When the Devil Drives (6 page)

'Then why on earth didn't you stop?'

'I couldn't,' he said simply. 'I had to go on trying to win.'

Joanna ran the tip of her tongue round her dry lips. 'Did you borrow

any more money?' she asked carefully.

'Some,' he muttered. 'I'd have been all right—I know I would—if

bloody Blackstone hadn't barred me from the casino. How the hell

was I supposed to recoup my losses if I wasn't allowed to play?' He

gave her a petulant look. 'I still don't see why he found it necessary to

drag you into all this. I thought we had a gentlemen's agreement about

it.'

'Cal Blackstone,' she said quietly, 'is no gentleman. Tell me, Si, and I

want the truth—is there any hope that you'll be able to repay at least

the—loan from the firm?'

There was a pause, then he shook his head. 'I can't. Philip and I are

both drawing minimum salaries at the moment. And I've had so much

extra expense with the baby coming. The nursing home fees cost a

fortune for a start.' His expression became alarmed. 'Blackstone won't

really insist on this audit, will he? I mean—I can explain to old Phil,

and I'm sure he'd understand, but I'd rather not.'

Joanna murmured something non-committal, but in her heart she

wasn't at all convinced that old Phil would be quite so amenable to the

news that some of their slender profits had been illegally squandered

on gambling, and vacations in the West Indies.

'So what does Blackstone want?' Simon demanded apprehensively.

Joanna hesitated. 'I'm not altogether sure,' she prevaricated. 'Now that

I know his—allegations are true, I have to get back to him—work

something out.'

'Oh, goody.' Simon's voice was heavily sarcastic. 'I didn't realise that

you two were so much in each other's confidence. Yesterday you

couldn't stand the sound of his name. Today you've got your heads

together, deciding what to do for the best about poor misguided

Simon. Does he get his knuckles rapped, or just stand in the corner?'

Joanna bit her lip. 'That kind of attitude doesn't help.'

'And having my private affairs chewed over behind my back isn't

totally acceptable either,' Simon retorted furiously. 'You should have

refused to listen— referred him straight to me, instead of meddling in

what doesn't concern you.'

Joanna held on to her temper with an effort. 'If you're charged with

embezzlement, it will concern me very closely,' she said evenly. 'It

will concern us all. And imagine the effect it could have on Daddy.'

'Oh, yes, let's.' Simon's face was stony. 'Look, everyone, Simon's

been a naughty boy. And Joanna's the blue-eyed girl who's going to

put everything right. Well, bloody good luck to you!' He glared at her.

'What a pity you didn't stay here and pitch in after Martin died,

instead of swanning off to the States. Things might have been

different then.' He scraped his chair back and rose. 'I'm going back to

the nursing home to stay with Fiona. Have your high-level conference

with Blackstone, sister dear, and get everything sorted. Feel free to let

me know some time what's been decided for me.'

He went out, banging the door behind him, and seconds later she

heard the front door slam too, and his car start up and drive away.

Joanna leaned back in her chair, trembling a little. She knew Simon of

old. Once offended, he would sulk unreasonably for days, and she

wouldn't be able to get a sensible word out of him.

He would come round eventually, she thought, but she didn't have

that kind of time. All she had was twenty-four hours, and they were

fast running out.

Even after Martin's accident, she had never felt so helpless, so

alone—so vulnerable.

She thought, What am I going to do? And, fiercely, What can I do?

But she knew the answer to that, only too well. Everything she held

dear in this world was in danger, and she, uniquely, held the key to its

salvation.

This, she thought, is how an animal must feel when the trap closes

round it.

She sat for a long time, gazing, with dead eyes, into space. Then, her

mind made up, she went into the hall, lifted the telephone receiver,

and began, slowly, to dial.

DOWN by the reservoir, there was a breeze blowing off the water.

Joanna lifted her face to it gratefully as she strolled along the path

towards the dam. The car journey had seemed stifling, but that might

have been because she was so nervous.

She took a deep breath, then stood for a moment, watching the

manoeuvres of the solitary sailing dinghy using the sparkling expanse

of water. At the weekends, the water was alive with multi-coloured

sails, but on a mid-week afternoon privacy was almost guaranteed.

She glanced edgily at her watch. She'd arrived early, and there was

still a short while to go before their meeting.

Cal Blackstone had raised no objection, the previous evening, when

she had haltingly suggested the reservoir as a rendezvous. She

couldn't explain even now why she'd felt so desperate to face him on

neutral territory, in the open air, away from the confines of Chalfont

House.

She'd tried to work out in advance what she was going to say. In fact

she'd spent an entire sleepless night trying and discarding various

approaches to the subject. But nothing seemed right.

But then how could it? Joanna could almost believe, even now, that

this was simply a particularly vivid nightmare from which she would

soon thankfully waken. Maybe she should just raise her hands in

surrender and say, 'You win,' she thought, grimacing.

She retied the sleeves of the turquoise sweater she was wearing slung

across her shoulders more securely, and resumed her walk.

She'd spent the morning with her father, who was having what

Gresham called 'one of his far-off days'. He'd been sitting in his

wheelchair beside the open window, with an old photograph album

on his knees, slowly turning the pages as if they held the answer to

some mystery he was desperate to solve. Joanna had sat beside him,

trying to take an interest in the faded prints. After all, these picnics,

carriage outings and stiltedly posed groups constituted a large part of

the Chalfont family history, she'd thought, so it was a pity there were

so many missing, and that so few of the others had been captioned

with names. Her grandfather was instantly recognisable, of course,

and she'd supposed the rather downtrodden woman beside him in

some of the photos was her grandmother, but when she'd mentioned

this to her father he'd stared at her vaguely, and said, 'Joanna. That

was her name—Joanna.'

