Sup With The Devil

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But when they walked into the small cocktail bar at the White Hart some three-quarters of an hour later, Courtney realised that none of her hopes were to be fulfilled.

Blair was sitting with Robin at a corner table. Rob looked up as she walked in, and although he smiled at her and waved, the expression in his eyes said trouble.

Clive said, surprised, ‘You didn’t tell me old Rob was going to be here tonight. And who’s that he’s with. Good God, it looks like …’ He paused abruptly, obviously embarrassed.

Courtney said rather tautly, ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know. And you’re quite right about his companion—it is Blair Devereux.’

She didn’t want to join them. There were other tables, but both men had risen and were waiting, so unwillingly she crossed the bar.

‘What an unexpected pleasure,’ Blair said smilingly. ‘First Rob, and now you, Courtney. This is turning into quite a reunion.’

‘Yes, isn’t it.’ She kept her tone light. ‘You’ll have to excuse us. We’re dining here and …’

‘Oh, I haven’t eaten yet either,’ Blair said calmly, and he signalled towards the head waiter who was hovering in the doorway of the dining room. ‘I hope that you’ll join me as my guests.’

Clive was looking totally baffled by the entire situation, and never more so than when Courtney tucked her hand through his arm.

‘We couldn’t do that,’ she said. ‘They say three’s a crowd, so four is plainly impossible. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I do indeed,’ said Blair. ‘Nevertheless I hope you’ll change your mind.’

Robin broke in. ‘Yes, come and join us, you two. After all, it’s not often that such old friends have a chance to get together again.’ He shot Courtney a veiled, urgent look.

Clive said feebly, ‘Look, I just don’t know about this. I’d rather counted on having Courtney all to myself this evening.’

‘But you can see her any time,’ Robin argued. ‘Come on, Clive, be a sport!’

Courtney was still prepared to argue, but she sensed that their discussion was attracting some curious glances from other parts of the room, and the head waiter, all smiles, was bearing down on them with menus and wine lists, so she reluctantly acceded. To her dismay she found she was being ushered to the wide velvet-covered bench seat which ran the length of the wall to sit beside Blair. She smoothed her skirt round her slim legs, taking care that the folds went nowhere near him, then put her bag on the seat between them, knowing by the faint smile playing around his mouth that he was quite well aware of her manoeuvres.

But she was past caring what he thought. It was no wish of hers to be here. It had been brought about by an ironic combination of circumstances. She had hoped never to see him again.

She stole a look at Clive. He knew perfectly well what the situation was, and must be wondering what Robin was doing on such apparently friendly terms with someone who, in ordinary circumstances, would have been regarded as an enemy. He knew too that there had been no contact at all between the Lincolns and the remaining family of their former business partner for several years. And Clive wasn’t the only one to be puzzled. There were other local people and acquaintances in the room who would be watching avidly, intrigued by this unexpected piece of gossip.

She ordered melon and a rare filet mignon almost at random. Her appetite had vanished anyway. Across the table Rob was talking slightly too loudly and laughing rather too much, and she winced inwardly. It was the kind of performance calculated to put Blair Devereux on his guard. He certainly wasn’t all chatter and bonhomie. On the contrary, the expression on his face was almost sardonic.

If Rob goes on like this, he’s going to run out of topics before the first course is served, Courtney thought, adding mercilessly—and he needn’t expect me to help him out!

It was easier in a way once they got into the dining room and the food was being served. Its excellence was a perfectly acceptable conversational gambit, and even Clive joined in with some relief.

‘I’d forgotten how good English food could be, Blair commented.

‘Oh?’ Clive looked at him. ‘Have you been abroad?’

As Blair nodded, Rob asked breezily, ‘Anywhere interesting?’

‘A whole number of places,’ Blair drawled. ‘But I’m sure you don’t need a travelogue from me.’

Ah, but you’re wrong, Courtney said silently. I’d like to know where you’ve been. I wonder if Switzerland was on the itinerary, and whether you’ve now got one of those famous numbered accounts as a souvenir.

He was watching her across the flicker of the candles on the table. He said softly, ‘But you, Courtney— been happening to you? You vanished so rapidly this morning, I didn’t get a chance to ask. You were planning an academic future of some kind, if my memory serves.’

Her smile became stretched and tight. ‘Oh, that didn’t transpire,’ she said. ‘I’m a working girl.’

