When the Devil Drives (7 page)

away from her up the path towards the car park.

Joanna was suddenly aware that her breathing was as hurried as if

she'd been taking part in some marathon race, and that her legs had

turned to jelly, but she made herself stand there, unmoving and

defiant, until his car started up, and turned on to the road above.

She saw him lower the window and lean out, lifting his hand in a

mocking salute.

'Until tonight.' The words came to her faintly, and were instantly

picked up by the crowding hills, and echoed back with disagreeable

triumph, and all too distinctly. Until tonight—until tonight...

With a little sob, Joanna pressed her hands over her ears, and began to

stumble up the path towards her own vehicle.

Damn him, she thought violently. Damn him for all eternity!

Joanna's watch said eight o'clock precisely as she walked up the steps

and through the revolving door into the foyer of the country club.

The dark, pretty receptionist gave her a welcoming smile. 'Can I help

you, madam?'

I wish you could, Joanna thought. Aloud, she said, 'Mr Blackstone is

expecting me.'

The girl discreetly consulted a clipboard under the broad mahogany

desk. 'Oh, yes, Mrs Bentham. If you'd like to leave your wrap,

Gregory our head waiter will take you to Mr Blackstone's table in the

restaurant. Mr Blackstone is waiting for a telephone call from the

States, and will join you as soon as possible.'

Joanna surrendered the fringed embroidered shawl she was wearing

over her black dress, and followed a deferential Gregory through a

luxuriously fitted cocktail bar to the dining-room beyond. It was an

elegant room, its lavishly decorated ceiling supported by gilded

pillars, and with french windows running the length of one wall.

Although it was still relatively early, more than half the tables were

already occupied, many of them by people Joanna knew, she realised

with embarrassment. She was aware of a battery of interested glances

as Gregory conducted her with some ceremony to a table set for two

and discreetly placed in a corner of the room, which in turn was half

screened by a trellis of climbing plants.

The first thing she saw was the bottle of champagne waiting on ice.

The second was the perfect crimson rose just beginning to unfurl its

petals in the centre of the table. Her lips tightened angrily.

'May I get you a drink, madam?' Gregory asked as he seated her.

'Perrier water, please, with a twist of lemon.'

She was glad that the table was comparatively private, but knew that

the damage had already been done, and quite deliberately too.

Everyone in the restaurant would know that this was the first time

she'd ever set foot in the country club, just as Cal Blackstone

intended. They would also know this was his private table she was

sitting at, and be putting two and two together to arrive at some

amazing totals. The gossip and rumour would spread out from the

Northwaite valley like the ripples from a stone dropped into a pool of

water, she thought contemptuously.

What none of them would actually guess was the truth. Because that

defied belief.

Her drink arrived and she sipped it, glaring at the champagne and the

rose. How dared he? How dared he treat this as if it were some kind of

love tryst, a cause for celebration, instead of the vile, sordid

assignation that it really was?

She wished she had the guts to cause another sensation by throwing

the whole shooting match through the nearest window and then

marching out. But she knew that Cal Blackstone would be totally

unamused by such behaviour, and that any retribution would be

visited on Simon, not on herself. I can't risk that, she thought.

She'd hoped to see Simon when he came home from work, but he'd

eaten an early dinner and departed for the nursing home while she

was upstairs dressing. Clearly he was still in a profound huff.

She had left a message with Gresham that she was going to be out

overnight, staying at a friend's, and no one was to worry, then fled to

her car before Nanny could find her and start putting her through the

usual inquisition. If she lied, Nanny would know at once. Yet how

could she tell her the truth? In Nanny's book, unwed people courted in

a respectable manner, and did not share a roof, let alone a bed, before

the wedding ceremony, even in the nineteen nineties. Joanna's fall

from grace would be roundly and endlessly condemned.

She sighed inwardly. At best, she was only postponing a series of

awkward confrontations which would become inevitable when talk

got back to Chalfont House. She would obviously have Simon to

explain to as well. And no doubt Fiona and her ghastly mother would

have their say in addition.

There was a sudden stir in the restaurant, and with a sinking heart she

knew that Cal was on his way. Her fingers tightened achingly around

the tumbler.

'Darling, can you forgive me? My call from the States was delayed.'

She looked up, saw Gregory hovering attentively at his shoulder and

forced a poor imitation of a smile. 'It doesn't matter. I've been well

looked after.'

'You must be starving.' Cal sat down, signalling for menus to be

brought. 'What would you like to eat?'

The beautiful copperplate handwriting seemed to dance

meaninglessly before her eyes. Her throat was closing up suddenly,

and she was trembling all over. She put the menu down.

'I can't go through with this,' she said hoarsely.

'Come now, beauty, my chef isn't that bad.'

'This is not a joke.' She pounded a desperate fist on the immaculate

tablecloth. 'It is not funny!'

'No,' he said. He was still smiling, but his eyes were like chips of ice.

'It isn't. We have a bargain, Mrs Bentham, and by God you're going to

keep your side of it. Or does Brother Simon's welfare no longer seem

so important to you?'

'You know it does. But there must be some other way. You—you

can't want me like this—hating you.'

'You spent six months of your life sleeping with a man you didn't give

a damn about.' Cal shrugged a shoulder. 'At least hatred implies

passion—of a sort. I prefer that to indifference.'

'How dare you?' Joanna's violet eyes flared. 'You know nothing about

my relationship with Martin. You're not fit to mention his name!'

