bright eyes were troubled. 'He doesn't have so many good
days, Miss Jo, and that's a fact, but he's happy enough when he's not
being bothered, and he's with people who understand him.' She
bustled off.
One of the photograph albums was lying at her father's feet, where it
had obviously slipped from his lap. Joanna bent and retrieved it,
turning the pages back to the old family groups.
It was really astonishing to compare the way her grandmother had
been when that miniature was painted with the dowdy,
lifeless-looking creature she'd become in these snapshots. Even
allowing for artist's licence, she was hardly recognisable as the same
woman. What could have happened to bring about such a
sea-change? she wondered with a soundless sigh.
She felt slightly ashamed that she knew so little about the woman
she'd been named after. If her father had been awake, she might have
been tempted to question him gently, encourage him to take one of his
rambling forays into the past. Perhaps she could even discover how
that miniature, which must have been a Chalfont family portrait, had
turned up in Cal Blackstone's possession, although she realised she
would have to tread ultra-carefully over that ground.
As it was, her grandmother's picture was providing an unexpected
private mystery in what had always been a very public feud, and this
she found oddly disturbing, even if it was the least of her problems at
the moment.
She sat with her father for nearly an hour, but he remained peacefully
remote. Eventually Nanny returned, to tell her she was wanted on the
phone.
I don't have to ask by whom, Joanna thought, her stomach churning as
she went down to the hall, and lifted the receiver. 'Yes?' Her voice
was guarded.
'Mrs Bentham?' The voice was male, but not the one she'd expected.
'This is Markham and Wilby, estate agents. We have an appointment
with you to show you a cottage at Nethercrag this morning. We
wondered if you'd been delayed.'
'Oh, I'm sorry!' Joanna was appalled. 'I—I'd completely forgotten. Is
it too late?'
'By no means,' the voice said briskly. 'But perhaps it would be easier
for you to make your own way there instead of from our office.
Kirkgate Cottage is in the main street, and our board is outside. You
can't miss it..'
'That's fine.' Joanna glanced at her watch. 'Shall we say fifteen
minutes?'
How dreadful of me, she thought as she hastily collected her bag and
car keys, but was it any wonder that my normal arrangements have
gone by the board, with everything else going on in my life?
The appointment to view the cottage seemed to have been made in a
different lifetime. In the year BC, she thought. Before Cal...
If the cottage was even reasonably habitable, she might take it, she
thought as she went out to the car. Take it and put up the barricades.
Show Cal Blackstone once and for all that she intended to live alone.
And that he couldn't dictate to her totally.
Nethercrag was a small village, consisting of little more than one
narrow main street, lined with former wavers' cottages, and a few
shops. Joanna parked her car on the cobbles and crossed to where a
young man, file of papers in hand, was waiting for her.
'Good morning.' He shook hands briskly. 'I'm Alan Morris. I'm so
glad you could make it. There's a lot of interest being generated in this
particular property, and we wouldn't want you to miss out.'
Joanna suppressed a cynical smile, yet she had to admit that, on the
face of it, the cottage looked good. The exterior had been well
maintained, she thought as she followed Mr Morris up the flagged
stone path, and the small front garden was bright with annuals and a
variety of roses, just coming into bloom.
'They're waiting for us,' Mr Morris said as he lifted the latch on the
solid oak front door and led the way into a square hall.
'Indeed we are,' Cal drawled from the doorway he'd suddenly
appeared in. 'What kept you, darling?'
Involuntarily, Joanna took a
days, Miss Jo, and that's a fact, but he's happy enough when he's not
being bothered, and he's with people who understand him.' She
bustled off.
One of the photograph albums was lying at her father's feet, where it
had obviously slipped from his lap. Joanna bent and retrieved it,
turning the pages back to the old family groups.
It was really astonishing to compare the way her grandmother had
been when that miniature was painted with the dowdy,
lifeless-looking creature she'd become in these snapshots. Even
allowing for artist's licence, she was hardly recognisable as the same
woman. What could have happened to bring about such a
sea-change? she wondered with a soundless sigh.
She felt slightly ashamed that she knew so little about the woman
she'd been named after. If her father had been awake, she might have
been tempted to question him gently, encourage him to take one of his
rambling forays into the past. Perhaps she could even discover how
that miniature, which must have been a Chalfont family portrait, had
turned up in Cal Blackstone's possession, although she realised she
would have to tread ultra-carefully over that ground.
As it was, her grandmother's picture was providing an unexpected
private mystery in what had always been a very public feud, and this
she found oddly disturbing, even if it was the least of her problems at
the moment.
She sat with her father for nearly an hour, but he remained peacefully
remote. Eventually Nanny returned, to tell her she was wanted on the
phone.
I don't have to ask by whom, Joanna thought, her stomach churning as
she went down to the hall, and lifted the receiver. 'Yes?' Her voice
was guarded.
'Mrs Bentham?' The voice was male, but not the one she'd expected.
'This is Markham and Wilby, estate agents. We have an appointment
with you to show you a cottage at Nethercrag this morning. We
wondered if you'd been delayed.'
'Oh, I'm sorry!' Joanna was appalled. 'I—I'd completely forgotten. Is
it too late?'
'By no means,' the voice said briskly. 'But perhaps it would be easier
for you to make your own way there instead of from our office.
Kirkgate Cottage is in the main street, and our board is outside. You
can't miss it..'
'That's fine.' Joanna glanced at her watch. 'Shall we say fifteen
minutes?'
How dreadful of me, she thought as she hastily collected her bag and
car keys, but was it any wonder that my normal arrangements have
gone by the board, with everything else going on in my life?
The appointment to view the cottage seemed to have been made in a
different lifetime. In the year BC, she thought. Before Cal...
If the cottage was even reasonably habitable, she might take it, she
thought as she went out to the car. Take it and put up the barricades.
Show Cal Blackstone once and for all that she intended to live alone.
And that he couldn't dictate to her totally.
Nethercrag was a small village, consisting of little more than one
narrow main street, lined with former wavers' cottages, and a few
shops. Joanna parked her car on the cobbles and crossed to where a
young man, file of papers in hand, was waiting for her.
'Good morning.' He shook hands briskly. 'I'm Alan Morris. I'm so
glad you could make it. There's a lot of interest being generated in this
particular property, and we wouldn't want you to miss out.'
Joanna suppressed a cynical smile, yet she had to admit that, on the
face of it, the cottage looked good. The exterior had been well
maintained, she thought as she followed Mr Morris up the flagged
stone path, and the small front garden was bright with annuals and a
variety of roses, just coming into bloom.
'They're waiting for us,' Mr Morris said as he lifted the latch on the
solid oak front door and led the way into a square hall.
'Indeed we are,' Cal drawled from the doorway he'd suddenly
appeared in. 'What kept you, darling?'
Involuntarily, Joanna took a
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