an old-fashioned four-poster bed, complete

with frilled canopy and looped-back curtains.

Mr Morris regarded them with the satisfied expression of a novice

conjuror who had just successfully produced his first rabbit out of a