Free When the Devil Drives by Sara Craven Page B

wages are really good.' She giggled. 'I'm always short of money,
    though.' She sent Joanna a meaning look. 'A little more always comes
    in handy.'
    Oh, no, you little witch, Joanna said silently. I'm already being
    blackmailed by an expert. You stand no chance at all.
    Her smile was civil but totally dismissive. 'Then you'll have to ask Mr
    Blackstone for a rise.' She began to pour herself some coffee. 'That
    will be all, thank you.'
    'Yes, madam.' The words 'stuck-up bitch' seemed to float in the air
    between them, as Stella turned to depart with one last, malignant
    look.
    Joanna sighed, as she drank some coffee. There was no way back
    now, she realised despondently. After Stella had said her piece, there
    wouldn't be a soul in the West Riding who would believe she was
    anything but Cal Blackstone's mistress. Which, of course, was
    precisely what he intended, she thought sombrely. He wanted
    everyone to know that his victory over the Chalfoats was total and
    complete.
    'You look rather grim.' Cal's approach had been silent and
    unsuspected, and she started as he came to sit beside her, knotting his
    tie.
    'I'm hardly likely to feel like the life and soul of the party in the
    circumstances,' she retorted.
    His brows lifted. 'Not when I've assured you that your virtue is in no
    immediate danger?'
    'I'm not interested in games of cat and mouse,' Joanna said shortly.
    He smiled at her. 'No? Then what does interest you? We'll talk about
    that instead.'
    She bit her lip. He seemed, infuriatingly, to have an answer for
    everything. And there was little point in continuing to be churlish
    with someone who refused to be needled.
    She said with an effort, 'Well—I like some of your pictures.' She
    nodded at the moorscape. 'Isn't that by Ashley Jackson?'
    'Yes. You know his work?'
    'Martin's aunt gave us one of his paintings as a wedding present.
    I—returned it to her—afterwards.'
    'Isn't that rather unusual?'
    Joanna shrugged. 'It was what she wanted.' She hesitated. 'I—I was
    never a favourite of hers, so I preferred not to argue about it.'
    Now what did I tell him that for? she asked herself vexedly. I've just
    provided him with another stick to beat me with. But apart from
    sending her a slightly enigmatic look Cal offered no comment,
    busying himself instead with coffee and croissants.
    She hurried on, 'I was wondering who the woman was—the one in the
    miniature.'
    He put his cup down and stared at her. 'Don't you know?'
    'Should I?'
    'I'd have thought you'd have recognised your own grandmother,' he
    said drily. 'Particularly as you were named after her.'
    'My grandmother?' Joanna echoed in astonishment. She drew an
    outraged breath. 'What the hell's her picture doing on your wall?'
    'Smiling,' he said.
    Joanna's lips compressed. 'Please don't be evasive. I should have
    thought the portrait of a Chalfont was the last thing any Blackstone
    wanted around him— except to use as a focus for dislike.'
    'No one would ever regard your grandmother in that light,' he said.
    'She was universally respected and admired. Loved too.'
    Joanna shook her head, trying to reconcile the vivid face in the
    portrait with the depressed and dowdy woman in the photograph
    album at home.
    'I think you've made a mistake,' she said with a trace of curtness. 'The
    woman in the portrait doesn't resemble my grandmother in any way.'
    'Then let's say it's how I imagine she looked, and leave it at that,' he
    said. 'You never knew her, of course.'
    'No, she was comparatively young when she died— in her late
    thirties.' Joanna paused. 'My father's never talked about his mother
    very much, but Nanny told me once that she was expecting another
    child, which died, and there were complications.'
    'Wasn't that rather unusual—even for those days?'
    'Perhaps.' Joanna thought of the photographs. The woman at her
    grandfather's side hadn't looked as if she possessed much physical
    strength, let alone zest for living.
    'A sad story,' Cal said, after a silence.