When the Devil Drives (21 page)

'Your mother too,' Joanna agreed, dead-pan, while inwardly she

recoiled, shrieking.

'Oh—er—yes.' For a minute he looked totally blank, to Joanna's

secret delight. But this was a line of conversation she had no wish to

encourage, she decided. She reached for her bag. 'If you'll excuse me

for a while, Philip, I think I need some air.'

'You're going out? But what if Simon rings?'

Joanna shrugged, evincing a nonchalance she was far from feeling.

'Then he can leave a message. After all, we can't sit here forever

waiting for his call.'

'I suppose not,' Philip agreed reluctantly. 'But I think I'll hang on here,

if that's all right. In case something crops up,' he added uneasily.

'Please do,' Joanna said cordially.

She drove straight to the Craft Company, and parked, staring in frank

disbelief through the windscreen. Although she'd been warned what

to expect, she still hadn't anticipated quite this level of damage. All

that remained of the building was a blackened shell.

She left the car and began to walk towards the ruin. There were other

onlookers around as well, she noticed. The air was still acrid, and she

coughed slightly, putting her hand over her mouth.

A small man attached by a leash to a large Labrador dog looked

round. 'Hell of a pong, eh?' he remarked with relish. 'Hell of a mess

too. They say it went up like a torch.'

'So it would seem,' Joanna said drily.

The little man lowered his voice and jerked his head conspiratorially

towards two men in dark suits, conferring over a file of papers. 'See

them? They're from the insurance—loss adjusters. They've been here

all afternoon. Bobbies all over the place too.' He winked. 'They

reckon it weren't no accident. Someone was seen running away,

seemingly.'

Joanna's heart missed a beat. 'Do they know who it was?'

'Couldn't say, I'm sure. That chap Blackstone would know. He's the

one who spotted him.' He bent down to pat his dog. 'All right, old lad,

I'm coming.'

Joanna bit back a gasp, as he wandered off. Cal had actually seen the

arsonist, she thought frantically,. But he'd said nothing about that at

the house last night. Why ever not? She swallowed. Perhaps the

police were setting a trap for Simon, and maybe Cal was afraid that

she'd warn him—tell him to keep away.

I can't just wait for it to happen, she thought violently. The Craft

Company is in ruins. I can't stand by and see the same thing happen to

our lives.

She half ran back to the car.

It was the same receptionist at the country club. She looked at Joanna

regretfully when she asked if she could see Mr Blackstone.

'I'm afraid he's not available, Mrs Bentham.'

'If he's busy, I'd be prepared to wait...'

The girl shook her head. 'You don't understand. Mr Blackstone has

left for the day.'

'Already?' Joanna asked despairingly. 'It really is most urgent that I

see him.'

The girl thought for a minute. 'Well, I do know where you'll find him,'

she said. 'I'm not supposed to give it out, of course, but --'

'I'd be eternally grateful.'

'He's up at Nethercrag,' said the receptionist. 'He's just bought a house

there. I've got the name somewhere...'

'It's all right.' Joanna summoned a smile. 'I—know what it is.'

Cal's car was parked outside the cottage when she arrived there. She

walked up the path and knocked at the door, not giving herself time to

think, to question the advisability of what she was doing, or change

her mind.

He answered almost at once. His brows snapped together when he

saw who it was.

She said, 'Don't send me away, please.'

'I wasn't considering it,' he said curtly. 'You'd better come in.'

The cottage smelled strongly of freshly applied paint, and there were

spatters of the stuff on his elderly shirt and jeans. 'I wasn't expecting

visitors.' He led the way into the sitting-room. 'Would you like some

coffee?'

'Later, perhaps,' she said, and flushed under the sardonic glance he

directed at her.

'So,' he said. 'To what do I owe the honour of this visit?'

She took a deep breath. 'I've just been down to the workshop.

Someone said you'd—actually witnessed someone running away.'

'How news does get around,' Cal said drily. 'That's basically accurate,

yes.'

'Have you told the police who you saw?'

'Naturally.' His frown deepened. 'What did you expect?'

'Nothing really,' she said with difficulty. 'I—hoped, perhaps, to

persuade you to hold your hand—not to give him away, until we'd all

had a chance to talk- to try and work something out.' She ran her

tongue round her dry lips. 'I suppose he'll go to prison.'

'It's possible, but unlikely,' he returned. 'Why are you so concerned?

I'd have thought you wanted him caught.'

'Want to see Simon destroyed?' she asked incredulously. 'Are you

mad?'

There was a silence, deep and unbroken as if both of them had

suddenly stopped breathing. Then,

'I think I must be,' Cal said slowly. 'What has Simon got to do with all

this?'

She stared at him. 'Why—everything, I'd have thought.'

'What makes you say that?'

She ran the tip of her tongue round her dry lips. 'Well, it was Simon

who you saw—wasn't it?'

'No,' he said. 'It was a vagrant called Tom O'Neill, better known

locally as Paddy Tom. He likes comfort at night, so he prefers to

break into buildings that are in use and doss down. He's been chased

from every mill and industrial estate in the West Riding, I should

think. He also likes a cooked supper, only last night his time-bomb of

a stove finally exploded, and nearly cooked him as well. The police

picked him up near Barnsley, still running.'

'Paddy Tom,' Joanna repeated. Suddenly she didn't know whether to

laugh or cry. 'But I thought...'

'You thought Simon had developed a sideline in arson.' Cal's brows

lifted in utter disbelief. 'Not very sisterly, or very flattering, especially

when he's down in London trying to retrieve the Chalfont fortunes

from my sinister clutches.'

'You know where Simon is?' Her voice was incredulous.