And as she'd been named after her, that was something his daughter

knew already.

She'd looked wistfully around the room, filled with her father's

favourite pieces of furniture. His desk from the study, a high-backed

armchair beside the fireplace, the pipe rack Simon had made for him

at school^ they were all there. Anything that might help him retain his

precarious hold on reality. The walls were hung with his best-loved

paintings too, and his collection of books was stored in a revolving

bookcase close to his chair.

Not that he read much these days, she thought, stifling a sigh. His

concentration span was too erratic for that. Gresham read to him,

mostly from the newspapers, and Joanna had also taken part since her

return, using mainly short pieces from anthologies, and poems that

she knew he liked. Sometimes he seemed to remember, but most of

the time he didn't. She wondered sadly if he would forget her too once

she no longer lived at Chalfont House.

'Planning to throw yourself in, Joanna?'

She started violently. She'd been so deep in her reverie, she hadn't

been aware of Cal Blackstone's approach, until he was standing right

beside her.

'I'm not the suicidal type,' she said, recovering herself swiftly. 'But I

might make a good murderess.'

'That explains your choice of meeting-place, no doubt.' He looked

around him with appreciation. 'Perhaps I should warn you that I'm a

strong swimmer.' He perched on the guard-rail separating the path

from the water, and looked at her. She returned his gaze unwillingly.

He was casually dressed today in cream trousers that hugged his

strong thighs and long, muscular legs, and a short-sleeved navy shirt,

open at the neck. His chest and forearms were tanned, and shadowed

with dark hair. She was sharply and disturbingly aware of his strong

male physicality. Hurriedly she looked past him to the water.

'And also there's a witness.' She pointed to the dinghy and its

occupant.

'So it will have to be ground glass in my porridge after all.'

She winced inwardly at this passing reference to the fact that they

would soon be having breakfast together. God, but he was sure of

himself, she thought bitterly.

'I presume you've talked to Simon,' Cal went on.

'Yes.' She paused. 'It seems you were right. But it won't be necessary

to do an audit. I've decided to make up the deficit myself with some

money I— happen to have.'

'He doesn't deserve that.'

'He's my brother,' Joanna said shortly. She gave him a straight look.

'Now that I'm back in Northwaite for good, I'm planning to get work

of some kind. I want to know if you'll allow me to pay off his

gambling debts out of my salary as and when I can afford it.'

'You'd actually be prepared to do that?'

'Yes, I would,' she said. 'Simon's weak, and he's been a fool—I

acknowledge that. But if you go ahead with your threat and make him

bankrupt, then Fiona will leave him, and, although I don't care for her

very much, he'll have lost everything in the world that he loves.'

'My offer stands,' he said softly. 'It is not open to negotiation. But then

you knew that already, didn't you?'

'I hoped,' she said, 'that some last-minute stirrings of decency might

prevail with you.'

'I've always found them an unnecessary luxury,' he said calmly. 'Stop

beating about the bush, Joanna. Do you accept my offer or not?'

In the folds of her cream dress, her hands were balled into fists, the

nails scoring the soft flesh of her palms. She looked past him at the

encircling hills, patterned by sunlight and cloud.

'I must,' she said. 'I won't let your sick plans wreck Simon's marriage.'

'He'd probably be better off without the silly bitch.'

'Or lose him his unborn child.'

Cal Blackstone's smile was satirical. 'A boy to carry on the Chalfont

name?'

'Perhaps.'

'How very dynastic.'

'Isn't that what all men want?'

He shrugged. 'I'm unable to speak for the world at large. For myself, I

have no immediate plans to make you pregnant, if that's what you

want to know.'

Joanna was aware of a ridiculous urge to blush. 'I'm pleased to hear it.'

She made her voice as offhand as possible. 'For the record, what are

your immediate plans?'

He looked meditatively down at the water. 'I thought we might have

dinner together this evening.' He paused. 'Followed, of course, by

breakfast tomorrow morning.'

It was no more than she'd expected, and exactly what she'd feared.

Dry-throated, she said, 'You—don't waste any time, do you?'

'I've wasted far too much already.' He looked her over, brows raised.

'Don't look so stricken, Mrs Bentham. You've been married, and

survived. You know what happens.'

She made herself stare back at him. 'Is that a proposal, Mr

Blackstone?'

He grinned. 'Not at all. I'm not the marrying kind.'

'And how long is this—informal arrangement destined to last?' she

asked with icy scorn.

'Until I decide to call a halt.' His eyes lingered on the thrust of her

breasts under her thin dress, as intimately as a caress. 'Don't hope for

any miracles.'

'I hope for nothing from you.'

His smile widened insolently. 'Now that's carrying pessimism too far.'

He paused, watching the colour flood into her face. 'I shall expect you

to join me at the country club at eight this evening,' he went on. 'And

don't make me come and fetch you, because that would annoy me.'

'I'm shivering in my shoes,' she flung at him, furious with herself for

blushing.

'No, lass, not you.' He swung himself off the rail, dusting off his

trousers. 'You're not a weakling like Simon. You're a chip off the old

block. Taming you, Joanna Chalfont, is going to be a privilege as well

as a pleasure.'

'You're disgusting, Callum Blackstone!' She held herself very

straight. 'I loathe and despise you, and I always will!'

He laughed, running a hatefully casual finger down the curve of her

warm cheek. 'Tell me that again in the morning,' he said, and walked