Death Comes First by Hilary Bonner Page A

it’s not like that, I promise you,’ said Stephen, looking even more hurt and misunderstood. ‘Charlie has left you very well off. You will be a wealthy woman in your own right once all the legal stuff is settled and a death certificate issued. Nobody would want to stop you from looking after your own finances. It is what Charlie would have wanted, and it’s what Henry wants too. And I can assure you that neither Henry nor I would ever interfere. Of course, if you were to require help, we would be only too happy to—’
    ‘I’ll bet you would!’ retorted Joyce. ‘I’m afraid I’m not too convinced by any of your assurances right now, Stephen. I think you’d better go, don’t you?’
    ‘But I’ve only just arrived.’ He smiled seductively. ‘And we were getting on so—’
    ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ she cut him off.
    ‘No, I have very real feelings for you, Joyce. I always have. And I was hoping last week might be the beginning of something new for both of us. All I want is to take care of you, to make you happy again.’
    ‘Please go, Stephen,’ she told him.
    There had been a moment earlier when she’d almost felt sorry for him, but now she was merely angry. He must have the skin of a rhinoceros, she thought, to make such a remark after the way she had treated him.
    ‘Why does everybody want to take care of me?’ she continued. ‘It was one shag, Stephen. That’s all we had. One shag after a quarter of a century. And you caught me at a weakmoment. I am not ready for new beginnings. Not with you. Not with anyone.’
    ‘Oh, Joyce, I would never rush you. But you have to know it wasn’t just a sh-sh  . . . ’
    He seemed to have difficulty even getting the word out.
    ‘Not just a shag,’ he managed eventually. ‘Not for me, anyway.’
    The sight of his stricken face only made Joyce even angrier.
    ‘Go, Stephen. Please go!’ She shouted the words at the top of her voice, surprising not only Stephen but herself as well.
    Stephen re-packed his bag, doing so as carefully as he did everything, perhaps as a kind of protest against her behaviour, and perhaps in the vain hope that she might calm down and change her mind.
    Joyce could not explain why she was in such a rage. And neither could she explain why she had vented at Stephen. She hadn’t intended to. She had intended to be calm and cool and clever, yet somehow she’d failed dismally in all three respects.
    As Stephen got back in his car and drove off, Joyce’s rage began to re-focus. Now she was furious with herself. In allowing her temper to get the better of her she had not only revealed her hand, she had laid her cards out on the table. Worse, she had learned absolutely nothing in the process. And having alienated Stephen, it was unlikely that she ever would learn anything from him.
    The plan she’d been so pleased with when she woke that morning had failed at the first hurdle, and there was no plan B.

Five
    Stephen usually found the hum of his F-type Jaguar’s motor and the comfort of its upholstered leather seats sufficient to soothe away most cares and worries. Not today though. He was too shaken by Joyce’s outburst.
    She should never have been allowed to see that letter. Her reaction was proof that Henry’s policy of shielding women from the harsher realities was a sound one. Women – even educated women like Joyce – were loose cannons, incapable of conducting themselves rationally when their emotions were engaged – and that was the last thing you wanted in a business environment. Particularly a business like theirs.
    Stephen knew what he should do next. He should call Henry straight away and tell him what had happened. But there were two reasons why he didn’t want to do that. The first was that Joyce’s anger would pale into insignificance compared to the rage Henry would fly into, and he would be on the receiving end. The second was that he had carried a flame for Joyce for twenty-odd years, and for Stephen, that