'Of course.' He sounded impatient. 'Although admittedly I'm not

supposed to. He's talking to a friend of mine in a merchant bank about

venture capital for the Craft Company.'

'How can you possibly know that?' Joanna sank down on to the sofa,

feeling that her legs would no longer support her. 'You asked me

where he was. You implied-—'

'I put Jeremy in touch with him in the first place. But I wanted to

check that Simon was following up the approach.' He paused. 'He

doesn't know anything about my part in all this, of course, and it's

essential he doesn't know.'

'But why?' She spread her hands helplessly. 'Why should you do

that?'

'To let him off the hook. To release him from any sense of obligation

to me. To provide the beginning of the end of this whole dreary

bloody mess.' Cal spoke with a kind of weary distaste. 'It's gone on for

too long—taken too much time and energy from all of us that could

have been better spent. As I told you, I want it over with.'

'Yes.' She drew a deep breath. 'But—you see—when you said you

wanted to see Simon urgently, I thought...'

'That I wanted to accuse him of burning down his business?' Cal

shook his head. 'On the contrary, I was planning to offer him a

temporary site on the mill complex while he rebuilds.' His mouth

twisted. 'He'll almost certainly refuse, but I'll have made the gesture,

and maybe, from now on, we can all get on with our own lives in

peace.'

Peace? she thought. What peace can there be when I'm being torn

apart like this? When your eyes don't meet mine? When you speak as

if we're mere acquaintances, and there's no warmth in your smile?

When you stay on the other side of the room?

She said unevenly, 'I seem to have made a major fool of myself, and I

apologise. I was too upset to think clearly. I'd better go.'

'You'll have that coffee first.' Cal gave her a critical glance. 'You look

like hell.'

She smiled pallidly. 'Ever the flatterer.'

When she was alone, she glanced round the room. Some df the

furnishings, the sofas for instance, she recognised from the apartment

at the country club. She remembered some of the ornaments too. And

in its accustomed position beside the fireplace hung Joanna

Chalfont's portrait.

He came back with a tray. She saw a cafetiere, pottery beakers and a

matching cream jug. He saw her looking, and smiled sardonically.

'It's all right—there are no unexpected additives this time, I promise.

Although you still look as if you could do with a night's sleep,' he

added frowningly.

'Is it any wonder?' She forced a smile in turn. She had to try for

lightness, she decided, and impersonality, if that was possible. She

glanced round brightly. 'So you decided to buy the cottage after all.

I'm glad.'

'Thank you.' He poured the coffee and handed her a beaker. 'I decided

it was time I had a proper home. The apartment was always

temporary.'

'You didn't want to move into your family's house?' It was more like a

mansion, she thought. Bigger and grander than Chalfont House in

every way.

'That was never a home,' he said. 'It was a statement—a declaration of

war, and I've finished with all that. I've had various offers from

people wanting to turn it into a private school, or nursing home. Or it

could be converted into flats. I'm in no hurry to decide.'

Joanna looked towards the fireplace. 'But you've still got the

miniature.'

'Family heirloom,' he said. He leaned back in his seat. 'A gift of love.'

'Yes.' She paused. 'Cal—I found out the truth for myself. I wanted to

tell you that. I know that they really loved each other. That she only

stayed with Grandfather for my father's sake. And I suppose for the

baby?' she added questioningly.

'The baby?' Cal's eyebrows lifted. 'Then you don't know all of it,

Joanna.'

She bit her lip. 'I—wondered. It was something Daddy said.' She

hesitated. 'You're telling me that it was Callum's child she was

expecting, not Jonas's?'

'Of course it was.' His face was fierce suddenly. 'Don't judge them too

harshly, Joanna. My grandfather was a widower, and lonely. Your

grandparents hadn't shared a room, or much of a life, since your

father's birth. Once Jonas had his son and heir, he assumed any decent

woman would be thankful to be done with that kind of thing. He had

women in the village he used when he felt the need.'

He sighed harshly. 'I suspect that being loved— being wanted was a

revelation to her. She assumed, naively, that as Jonas no longer cared

about her he would let her go once he knew the truth. But she misread

the situation. When she told him she'd fallen in love with one of his

employees and was pregnant by him, he nearly went mad. But it

wasn't his marriage he was trying to preserve. It was his pride, his

standing, his damnable self-importance. So he used the only weapon

he had. He told Joanna if she left him, she would never be allowed to

see her son again, and that he'd make the boy suffer for his mother's

wickedness.'

Joanna Shuddered. 'That's—monstrous!'

'Yes,' Cal agreed bleakly. 'No woman should be asked to cope with

that kind of blackmail. To protect your father, she gave in. She saw

Grandfather once more—to explain and say goodbye. It must have

been sheer hell for them both. He promised her that as soon as he'd

established himself, he'd come for her and take Anthony and the baby

too. That he'd fight for them all through every court in the land if need

be.' His mouth twisted. 'It never occurred to him, of course, that when

he came back she'd have—gone, and their child with her.'

'And that was when he decided on revenge.'

'Yes.' Cal's face was sober. 'Jonas had robbed him of a future with the

woman he loved. In turn, he'd take everything Jonas cared for. It was

as simple as that.'

'I can understand now why your grandfather was so bitter—so

implacable against our family.'

'He had the best of reasons. The mistake was to carry the bitterness

down succeeding generations. I should have put a stop to it a long

time ago.'

'Then why didn't you?'

Cal shrugged, his expression wry. 'Because, like my grandfather

before me, I made the mistake of wanting a Chalfont woman, and to

hell with the consequences. I should have settled for one of the girls

who wanted me instead. Life would have been safer—easier that