returned to find Cal with a wife. If then she would have recognised
her enmity, her inimical opposition to him for what it really was—the
obverse side of love?
As it was, it hadn't taken long for the truth to dawn on her. And now
she had to bear the burden of that truth for the rest of her life.
Anthony Chalfont stirred in his uneasy sleep, and muttered
something. Joanna clasped his fingers in her own, and he subsided
again.
In some ways she could be thankful that she hadn't been called on to
make the inevitable choice between her family and her lover. Safe in
his twilight world, her father would never know how close she'd
come to betraying the Chalfont name.
The Montagues and Capulets have nothing on us, she thought with
self-derision. I'd have found myself cut off with the proverbial
shilling and deleted from the family Bible.
But I might have settled for that if only Cal had loved me;
'You can't love him,' said Anthony Chalfont. 'You can't leave us.'
For one stricken moment, Joanna wondered if she'd spoken her
unhappy thoughts aloud. But she knew that was impossible.
Her fingers tightened on his. 'It's all right, darling.' She made her
voice soothing. 'I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. It's all right.'
His eyes were open, searching her upturned face with total
incomprehension.
'Don't go, Mummy,' he said. His hand clung painfully to hers. 'Stay
with me, please. Say you love me best, better than him. Please,
Mummy!'
A long, icy shiver passed down Joanna's back. When he looked at her,
what was he seeing? A woman with fair hair drawn back from her
face. But a face from the past rather than the present.
She said softly, 'It's all right, darling. What makes you think I'm
leaving?'
'I heard,' he said. 'I heard you and Father last night. He was shouting.
I hate it when he shouts.'
Joanna's heart missed a beat. 'What did you hear?' She tried to keep
her voice level.
'He said he'd see you dead before you went to him. And he'd turn him
and his other brat into the gutter to starve. What did he mean?'
'Father was just angry,' Joanna said quietly. Other brat? she thought,
suddenly aware that Nanny was standing in the doorway, as still as if
she'd been turned to stone. 'People say terrible things when they're
angry, but they don't mean them.'
'Father means them.' Anthony Chalfont's voice sounded dead,
exhausted. 'He always means them. Don't leave me with him.'
'No,' she said. 'No, I won't. Try and sleep now.'
He gave a long, defeated sigh and closed his eyes again. Gradually his
grip on her hand relaxed, and she was able, gently, to extricate
herself.
Nanny closed the door, her expression grim. 'What brought that on?'
she asked, as she came over to Mr Chalfont's chair. 'Have you been
upsetting him, Miss Jo, prying into things best forgotten?'
'Best forgotten?' Joanna's brows lifted. 'How on earth can you say
that? We were just sitting here, and he began talking, begging me not
to leave. He obviously thought I was his mother.'
'He's always confused at this time of day.'
'He seemed perfectly rational to me.' Joanna said evenly. 'This was
something from his childhood he was remembering. Some terrible,
traumatic thing. You were his nanny. I'm sure you would have known
what was going on.'
'Leave the past be, Miss Jo. You'll do no good by raking over the
ashes...'
'I'll be the judge of that.' Joanna paused for a moment, collecting her
whirling thoughts. 'Simon told me that Callum Blackstone tried to
rape my grandmother,--but that isn't true, is it? She was in love with
him. She was planning to go away with him and Grandfather found
out. He made her stay, and that's why she changed so much in the
photographs.'
'Photographs?' Nanny shook her head. 'You'll find no photographs of
her in this house, Miss Jo. He took every last one and burned them
after she—she...
Haven't you ever wondered about all the gaps in them albums?'
'Well—yes.' Joanna retrieved the leather-bound book from the carpet
at her feet. 'Then who's the woman beside Grandfather in all these
pictures?'
•That's your grandfather's sister. Myra, they called her. She came to
keep house for him—afterwards. Ended up marrying the Methodist
minister and going off to some mission station. Said even if there
were cannibals, they couldn't be worse than your grandfather.'
Joanna swallowed. 'Was he that bad?'
'He was a hard man, Miss Jo, and cold as winter. He never needed a
human wife, he was married to that damned old mill of his. Work was
all he ever thought of, and making more money. And she --'
Nanny's face was gentle, suddenly, and sad. 'Ah, but she were lovely,
and no one ever said different. She had all the warmth and joy in her
that he lacked. Living with her might have softened him, but it didn't.
He left her alone too much, especially after your dad was born. She
had nowt to do but rattle around in this house, and it weren't enough,
so she took up with charity work.'
'And met Callum Blackstone?'
'I've said enough.' Nanny's lips tightened. 'It's not for me to judge her,
anyway. I thought the world of her. I only stayed here to look after
your .dad because she begged me. She didn't want him turning the
boy against her after she'd died. But it was Callum Blackstone he
poisoned your dad's mind with, repeating the same old lies over and
over again, making Mr Anthony believe them. Maybe he even came
to believe than himself, after a time. It seemed to me he was a man
who enjoyed hating—your grandfather. But hatred destroys in the
end, and he never understood that.'
'My God!' Joanna said unsteadily. 'Why did you let me grow up
thinking...? Why didn't you tell us the truth, Simon and me?'
'Because it wasn't my place,' Nanny said firmly. 'I wouldn't have
spoken now, but for Mr Tony saying those things. He must have had
them tucked away at the back of his mind since he was a little lad.'
'I suppose so,' Joanna said. There was a tightness in her chest. 'There's
one more thing I have to know, Nanny.' She paused, taking a deep
breath. 'My grandmother—did she die of natural causes?'
Nanny looked shocked. 'Oh, aye, Miss Jo, it was natural enough. Just
one of those sad things that doctors can't explain. She lost the baby,
and just seemed to—fade.' She shook her head again, her face wistful.
