When the Devil Drives (11 page)

itwas Cal's decision, not hers, that she did not have even more to

regret.

If it hadn't been for those sleeping-pills, she thought wonderingly,

would I have had the strength to leave- to walk out on him if he'd

touched me—kissed me as he did just now?

It was a question for which it suddenly seemed impossible to find an

acceptable answer.

And that was why it was so imperative to find some alternative

method of recovering Simon and the Craft Company from his

clutches, Joanna thought grimly, as she stared through the

windscreen.

Because she knew now, quite unequivocally, that she could not

submit to Cal's demands. It was impossible—unthinkable, and

always had been. Her reaction to him in the past half-hour had shown

her that with terrifying clarity.

She had intended to remain bitterly aloof, scornfully immune from

his lovemaking, granting him no more than the shell of her being.

But in one brief, devastating lesson, Cal had shown her that there was

no immunity. Those few minutes in his arms had taught her a number

of shattering truths about her own sexuality. And if she was to

comply, physically, with the cynical bargain he'd offered her, she

knew now she could not hope to remain emotionally untouched.

She shook her head. It still seemed unbelievable that she could have

stood there like that, half naked—allowing him every intimacy he

sought. And seeking more herself.

The admission made her flinch, but it had to be faced. If he'd stripped

her completely, taken here there on the floor, she would not have

denied him.

Her brain, her spirit, her sense of decency might reject him, but her

body wanted him, as simply and completely as it needed food and

water. Yet, if she did surrender to him, she would be lost forever in

some destructive limbo of self-betrayal.

I could never forgive myself, she thought, shivering.

Somehow the money to pay him off had to be raised, and Joanna drew

a deep, painful breath as she reviewed the magnitude of the task

ahead of them.

Yet there must still be avenues left to explore, in spite of what Simon

had said. They could not afford to be pessimistic. There was too much

at stake for that.

There was her mother's jewellery for a start, she thought, wincing. It

had been left, divided between them, and Simon had made Fiona a

gift of his share when they married. But if Joanna was reluctantly

prepared to sell her share, there was no guarantee her sister-in-law

would do the same, at least, not without the kind of explanations

Simon most wanted to avoid.

And there was no way in which her father could be approached, even

in his most lucid moments, she told herself adamantly. Simon and she

had agreed that his income had to remain sacrosanct, devoted to his

needs, paying the wages of Gresham and Nanny who cared for him

with such unremitting devotion.

And anyway, how could they confess that Simon had recklessly

jeopardised their remaining security by mortgaging it to Cal

Blackstone of all people? Heaven only knew what the shock of that

might do to Anthony Chalfont and his precarious hold on reality.

Meanwhile, in the short term her safest, in fact, her only course was to

avoid being alone with Cal Blackstone in private again.

But that was easier said than done, she thought, frowning. She would

have to play a cat-and-mouse game of her own, if she was to avoid his

company without alerting his suspicions.

If he guessed for one minute what she was doing, then his wrath

would fall on Simon, setting in train moves to bankrupt him, so

finding alternative finance—and fast—was absolutely crucial.

I'll get together with Simon this evening, she decided, restarting the

car. And we'll discuss quietly, and without acrimony, what's to be

done. There has to be some solution we haven't considered yet. There

just has to be.

And now that she was back, she was determined to play a much larger

part than before in the running of the Craft Company, where her first

action would be to hire a business consultant to advise them properly,

she decided with a certain grimness.

Really, we've done little more than muddle along in the past, trusting

to luck rather than judgement, she thought in self-castigation, as she

turned into the dritfe of Chalfont House. And all that's achieved has

been to let us fall into Cal Blackstone's hand like—a ripe plum from

the tree. We need to make ourself invulnerable against him, and all

potential marauders.

To her surprise, Simon's car was parked in front of the house. Maybe

she wouldn't have to wait all day to talk to him after all, she thought

hopefully. But then she realised he was carefully helping Fiona out of

the passenger seat, and her spirits sank, plummeting totally when she

recognised the third person emerging from the car as Fiona's mother.

She had been seen too. They had all turned and were staring at the car,

so it was too late to reverse back down the drive, and return at a more

convenient moment.

Cursing silently, she switched off the engine and got out, aware of the

inimical gaze of three pairs of eyes as she crossed the gravel. She

forced a smile.

'Good morning, Mrs Driscoll. Are you feeling better, Fiona? Hi,

Simon.'

'Good morning to you, Joanna,' Mrs Driscoll said coldly, looking her

up and down, and missing nothing. She turned magisterially to

Simon. 'I think we can see now why your sister was not available

when you telephoned earlier.' She took Fiona's arm. 'Come along,

darling. Mummy will take you up to your room for a nice lie-down.'

She gave Joanna a fulminating glare before sweeping her daughter

away.

Joanna risked a glance at her brother, and saw he was pale with

temper.

'What the hell's going on?' he demanded explosively, as the figures of

his wife and mother-in-law vanished into the house. 'Where have you

been? I sent Mrs Thursgood up to your room to look for you this

morning, and she said your bed hadn't been slept in.'

Joanna bit her lip. 'I wasn't expecting you to call,' she returned. 'I left a

message that I was spending the night with friends.'

'Friends?' Simon's eyes scanned her with open scepticism. 'What

friends are these, for Pete's sake? You look as if you've spent a night

on the tiles- coming home in your evening clothes!' He snorted. 'God

only knows what Fiona's mother thought!'