'Don't be silly,' he said wearily. 'I was at school with him. And you

and I both know perfectly well why you married him as you did. They

say "Marry in haste, repent at leisure", don't they? Well, you've done

your penance, Joanna. Now you can start to live again.'

'With you?' she threw at him bitterly.

'With no one else,' he said. 'And you'd better believe that.'

'If you take me, it will be rape.'

He studied her flushed, pleading face for a long moment, his firm lips

smiling faintly.

'No,' he said at last, 'it won't. I promise you that, Joanna.'

'What else can it be, when the very thought of you nauseates me?'

'Then stop thinking,' he said. 'Have something to eat instead, and

you'll start to feel better. I can recommend the Dover sole.'

'It would choke me.'

'I wouldn't blame it,' he said drily. He put his menu down. 'Go hungry,

then, if you feel you're making some valid moral point. I intend to

have clear soup, and the fillet steak, fare. I'm sure you can make some

capital out of that.'

When Gregory came for their order,- Joanna said curtly that she

would have melon and Dover sole. She didn't look at Cal, but the

expected sarcastic comment did not come.

She watched in hostile silence as the champagne was opened.

When the wine waiter departed, she said coldly, 'Is there supposed to

be something to celebrate?'

'That might be pushing it, I agree,' he said, his mouth twisting.

'Although we could always drink to the final burying of the hatchet

between us.' He gave her inimical expression a quizzical glance. 'No?

Then let's regard this more in the nature of a launch, a beginning.' He

lifted his glass in a toast. 'To our better understanding, Joanna. We'll

leave it at that.'

She hesitated, then took a reluctant sip.

'Bravo,' he said silkily. 'I know what that must have cost you.'

The meal when it came was excellent. Cal chatted easily on purely

non-personal topics while they ate, or while Joanna pushed her food

round the plate in a pretence of eating, and returned monosyllabic

responses when required. How could he behave so normally, she

wondered, seething, as if this were just any social occasion?

'Would you like some dessert?' he asked as the table was cleared.

She shook her head. 'Just coffee, please.'

'Then we'll have that upstairs,' he said. 'I make very good coffee.'

It was too late to do an about-face and demand the sweet trolley.

Joanna crumpled her napkin and got slowly to her feet.

There was a lift, marked 'Private'. He ushered her into it, and pressed

the button. She leaned against the metal wall, feeling her heart

fluttering against her rib- cage, as the lift rose all too swiftly. The

palms of her hands felt clammy, but he might notice if she tried to

wipe them on her skirt.

The lift stopped and the doors slid open. She emerged and walked

across a carpeted passage to an imposing pair of double doors. He

unlocked them and stood aside to allow her to precede him into the

room.

It was huge, with tall Georgian windows looking towards the western

evening sky. The heavy cream brocade curtains were undrawn, to

admit the last vestiges of daylight, but the lamps had been lit and

glowed softly on tables and in alcoves. The furnishings, she saw,

were comfortable without being ostentatious, and traditional in

concept rather than trendy. It was neither vulgar nor
nouveau riche,
as

she'd half expected, and she didn't know whether to be glad or sorry.

'Sit down.' Cal gestured towards one of the deeply cushioned sofas.

'And I'll see to the coffee.' He pointed to a door. 'That's the kitchen.'

He paused. 'And the bedroom and bathroom are over there.'

Joanna deliberately avoided looking in the direction indicated.

'Everything opens out of this room?' she asked stiltedly.

He nodded. 'I had the whole of the first floor of this wing remodelled,

and simplified. When I'm at home and relaxing, I don't want to have

to walk down a lot of unnecessary passages to reach what I need.'

Joanna had too often bewailed the Victorian inconveniences of

Chalfont House to argue with that.

She sat rigidly on the edge of the sofa, listening to him moving

around the kitchen, the chink of crockery, the sound of a percolator.

The aroma of coffee drifted persuasively into the room.

In the deepening velvet sky beyond the windows, stars were

beginning to appear, and she could hear music, slow and dreamy,

emanating from some other part of the building.

She was surrounded by all the elements of a romantic idyll, she

thought helplessly, yet in reality she was being subjected to the

crudest form of blackmail. He couldn't really mean it, she told herself.

He was stringing her along, playing a cruel joke. He had to be. Didn't

he?

'Revenge,' he'd said. 'A dish best eaten cold.' No joke in that, she

thought, and a long aching shiver ran through her.

He returned with the tray, which he set down on a table in front of the

sofa.

'Cream and sugar?' he asked.

'Just cream, please,' said Joanna, staring down at the carpet. She

accepted the cup he handed her, and swallowed some of the strong,

powerful brew. It seemed to put heart into her—to give her the

courage to make one last appeal to him.

She put the cup down, and said, 'Tell me something—why are you

doing this?'

For a moment he said nothing, and she went on hurriedly, 'I mean,

you don't need to—to force women to be with you. So why me?'

'Because you've been a thorn in my flesh for too long and for too

many reasons,' he said quietly. 'And because I know that I wouldn't

have got within a mile of you in any other way.' He smiled with a kind

of reminiscent bitterness. 'Every time I met you socially, you used to

look at me as if I were the worst kind of dirt. You seemed to be

encased in ice, always at a distance, even when you were a little girl.

You were either away at school, or shut up in that big barracks of a

house.' He paused, his mouth twisting slightly. 'Or riding round in

your father's car like a little princess.'

'I remember that well,' she said savagely. 'I remember those yobs

throwing stones at us, while you egged them on.'