himself, staving off the vision of some demon come to possess him.
He stepped backwards away from her, his eyes never leaving her
face.
He said harshly, 'Oh, no, Joanna. Oh, God, no!'
Three quick strides took him to the door. She leaned back against the
desk, gripping its edge until the knuckles turned white, willing herself
not to cry out, to beg him to come back to her.
She heard the door slam. Heard the sound of his footsteps retreating
down the uncarpeted passage. Listened, ears straining for the sound
of his car departing. Knew, when she heard it, that he had gone, and
she was alone.
'It's over,' she whispered. 'It's all over.'
Her voice seemed to come from a great distance. Only the edge of the
desk, bruising her fingers, seemed to have any connection with
reality. Because reality hurt. Reality drew blood.
She could taste blood in her mouth, and realised she had bitten deeply
into the swollen softness of her lower lip. She touched the little
wound delicately with the tip of her finger, regarding the resultant red
smear. It would heal and leave no mark.
But there were other scars, internal, emotional, that would never fade.
And they would be her only, her lonely legacy from Cal.
That was all there ever would—ever could be between them, she
thought, as the first tearing sob rose in her throat.
IT WAS late afternoon before Joanna returned to Chalfont House.
She'd been driving around endlessly, aimlessly for hours, trying to
make some kind of decision about her life, a plan for the future, and
failing miserably. She could think of nothing but that brief, searing
and hideously final confrontation between Cal and herself.
Over and over again she told herself that Cal's dismissal of her was no
more than she'd expected, and that she should be thankful that he had
wearied of his joke before taking their 'relationship to the ultimate
intimacy. She'd been spared that humiliation at least.
'It's all for the best,' she kept whispering to herself, as if repeating
some mantra against harm. 'All for the best.'
But although she might be able to harness her mind rationally, it was
not so easy to control bruised emotions or the physical and sensual
awareness which he'd so swiftly and shockingly aroused.
Her aroused and aching body screamed at her that it had been cheated
of its fulfilment. And the shaming thing that would haunt her forever
was that Cal, not herself, had been the one to draw back.
Joanna knew that if he'd pulled her down there and then on to the
floor of Simon's office, and taken whatever he wanted from her, she
would not have gainsaid him. And Cal, of course, would be aware of
that too.
That was something she would have to live with.
It was a kind of perverse comfort, however, to know that he hadn't
been totally immune either. That although his plan had been to
manipulate and torment her, there had come a moment when he'd
desired her as hotly and completely as she wanted him.
At the same time, Joanna was sane enough to realise that for her to
experience the raw power of sex without any leavening gleam of love
or tenderness would be traumatic in the extreme. It was no way for
anyone as raw and unlessoned as she was to serve passion's novitiate,
and she should be grateful that she'd escaped.
The arguments ran in circles in her head. But one thing she was sure
of: if she could not have Cal's love, she would settle for loneliness,
because nothing less than his total commitment to her would do. And
that she knew she could not have.
She arrived back at the house to find another kind of confrontation
going on. Mrs Thursgood, looking ruffled and defensive, was facing
up to a clearly furious Fiona, while Mrs Driscoll played backstop
with gusto.
'What in the world --?' Joanna halted in the hall, staring at the trio.
'What's going on?'
Three voices began telling her at different volume levels, and Joanna
clapped her hands over her ears.
'One at a time, please,' she advised curtly. 'You'd better start, Fiona,
and for heaven's sake calm down!'
'Simon phoned. He didn't say where he was, only that he wouldn't be
back tonight!' Fiona wailed. 'And this idiot of a woman just took the
message, and didn't fetch me to speak to him!'
'Rank incompetence,' said Mrs Driscoll.
'Nothing of the kind,' said Mrs Thursgood, bristling. 'Madam's orders
were she was resting in her room, and wasn't to be disturbed for
anything. And Mr Simon just told me to give the message, which I've
done.'
'My own husband!' Fiona shrieked. 'You should have known I'd want
to speak to him!'
'Absolute stupidity,' said Mrs Driscoll.
'I'm not a mind-reader,' Mrs Thursgood defended herself. 'Dozens of
times, Mr Simon's rung and left messages with me, and no
complaints.'
'But this is different, because we don't know where he is,' Fiona flung
back unwisely, tears appearing in her rather prominent blue eyes. 'If
I'd spoken to him, I'd have made him tell me.'
'Reliable help is almost impossible to find these days,' said Mrs
Driscoll.
Joanna, seeing Mrs Thursgood's eyes beginning to crackle with
curiosity as well as resentment, intervened hastily.
'There's no real harm done,' she said crisply. 'It's very naughty of
Simon to be so vague, but you should be used to him by now, Fiona.
Come into the drawing- room and sit down, and Mrs Thursgood will
bring us all some tea.'
Mrs Driscoll put an arm round her daughter's shoulders and led her
away without further argument.
Joanna turned placatingly to the irate housekeeper. 'I'm sorry about
all that,' she said. 'Mrs Simon is at a difficult stage in her pregnancy,
and it makes her— highly strung sometimes.'
The expression on Mrs Thursgood's face suggested that Fiona could
not be strung highly enough for her, and she went off to the kitchen
muttering under her breath about 'spoiled madams' and 'interfering
old cats'. Joanna decided it was best to pretend deafness.
'That woman has got to go,' Mrs Driscoll stated as Joanna entered the
drawing-room.
