Free When the Devil Drives by Sara Craven Page A

worked
    too hard and sacrificed too much for what we've got to let it slip
    away.'
    'That,' she said, 'was what the Chalfonts thought too.'
    He grinned at her. 'What sort of clogs have you been wearing,
    Joanna? Italian ones with four-inch heels?' He took her by the
    shoulders and turned her towards the door. 'Now run away, and wait
    for your breakfast.'
    'I'm not hungry. And I don't take orders from you.'
    He shrugged again. 'As you wish. Stay and watch me get dressed if
    that's what turns you on.' He began to loosen the towel he was
    wearing, watching her mockingly. 'Unless, of course, you'd prefer me
    to cancel breakfast altogether—and take you back to bed?'
    'No,' Joanna said, furiously conscious that she was blushing again, 'I
    would not!'
    She swept out of the bathroom with as much dignity as she could
    muster, trying not to trip on the trailing hem of Cal's robe.
    The living-room, she found, had already been tidied and made ready
    for the day, the sofa cushions plumped and the windows opened.
    It really was a most attractive room, she decided grudgingly. The
    previous night she'd been feeling too fraught to appreciate its finer
    points, but now she could view them at her leisure.
    It was clear Cal hadn't opted for wall-to-wall professional interior
    design. The few ornaments on display had obviously been personally
    chosen over a number of years. Some were antiques, and others were
    just fun, like the collection of china bears she found on a side-table.
    The pictures were interesting too, prints mingling with original
    water-colours, while above the fireplace hung a magnificent
    oil-painting of a stark stretch of moorland, lashed by rain under a
    thunderous sky.
    Joanna wandered over to study it more closely, and it was then that
    her attention was caught by a much smaller painting hanging on the
    wall to the right of the. fireplace. It was a miniature—a head and
    shoulders portrait of a woman, no longer in the first flush of youth,
    but vibrantly, glowingly beautiful, the corners of her mouth lifting in
    a smile, half shy, half mischievous.
    I've seen her before, Joanna told herself, frowning. But where?
    The little portrait clearly belonged to a much earfier era. The
    demurely high-necked blouse, and the thick fair hair, waving back
    from her forehead, and drawn into a loose chignon at the nape of her
    neck, betrayed that.
    She was still puzzling over it when there was a tap at the door and a
    girl in an overall came in, pushing a trolley. There was a jug of chilled
    fruit juice, a basket of hot rolls and croissants wrapped in napkins,
    dishes of marmalade and other preserves, and a tall pot of coffee.
    'Is there anything else I can get you, madam?'
    Joanna's lips tightened at the sly avidity in the girl's voice. She said
    shortly, 'No, thank you,' then stopped as her eyes took in the dumpy
    figure and over-frizzed hair with dismayed recognition. She said, 'It's
    Stella, isn't it?'
    •That's right, Miss Chalfont—Mrs Bentham, I should say. Fancy you
    remembering me after all this time!'
    Once seen, never forgotten, Joanna thought without pleasure. Stella
    Dyson had worked briefly as a domestic at Chalfont House before
    Joanna had married Martin Bentham.
    She had become convinced the girl was an obsessive snoop,
    searching regularly through drawers, desks and cupboards in the
    house. She had always been finding her things slightly disarranged,
    especially in her bedroom, but couldn't prove a thing. Nothing had
    ever been missing, but the girl's behaviour was disturbing, and it was
    a relief when she'd given notice instead of having to be asked to leave.
    She was also an inveterate gossip, Joanna thought wretchedly. And
    now the whole of Northwaite would know that Joanna Bentham had
    not only dined but had breakfasted with Cal Blackstone, wearing his
    dressing-gown too.
    She said, 'I didn't know you worked at the country club, Stella.'
    'I've been here over two months, madam. The hours are a bit long, but
    the