When the Devil Drives (19 page)

returned to find Cal with a wife. If then she would have recognised

her enmity, her inimical opposition to him for what it really was—the

obverse side of love?

As it was, it hadn't taken long for the truth to dawn on her. And now

she had to bear the burden of that truth for the rest of her life.

Anthony Chalfont stirred in his uneasy sleep, and muttered

something. Joanna clasped his fingers in her own, and he subsided

again.

In some ways she could be thankful that she hadn't been called on to

make the inevitable choice between her family and her lover. Safe in

his twilight world, her father would never know how close she'd

come to betraying the Chalfont name.

The Montagues and Capulets have nothing on us, she thought with

self-derision. I'd have found myself cut off with the proverbial

shilling and deleted from the family Bible.

But I might have settled for that if only Cal had loved me;

'You can't love him,' said Anthony Chalfont. 'You can't leave us.'

For one stricken moment, Joanna wondered if she'd spoken her

unhappy thoughts aloud. But she knew that was impossible.

Her fingers tightened on his. 'It's all right, darling.' She made her

voice soothing. 'I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. It's all right.'

His eyes were open, searching her upturned face with total

incomprehension.

'Don't go, Mummy,' he said. His hand clung painfully to hers. 'Stay

with me, please. Say you love me best, better than him. Please,

Mummy!'

A long, icy shiver passed down Joanna's back. When he looked at her,

what was he seeing? A woman with fair hair drawn back from her

face. But a face from the past rather than the present.

She said softly, 'It's all right, darling. What makes you think I'm

leaving?'

'I heard,' he said. 'I heard you and Father last night. He was shouting.

I hate it when he shouts.'

Joanna's heart missed a beat. 'What did you hear?' She tried to keep

her voice level.

'He said he'd see you dead before you went to him. And he'd turn him

and his other brat into the gutter to starve. What did he mean?'

'Father was just angry,' Joanna said quietly. Other brat? she thought,

suddenly aware that Nanny was standing in the doorway, as still as if

she'd been turned to stone. 'People say terrible things when they're

angry, but they don't mean them.'

'Father means them.' Anthony Chalfont's voice sounded dead,

exhausted. 'He always means them. Don't leave me with him.'

'No,' she said. 'No, I won't. Try and sleep now.'

He gave a long, defeated sigh and closed his eyes again. Gradually his

grip on her hand relaxed, and she was able, gently, to extricate

herself.

Nanny closed the door, her expression grim. 'What brought that on?'

she asked, as she came over to Mr Chalfont's chair. 'Have you been

upsetting him, Miss Jo, prying into things best forgotten?'

'Best forgotten?' Joanna's brows lifted. 'How on earth can you say

that? We were just sitting here, and he began talking, begging me not

to leave. He obviously thought I was his mother.'

'He's always confused at this time of day.'

'He seemed perfectly rational to me.' Joanna said evenly. 'This was

something from his childhood he was remembering. Some terrible,

traumatic thing. You were his nanny. I'm sure you would have known

what was going on.'

'Leave the past be, Miss Jo. You'll do no good by raking over the

ashes...'

'I'll be the judge of that.' Joanna paused for a moment, collecting her

whirling thoughts. 'Simon told me that Callum Blackstone tried to

rape my grandmother,--but that isn't true, is it? She was in love with

him. She was planning to go away with him and Grandfather found

out. He made her stay, and that's why she changed so much in the

photographs.'

'Photographs?' Nanny shook her head. 'You'll find no photographs of

her in this house, Miss Jo. He took every last one and burned them

after she—she...

Haven't you ever wondered about all the gaps in them albums?'

'Well—yes.' Joanna retrieved the leather-bound book from the carpet

at her feet. 'Then who's the woman beside Grandfather in all these

pictures?'

•That's your grandfather's sister. Myra, they called her. She came to

keep house for him—afterwards. Ended up marrying the Methodist

minister and going off to some mission station. Said even if there

were cannibals, they couldn't be worse than your grandfather.'

Joanna swallowed. 'Was he that bad?'

'He was a hard man, Miss Jo, and cold as winter. He never needed a

human wife, he was married to that damned old mill of his. Work was

all he ever thought of, and making more money. And she --'

Nanny's face was gentle, suddenly, and sad. 'Ah, but she were lovely,

and no one ever said different. She had all the warmth and joy in her

that he lacked. Living with her might have softened him, but it didn't.

He left her alone too much, especially after your dad was born. She

had nowt to do but rattle around in this house, and it weren't enough,

so she took up with charity work.'

'And met Callum Blackstone?'

'I've said enough.' Nanny's lips tightened. 'It's not for me to judge her,

anyway. I thought the world of her. I only stayed here to look after

your .dad because she begged me. She didn't want him turning the

boy against her after she'd died. But it was Callum Blackstone he

poisoned your dad's mind with, repeating the same old lies over and

over again, making Mr Anthony believe them. Maybe he even came

to believe than himself, after a time. It seemed to me he was a man

who enjoyed hating—your grandfather. But hatred destroys in the

end, and he never understood that.'

'My God!' Joanna said unsteadily. 'Why did you let me grow up

thinking...? Why didn't you tell us the truth, Simon and me?'

'Because it wasn't my place,' Nanny said firmly. 'I wouldn't have

spoken now, but for Mr Tony saying those things. He must have had

them tucked away at the back of his mind since he was a little lad.'

'I suppose so,' Joanna said. There was a tightness in her chest. 'There's

one more thing I have to know, Nanny.' She paused, taking a deep

breath. 'My grandmother—did she die of natural causes?'