‘Interesting job?’ There was something in his expression which warned her that he already knew where she worked and exactly what her employment comprised.

She said calmly, ‘Fascinating,’ and ate her last sliver of melon as if it actually tasted like succulent fruit instead of ashes in her mouth.

He watched her for a moment, his smile widening, then he said gently, ‘And Rob, I hear, is becoming quite something in the City.’

‘I’m glad you think so.’ Briefly, Rob let his mask of geniality slip. ‘I’d have described it as a dead-end job myself.’

Blair’s brows rose. ‘I hardly think Monty Pallister would be pleased to hear an assocation with him described in such unflattering terms.’ His voice was soft.

Courtney silently thanked Providence for the waiter who appeared at that moment to clear the table and bring the next course. The minor upheaval provided Rob with a breathing space.

At last he said with a fair measure of poise, ‘I think you’ve been misinformed. Mr Pallister is unlikely to be interested in a nonentity like me.’

‘You don’t do yourself justice,’ Blair said lightly. ‘I understand the gentleman in question is always on the look-out for fresh talent to help him in his—endeavours.’ The pause was smooth and quite deliberate, as Courtney knew was the choice of word. She stared down at her plate as if she was trying to analyse the lyonnais potatoes which lay there.

Clive broke in. ‘Changing your job, old boy? You’ve never mentioned anything about it.’

‘Because there’s nothing to mention.’ Robin’s laugh was uneasy. ‘I like their way of doing calabrese here, don’t you?’

‘Very much,’ Blair agreed evenly. ‘In fact I’m so impressed with the place as a whole, I’m tempted to extend my stay.’

There was a brief pause, then Clive said, ‘Fantastic. Then we can hope to see more of you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Blair said gravely, ‘I think I can safely promise that.’ His face was expressionless as he glanced at Courtney, but at the back of his eyes little devils of amusement danced as if he knew the effect it was costing her to use the knife in her hand on the steak instead of himself.

Rob rallied, concealing his dismay. ‘Well, Courtney has a few days off from work. I’m sure she’d be glad to help you rediscover old haunts.’

For a moment she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. She stared at Rob, an indignant denial already forming on her lips, then she saw the urgent appeal in his eyes and subsided in silence. Her mind was whirling frantically. What in the world was Rob playing at? He couldn’t imagine that she wanted to spend one more second in Blair Devereux’s company than she had to, especially after this horrendous meal. Yet she couldn’t ignore that silent plea from him, even though she didn’t understand it.

Blair said, ‘I was thinking of a run over to Hylam Abbey tomorrow, if the weather stays fine. Would you come with me, Courtney?’

She made her tone casual. ‘I’m not sure what my plans are for tomorrow yet, I’m afraid. Isn’t it a bit early in the year for exploring ruins?’

‘I thought nostalgia was a warming sentiment,’ Blair said lightly. ‘However, just as you please.’

It would have pleased her very much to tell him to go to hell, she thought, but for Rob’s sake she had at least been civil.

And Hylam Abbey was one of her favourite places. The grey tumbled stones beside the smooth, slow weaving of the river had been a solace to her so often. The thought of sharing them with Blair Devereux was a kind of desecration.

The sweet trolley came round with its usual cargo of cream-drenched goodies, but Courtney refused them, asking simply for a coffee.

She turned to Clive, putting a hand on his sleeve. ‘Could we go fairly soon, darling? I’ve got a brute of a headache.’

He looked surprised and gratified at the unexpected endearment, and the beguiling warmth of her smile and gesture. ‘Of course.’ He looked at Robin. ‘Can we give you a lift?’

‘No, thanks.’ Robin shook his head. ‘I think I’ll hang on for some more coffee and perhaps another brandy.’

Courtney wondered whether she ought to give him a word of warning. He had already drunk plenty of the excellent wine Blair had ordered to be served, and he had no real head for alcohol. But she guessed there was little point in any intervention from her. He would be too annoyed that she had resisted Blair’s invitation to heed it.

The waiter came to draw back her chair, and they all rose when she did and walked to the archway which led into the bar, Blair pausing to give orders for fresh coffee and the brandies to be served there. There was a slight skirmish over the bill which Blair won, and Courtney felt annoyance rise in her at his self-assurance. She wished Clive had been more insistent. She didn’t want to be beholden to Blair for the food she had just eaten.

The story about the headache wasn’t a total lie. There was a throbbing sensation behind her temples, induced by stress, she had little doubt.