'No, your grandfather wasn't a violent man- not in that way. You
mustn't ever think that. But there was no kindness in him, no
forgiveness, and maybe she knew the sort of life she could expect
from then on.' She sighed. 'He'd have given her hell on earth, Miss Jo.
Hell on earth. So perhaps she didn't fight too hard at the end.'
'We should have been told, Simon and I.' Joanna beat her clenched
fist into the palm of the other hand. 'We shouldn't have grown up
believing all those lies- adding to the hatred, the misunderstanding.'
'Well, it's in your hands now, Miss Jo. Maybe you could do
something to heal the breach, if you wanted.' Nanny sent her a shrewd
look. 'Vera Thursgood was saying there'd been talk lately, linking you
with a certain other person...'
Joanna forced frozen lips to smile. 'Well, Mrs Thursgood shouldn't
believe everything she hears. I'm afraid there'll be no healing done.'
She bent and dropped a kiss on her father's hair. 'It's too late for that.'
Too late, she thought, as she went slowly back to the solitude of her
own room. Much, much too late.
It was not a pleasant evening. Dinner was served by Mrs Thursgood
with a certain amount of clashing of crockery. Mrs Driscoll appeared
on the point of speaking her mind several times, but subsided after
receiving a minatory look from Fiona.
Joanna, observing this with detached interest, wondered if her
strictures had borne fruit after all. She herself was regarded warily by
both women, as if she were a hand grenade which might or might not
explode. When the meal was over, she accompanied them to the
drawing-room, and sat in dutiful silence through a series of
nondescript television programmes, while Mrs Driscoll, occupying
the sofa in an almost tangible aura of disgruntlement, added a crochet
edging to the matinee coat she had just completed.
It was frankly a relief to Joanna when she could announce her
intention of having an early night, and retire upstairs.
She had not expected to sleep, and yet she. found her eyelids were
closing almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. Her dreams
were fleeting, elusive, disturbing. Always she seemed to be searching
for something that remained just beyond her reach.
When she felt a touch on her shoulder, she was awake in an instant. 'It
still feels like the middle of the night,' she yawned, lifting herself on
to an elbow.
'It is the middle of the night, Miss Jo.' It was Nanny who'd woken her,
and beyond her Mrs Thursgood was hovering in the doorway. 'Can
you come downstairs a minute? There's been some trouble at the
Craft Company. A policeman would like to have a word with you.'
'Oh, God!' She was out of bed immediately, reaching for her robe and
thrusting her feet into slippers.
The policeman was waiting in the drawing-room. He was big and fair
and serious-looking.
'I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you, madam,' he said. 'There's
been a fire at your workshops.'
'Oh, no!' Joanna ran her tongue round suddenly dry lips. 'Has it done
much damage?'
'I'm afraid so. It had got a good hold by the time the alarm went off,
although someone had reported it before then.' He paused. 'It was
actually Mr Simon Chalfont I wanted to have a word with, but your
housekeeper informs me he's not expected home tonight/
'That's right.' Joanna kept her voice calm. 'But his partner, Mr Philip
Driscoll, is available...'
'Oh, we've been in touch with Mr Driscoll. He's been down at the
scene of the fire for the past hour, together with Mr Callum
Blackstone, who's got a major financial interest, I understand.'
'Why—yes,' Joanna said slowly. 'But that isn't generally known. Who
contacted him?'
'No one, madam. He's the one who reported the fire in the first
instance. He happened to be driving past and realised something was
wrong,'
'I—see,' Joanna said slowly Mid untruthfully. 'How fortunate.'
'Joanna?' Fiona's voice sounded from the doorway. 'What's going on?
What's wrong?' Her eyes widened as she saw the policeman. 'Oh!'
Her hand went up to clutch at her throat. 'It's Simon, isn't it? There's
been some terrible accident...'
'No, of course not.' Joanna moved to her side.
'Oh, thank heavens!' Fiona looked at the policeman. 'I've been so
worried, officer. My husband simply vanished today, and none of us
knows where he is. You couldn't find him for me, I suppose?'
'Not unless he's been reported as a missing person, madam, and that
would seem slightly premature.' But the policeman was frowning.
Joanna intervened swiftly. 'My brother's away on business, officer.
He tends to be a little vague about his movements sometimes.'
'So what has happened?' Fiona demanded.
'There's been a fire at the Craft Company—a pretty extensive one,'
Joanna told her.
'Oh, is that all?' Fiona shrugged her shoulders.
'All?' Joanna was appalled. 'Fiona—our business premises have been
just about destroyed.'
'But the insurance will cover it. Simon increased it only recently. He
told me so.'
There was a silence. The policeman's frown deepened. 'Did he
indeed, madam? Well, that was very far-sighted of him. Quite
providential, in fact. Let's hope that any claim that's made is perfectly
straightforward.'
'Is there any reason why it shouldn't be?' Joanna did her best to sound
casual, but her heart was thudding uncomfortably.
The policeman gave her a long, unwavering look. 'There's some
evidence that a fire was deliberately started on the premises, madam,
so naturally there will have to be a strict investigation. That's why Mr
Blackstone disclosed his financial interest in the company to us.
Quite understandably, he wishes to be kept fully informed about our
enquiries.' He paused. 'Perhaps you can see now, madam, why we're
so keen to have a word with Mr Simon Chalfont.'
Simon's words came floating back into Joanna's head. 'He'll take
nothing else—I'll make sure of that.' He'd said he'd do whatever he
had to, she thought numbly. He'd said he was desperate. The room
swayed around her.
Needs must when the devil drives.