Nanny looked shocked. 'Oh, aye, Miss Jo, it was natural enough. Just

one of those sad things that doctors can't explain. She lost the baby,

and just seemed to—fade.' She shook her head again, her face wistful.

'No, your grandfather wasn't a violent man- not in that way. You

mustn't ever think that. But there was no kindness in him, no

forgiveness, and maybe she knew the sort of life she could expect

from then on.' She sighed. 'He'd have given her hell on earth, Miss Jo.

Hell on earth. So perhaps she didn't fight too hard at the end.'

'We should have been told, Simon and I.' Joanna beat her clenched

fist into the palm of the other hand. 'We shouldn't have grown up

believing all those lies- adding to the hatred, the misunderstanding.'

'Well, it's in your hands now, Miss Jo. Maybe you could do

something to heal the breach, if you wanted.' Nanny sent her a shrewd

look. 'Vera Thursgood was saying there'd been talk lately, linking you

with a certain other person...'

Joanna forced frozen lips to smile. 'Well, Mrs Thursgood shouldn't

believe everything she hears. I'm afraid there'll be no healing done.'

She bent and dropped a kiss on her father's hair. 'It's too late for that.'

Too late, she thought, as she went slowly back to the solitude of her

own room. Much, much too late.

It was not a pleasant evening. Dinner was served by Mrs Thursgood

with a certain amount of clashing of crockery. Mrs Driscoll appeared

on the point of speaking her mind several times, but subsided after

receiving a minatory look from Fiona.

Joanna, observing this with detached interest, wondered if her

strictures had borne fruit after all. She herself was regarded warily by

both women, as if she were a hand grenade which might or might not

explode. When the meal was over, she accompanied them to the

drawing-room, and sat in dutiful silence through a series of

nondescript television programmes, while Mrs Driscoll, occupying

the sofa in an almost tangible aura of disgruntlement, added a crochet

edging to the matinee coat she had just completed.

It was frankly a relief to Joanna when she could announce her

intention of having an early night, and retire upstairs.

She had not expected to sleep, and yet she. found her eyelids were

closing almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. Her dreams

were fleeting, elusive, disturbing. Always she seemed to be searching

for something that remained just beyond her reach.

When she felt a touch on her shoulder, she was awake in an instant. 'It

still feels like the middle of the night,' she yawned, lifting herself on

to an elbow.

'It is the middle of the night, Miss Jo.' It was Nanny who'd woken her,

and beyond her Mrs Thursgood was hovering in the doorway. 'Can

you come downstairs a minute? There's been some trouble at the

Craft Company. A policeman would like to have a word with you.'

'Oh, God!' She was out of bed immediately, reaching for her robe and

thrusting her feet into slippers.

The policeman was waiting in the drawing-room. He was big and fair

and serious-looking.

'I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you, madam,' he said. 'There's

been a fire at your workshops.'

'Oh, no!' Joanna ran her tongue round suddenly dry lips. 'Has it done

much damage?'

'I'm afraid so. It had got a good hold by the time the alarm went off,

although someone had reported it before then.' He paused. 'It was

actually Mr Simon Chalfont I wanted to have a word with, but your

housekeeper informs me he's not expected home tonight/

'That's right.' Joanna kept her voice calm. 'But his partner, Mr Philip

Driscoll, is available...'

'Oh, we've been in touch with Mr Driscoll. He's been down at the

scene of the fire for the past hour, together with Mr Callum

Blackstone, who's got a major financial interest, I understand.'

'Why—yes,' Joanna said slowly. 'But that isn't generally known. Who

contacted him?'

'No one, madam. He's the one who reported the fire in the first

instance. He happened to be driving past and realised something was

wrong,'

'I—see,' Joanna said slowly Mid untruthfully. 'How fortunate.'

'Joanna?' Fiona's voice sounded from the doorway. 'What's going on?

What's wrong?' Her eyes widened as she saw the policeman. 'Oh!'

Her hand went up to clutch at her throat. 'It's Simon, isn't it? There's

been some terrible accident...'

'No, of course not.' Joanna moved to her side.

'Oh, thank heavens!' Fiona looked at the policeman. 'I've been so

worried, officer. My husband simply vanished today, and none of us

knows where he is. You couldn't find him for me, I suppose?'

'Not unless he's been reported as a missing person, madam, and that

would seem slightly premature.' But the policeman was frowning.

Joanna intervened swiftly. 'My brother's away on business, officer.

He tends to be a little vague about his movements sometimes.'

'So what has happened?' Fiona demanded.

'There's been a fire at the Craft Company—a pretty extensive one,'

Joanna told her.

'Oh, is that all?' Fiona shrugged her shoulders.

'All?' Joanna was appalled. 'Fiona—our business premises have been

just about destroyed.'

'But the insurance will cover it. Simon increased it only recently. He

told me so.'

There was a silence. The policeman's frown deepened. 'Did he

indeed, madam? Well, that was very far-sighted of him. Quite

providential, in fact. Let's hope that any claim that's made is perfectly

straightforward.'

'Is there any reason why it shouldn't be?' Joanna did her best to sound

casual, but her heart was thudding uncomfortably.

The policeman gave her a long, unwavering look. 'There's some

evidence that a fire was deliberately started on the premises, madam,

so naturally there will have to be a strict investigation. That's why Mr

Blackstone disclosed his financial interest in the company to us.

Quite understandably, he wishes to be kept fully informed about our

enquiries.' He paused. 'Perhaps you can see now, madam, why we're

so keen to have a word with Mr Simon Chalfont.'

Simon's words came floating back into Joanna's head. 'He'll take

nothing else—I'll make sure of that.' He'd said he'd do whatever he

had to, she thought numbly. He'd said he was desperate. The room

swayed around her.

Needs must when the devil drives.