Joanna faced her coolly, lifting her chin. 'I hardly feel that's your
decision,' she said. 'And I don't know who else you think we'd get to
run a great barn of a - place like this. Mrs Thursgood copes
magnificently, and we'd be lost without her. As you yourself said,
reliable help is hard to find these days.' She paused, glancing in her
sister-in-law's direction. 'Or has Fiona discovered a sudden penchant
for housework? I wasn't aware she even knew how to plug in a
vacuum cleaner.'
'Well!' Mrs. Driscoll said explosively.
'Not the word I'd have chosen,' Joanna returned. 'If Mrs Thursgood
leaves, you'll be in real trouble, I promise, especially from Simon,
who adores her cooking.' She paused. 'And it might be better, Fiona,
if you were a bit more discreet about Simon's absence until we find
out where he's gone and why. I'm sure you don't want to start a
rumour that he's left you.'
'You're being horrid. He hasn't,' Fiona said tearfully.
'Probably not, though I can't say I'd blame him if he had,' Joanna
retorted. 'He has all the worries of the business to cope with, and not a
particularly comfortable home life to come back to, with your
nonstop whinging, among other things,' she added with a grim
sideways glance at Mrs Driscoll.
Fiona sat bolt upright on the sofa. 'Joanna—you've never spoken to
me like this before!'
'No, I haven't,' Joanna said affably. 'But I've wanted to—many times.
It's time you got a grip, Fiona, on yourself and your marriage.' And
your mother, she added silently as she walked to the door. 'Now I'm
going up to sit with my father. I don't want to spoil your tea-party any
further.'
She felt marginally more cheerful as she walked upstairs. If she'd
persuaded Fiona to pause, even for a second, and take stock of her
life, then she might have done Simon a favour. I only hope he
deserves it, she thought with a sigh, as she went along to her father's
room.
Anthony Chalfont was lying back in his chair, his eyes closed,
breathing stertorously.
'How is he today, Nanny?' Joanna asked in a low voice.
Nanny pursed her lips. 'Not so good, Miss Jo, and that's a fact. He
didn't seem to know Gresham at all this morning, and he didn't want
his lunch. Let the whole tray tip on to the floor, just like when he was
a toddler. And he hasn't had a word to say all afternoon. It's as if he
can't hear what's said to him—or won't.'
'Oh, dear.' Joanna bit her already sore lip, and winced. 'I'll stay with
him for a while, so that you can have a break.'
'Just as you like, my dear. I'll go and see if the evening paper's come
yet.'
Joanna fetched her usual low padded stool, and seated herself beside
her father, resting her head against the arm of his chair. It was time,
she thought, that she and Simon faced up to the fact that her father's
condition wasn't just a deliberate retreat from unpleasant reality, but
was medical in origin. Her mind shied away from the more obvious
possibilities. However, it seemed clear that in the near future he
would need more specialised and stringent care than Nanny or
Gresham could provide.
Once I would simply have blamed the Blackstones, and the loss of the
mill, she thought wearily. So I suppose I'm making progress.
Cal's harsh words about her father had hurt, but she was forced to
admit they held a certain amount of justice. Other people, she
recalled, had said or hinted much the same over the years, although
she had chosen to disregard their comments. Anthony Chalfont had
been brought up to enjoy a certain lifestyle and a definite inheritance.
He was no battler for his share of the market-place, and these days
one had to be, especially in the woollen industry, she reflected sadly.
The loss of her mother had wrought a profound effect on him too.
Cecilia's had been a strong, forceful personality, not always
comfortable to live with, but certainly one to be missed.
She sighed. Whatever curse old Callum Blackstone had put. upon the
Chalfonts, it seemed to have had its effect over the years. And where
was the justice in that? Jonas Chalfont, after all, and his wife had been
the injured parties.
She got up quietly and fetched the photograph album, turning the
pages with renewed curiosity. Had an attempted rape really had the
power to turn the vibrant Joanna Chalfont into this depressed, dowdy
woman? Surely not, yet there seemed no other answer to the enigma.
Studying the photographs of her grandfather, she couldn't imagine
him being particularly caring or supportive in such a situation.
Perhaps he was one of those husbands who believed there was no
smoke without fire, and that his wife had brought her disgrace on
herself by her own conduct, she thought, grimacing.
She had no sympathy at all for such an attitude, but then neither could
she understand Cal's obvious support for his own grandfather in view
of what he'd tried to do. Unless he too believed that Joanna had led
Callum on.
She remembered the merry, beautiful face in the miniature. Was that
really the kind of woman who teased a man beyond bearing, then
tried to draw back at the last moment? It wasn't easy to believe. But
the fact that Callum Blackstone had the miniature in his possession
suggested that her grandmother had encouraged him to a certain
extent.
She must have given it to him, Joanna mused, because if he'd stolen it,
then Jonas would undoubtedly have had him charged with theft. She
shook her head vexedly. The more she thought about it, the more
bewildering it all became.
But then everything was such a mess, and had been from the start. Cal
might have repudiated her, but that didn't mean the feud was over. 'I'll
be waiting,' he'd threatened.
Joanna closed her eyes, feeling the ache of tears in her throat. She
would have to go away from the Valley. She had no choice. She
couldn't stay and see the man she loved destroy the brother she'd
always had to protect. Nor could she shield Simon any more. She'd
tried, and it had been a total disaster.
I shouldn't have interfered, she thought drearily. I should have come
back, seen what the situation was, and taken off again. But I expected
to find Cal safely married, and the feud reduced to a state of armed
neutrality at worst. I wanted an anticlimax, not a crisis.
She wondered exactly how she would have felt if she'd indeed