They stood in the bar and she hoped her smile didn’t look as insincere as it felt as she said, ‘Well, thank you for a very pleasant evening. Enjoy your stay.’

‘I’m sure I shall,’ said Blair. ‘Take care of that headache,’ he added softly, and he moved, his hand lifting as if he was going to touch her face, stroke the curve of her cheek.

Her reaction was immediate and violent; she stepped backwards out of range and collided with Clive as she did so. She had to apologise, of course, claiming that she had stumbled, and blaming her high heel, but she saw from the irony on Blair’s face that he had not been deceived for an instant.

She wanted to say to Robin, ‘Whatever you’re doing, whatever you’re going to say to him—for God’s sake be careful!’ But she didn’t. The whole situation was beyond her, and Robin would have to look out for himself. She was thankful to be going home.

But that wasn’t all plain sailing either. Clive had taken her eagerness to go home as an indication that she wanted their relationship to move on a stage or two, and she needed all the diplomacy at her command to evade him, and his excited, seeking hands and mouth, and convince him that she really was tired, and her headache now a positive reality. He was clearly disappointed but still docile, and as she shut the cottage door, she was thankful for his gentlemanly upbringing. All the same, this new development might mean the end of the relationship, she thought with mild regret as she mixed herself a soluble aspirin and swallowed it with a slight shudder. She had enjoyed their outings, but she wanted no deeper commitment than that, nothing that might hold an element of courtship. It was her own fault if there was a change in his attitude. She had adopted a more flirtatious attitude towards him all evening quite deliberately, even though she wasn’t quite sure what had motivated her to do so. A desire to impress on Blair Devereux that she was no longer the child he had once known? She hoped not. Heaven help her if any of her actions was designed to impress him in any way!

It was cold in her bedroom, but she resisted the impulse to turn on the small fan-heater. Even a small cottage like this seemed to eat electricity, and she was responsible for paying the quarterly bills, so she tried to exercise some care.

She sighed as she got into bed. How different everything had been once. And how much she had taken for granted. She doubted whether she had ever given a moment’s thought to the size of the electricity bill at Hunters Court.

What a pampered selfish little bitch I must have been, she thought, huddling the covers round her.

The aspirin did its work after a while, but sleep remained oddly elusive. Courtney supposed that subconsciously she was waiting for Rob to come home, although it was unlikely that he would disturb her unless she left her light on, and she wasn’t prepared to do that.

She didn’t want to hear any more about Blair Devereux or Rob’s fears and suspicions. It was disturbing and unfortunate that he’d turned up when he did, but it was a coincidence, no more than that. It had to be. It probably gave him satisfaction to embarrass them, and let them think he had been keeping tabs on them all this time. At the same time, she couldn’t help wondering just how Blair had known about Robin’s association with Monty Pallister.

She burrowed her cheek into the pillow, determinedly closing her eyes. Perhaps by tomorrow the fine weather would have fled, and there would be a blizzard. She couldn’t imagine Blair wanting to hang about under those circumstances.

She murmured drowsily, ‘Please God, let it hail or snow.’ And on that pious request, she fell asleep.

The first thing she realised as she drew back her curtains the following morning was that her prayers had not been granted. There were a few clouds about, but none of them threatened anything worse than the lightest of showers, and all in all it promised to be another fine day.

Courtney pulled on jeans and a sweater and made her way downstairs to the living room. As she pushed open the door, she heard the sound of the telephone receiver being replaced, and realised to her surprise that Robin was already up. He wasn’t a notably early riser when he was at the cottage, and he couldn’t be afraid of missing the auction because the time was only nine o’clock, and the sale wasn’t due to begin until midday.

She said teasingly, ‘Did your hangover keep you awake? Can I make you some breakfast, or would black coffee …’ She broke off, because she had just seen his face as he turned slowly towards her, and he looked pale, drawn, even haunted.

She said, ‘Rob, what is it? Who was on the phone? Oh God, it isn’t Daddy? He’s not …’

‘What?’ He looked at her almost blankly, then recovered. ‘No, of course not. I thought when you saw him last there’d been an improvement.’

‘A slight one,’ she admitted. ‘But that doesn’t mean much at all, apparently. Well, what is it, then?’

He sat down. He said hoarsely, ‘I—I rang Monty. I thought he should know about Devereux being in the area, and what I suspected.’ He swallowed. ‘He wasn’t pleased.’