'The worst, I expect,' Joanna said coolly. 'She usually does.'

'Well, you might have behaved with a little more discretion,' Simon

muttered. 'The harm's done now. She'll expect some sort of

explanation.'

'Well, she certainly won't get one from me,' Joanna retorted crisply. 'I

don't have to answer to your mother-in-law for my- actions, thank

God.' She paused. 'What's she doing here anyway?'

'She's come to stay for a few days—to be with Fiona.' Simon's tone

was correspondingly short. 'That's why I telephoned you earlier—to

ask you to arrange a room for her.'

'You've invited Mrs Driscoll here—in present circumstances?' Joanna

shook her head. 'I don't believe it, Simon. You couldn't.'

'I didn't actually have a choice—Fiona insisted. Anyway, if you're

referring to this business with Cal Blackstone, you've surely thought

of some way by now to keep him off our backs for a while. I've got

enough on my plate with Fiona, and the baby coming.'

Joanna looked at him, anger stirring within her. He. made it all sound

so simple, she thought helplessly. She'd asked herself a hundred times

since Simon's confession how he could possibly have got into such a

mess. But really the answer was more than clear—sheer, selfish,

unthinking stupidity.

She said, 'Simon, this is actually your problem, not mine. Maybe

you've forgotten that.'

'Thank you so much.' He glared at her. 'And here's something you've

apparently forgotten as well. If I go under, so do all the Chalfonts. We

stand to lose everything. Or don't you care any more, now that you've

changed your name?'

If she hadn't felt so sick at heart, she could almost have laughed

aloud.

'No,' she said. 'I care very much. As it happens, I've been giving the

matter my earnest consideration almost non-stop. And you and I need

to have a serious talk.'

He looked at his watch. 'Well, it will have to be some other time. I've

got to get to the office,' he said hurriedly. He moved towards his car,

then paused. 'Make sure Ma Driscoll has everything she needs, Jo.

You know Mrs Thursgood never thinks beyond clean sheets. I'll see

you later.'

She watched his car shoot off down the drive, then turned wearily to

mount the steps.

She knew what Simon was doing, of course. He was running away,

trying to bury his head in the sand, just as she'd done herself only

months before.

With Aunt Vinnie's wisdom and common sense to bolster her, she'd

learned to face reality at last. But that was a lesson Simon still had to

learn, and until he did it was doubtful whether she could rely on him

for even reluctant co-operation, let alone active support.

She had, it seemed, to fight Cal Blackstone alone with whatever

weapons were at her disposal.

So be it, she thought bleakly, and walked into the house.

JOANNA felt better after she'd had a bath. She lay up to her neck in

warm, scented, foaming water, thinking, planning and calculating.

The clothes she'd been wearing the night before, down to her shoes,

she bundled into a bin liner and threw into the back of her wardrobe to

be disposed of later.

She wished the memories of the past twenty-four hours could be

discarded as easily, but in spite of all her efforts to blot them out they

kept returning to plague her, forcing her to recall Cal's kisses, the

touch of his hands on her body. And, most damaging of all, the way

her entire being had flamed in response to his touch.

But maybe she needed to remember how close she had come to

degrading herself completely. Perhaps that was necessary to fuel her

anger, her enmity, her will to win against Cal Blackstone at all costs.

At the same time, she wished she could be sure of Simon's support in

the battle. Having involved her totally in his problems, he now

seemed to be distancing himself, leaving her alone to find a solution.

It wasn't fair, but, on his past performances, Joanna had to admit it

was fairly typical. Simon, she thought, had always behaved as if

confessing a fault absolved him of all need to put things right. He's

like a child, she reflected with a sigh, and probably always will be.

She left the bath reluctantly and dressed in pale honey-coloured linen

trousers and a matching shirt. She went downstairs, just in time to see

Mrs Thursgood disappearing kitchenwards in an obvious huff.

Mrs Driscoll was in sole occupation of the drawing- room, glancing

through a copy of
Yorkshire Life.
She looked up, pursing her lips.

'So there you are, Joanna. I've ordered some coffee. Perhaps you'd

care to join me.'

Joanna pushed her hands into her pockets. 'I'm glad you're making

yourself at home.'

The irony in her voice, if recognised, went disregarded.

'Oh, I regard myself as quite part of the family.' Mrs Driscoll paused.

'When I saw Fiona settled, I went to visit your father. Poor soul, he

seems to be going downhill fast. I'm sure it can't be good for him, shut

up in those four walls all the time, brooding about the past. He needs a

change of scenery, lively company to take him out of himself. Have

you sought specialist help for him? Because if not I'm sure I could

recommend some very good people.'

Joanna silently counted to ten. 'I can assure you my father is quite

happy with his papers and photographs. We make sure he has the best

of care.'

'I hope you're right.' Mrs Driscoll gave a silvery laugh. 'He's certainly

very well guarded. Your elderly nanny is quite a dragon, but I'm sure

she didn't mean to be offensive.'

I wouldn't count on it, Joanna thought drily. Aloud, she said, trying to

keep her voice natural, 'Nanny also regards herself as part of the

family.'

'That can so often be a problem with people who've been in the

household for years.' Mrs Driscoll sighed gustily. 'But as long as she

confines herself to looking after your poor father and doesn't try to

interfere in caring for Fiona's baby when it arrives, there shouldn't be

too much trouble. Fiona's father and I intend to provide her, of course,

with someone young and totally reliable, preferably with Norland