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But adore Jonas she did, and Cassandra moved into the adjoining bathroom to escape the painful sight of Bethany in her uncle’s arms, gathering up one of the thick peach-coloured towels to take it back into the bedroom. ‘Here.’ She held the towel out somewhat impatiently, avoiding Jonas’s darkly taunting gaze as he mockingly noted the way Cassandra carefully avoided any contact with him while she wrapped Bethany in the sumptuous bath-towel. ‘Your suit will be ruined,’ she muttered defensively—she always seemed to be on the defensive where this man was concerned, had been made to feel that way from the very first time they met, and Jonas had never done anything to make her less wary and angry with him than she had been on that occasion.
‘I can always buy a new suit,’ Jonas drawled derisively. ‘A cuddle with this particular young lady——’ he tickled Bethany pointedly ‘—is priceless!’
Amazing how, even when she tried to make an effort with this man, he somehow managed to twist it round so that she appeared the one in the wrong again! Although if she was honest—with herself, at least—she hadn’t really been thinking of him and his damned expensively hand-made suit at all when she got the towel, had actually resented his presence here, but most of all she had hated his easy laughter with Bethany. It was wrong of her, she knew, but when she looked at him with Bethany she felt he had no right to be there at all. But Bethany did love him so, to the point where Cassandra feared he was superseding Charles in her daughter’s affections. Deliberately so on Jonas’s part…?
Jonas had always been the black sheep of Charles’s family from the little she had gathered from either Charles or his father, Jonas’s mother having been divorced by Peter Hunter years before Jonas reached adulthood. Jonas, it appeared, had lived in America for years without making any effort to see either Charles or their father. Cassandra had realised exactly what sort of man he was when he didn’t even come to their wedding, even though Charles had expressed a wish that he be his best man. Maybe his refusal to be with his own brother on his wedding day was another one of the reasons she now felt so resentful about the part he was going to be asked to play in her sister Joy’s wedding…
‘Don’t you think so?’
She looked up sharply, to find Jonas looking down at her probingly; despite her own considerable height, he was still at least six inches taller than her.
‘Bethany’s hugs are priceless,’ he reminded her of what he had said only minutes ago, holding Bethany easily in one arm as he did so.
‘Absolutely,’ Cassandra agreed in a briskly dismissive voice, lifting her daughter down on to the carpeted floor. ‘Time we got you into some clothes, young lady, before you get cold,’ she explained with a smile as Bethany looked disappointed. ‘I—— Ah, Jean,’ she said with some relief as she spied her housekeeper standing in the doorway Jonas had so recently vacated.
The older woman, in her early sixties now, Cassandra suddenly realised with a frown, looked slightly harassed as she glanced at Jonas before speaking. ‘I was just on my way upstairs to tell you Mr Hunter was here, when the telephone began to ring.’ She gave Cassandra an apologetic grimace, obviously feeling responsible for Jonas’s arrogant intrusion upstairs; if they had been alone, Cassandra would have assured the woman who had become her friend during the last five years that she was well aware Jean would have been trying to stop the equivalent of a tank in trying to prevent Jonas from doing exactly as he pleased! Although she knew that, given the opportunity, Jean would have had a good try, none the less!
The two women had had severe differences when Cassandra had first become Charles’s wife. Jean had been in charge of Charles’s household for years when he and Cassandra married; until that time, it seemed, Charles had given every impression of remaining a carefree bachelor, and at already forty-two that perhaps wasn’t such a strange assumption to have made. But it had meant, when he had married Cassandra, that the older woman deeply resented the introduction of a twenty-year-old bride as new mistress of the house. Naturally so, of course.
Cassandra hadn’t blamed the other woman for feeling that way at all, had tried very hard, during those first few months, not to step on the other woman’s already bruised feelings, determined that Charles shouldn’t be made to feel he was living in the middle of a battlefield—worse than that, that he might actually have to take sides! That was the last thing Cassandra wanted for him, because she knew that he would hate that, that he hated any sort of upset in his usually smooth-running existence. In fact, Cassandra had teased him that it had been for that very reason he had balked against marrying her at all for months after they had realised they were in love. He had protested that it wasn’t that at all, that he felt perhaps the age-difference was too much, that it would eventually break them up. Cassandra’s answer to that had been but think of what a marvellous time they would have had together, for however long it lasted. Charles’s love for her hadn’t been strong enough to fight such an argument, thank God, and Cassandra knew, despite that slightly reckless air of his that could make him so frustratingly irresponsible, that they had shared five good years together.
But those first few months of being Charles’s wife, because it seemed Jean Humphries would never accept her, had been traumatic ones for Cassandra. And then Cassandra had done something that had forever changed her relationship with Jean—she had produced Bethany… Jean doted on the little girl from the day Cassandra came home from the hospital with her, Bethany being the closest thing the older woman would ever have to a grandchild of her own. For the title of Mrs was only a professional one for Jean, Cassandra knew, the other woman never having been married.
During the months since Charles’s death, and the problems that had followed, Jean had come to be so much more than just a friend to Cassandra too; she had been the comforting mother she had needed so badly and which her own mother hadn’t been able to be.
Cassandra gave Jean a wan smile now, knowing just how impossible it would have been to stop Jonas from coming up here. ‘Jonas decided he would like to come up and see Bethany take her bath,’ she accepted dismissively. ‘If you would like to warm Bethany’s milk for her, and perhaps a pot of coffee for us…?’ She looked enquiringly at Jonas as she made the last request; the last thing she actually wanted was to share a cosy pot of coffee with him, but she couldn’t escape the fact that Bethany would probably be so disappointed that it would be hell on earth trying to get her to bed after Jonas had left!
Her hope that Jonas might refuse the invitation was dashed when he gave a mocking inclination of his head.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he murmured derisively once Jean had gone to get the drinks and Bethany had returned to the bathroom to dry herself and dress in her pyjamas and dressing-gown ready for bed, his mouth twisting wryly. ‘But I came here straight from the office, and after the day I’ve had I could do with the caffeine,’ he added grimly, running a hand over the tension of his brow.
Cassandra gave him a searching look. He did look strained, his black-rimmed glasses, glasses he rarely wore, she recalled, partly concealing those hard black eyes. ‘Things not running smoothly at the office?’ she returned lightly, although inwardly she had tensed once again; what had happened to cause those extra lines of strain beside his nose and mouth tonight?
His expression sharpened with harsh derision. ‘Do you really care?’
Her eyes flashed deeply gold at his scorn. ‘Of course I—— Must I remind you that Hunter and Kyle is as much my concern as it is yours?’ she challenged in a reasoning tone.
Jonas returned her gaze speculatively. ‘Is it?’
‘You know it——’ She abruptly broke off her sharp retort as Bethany came trotting in unconcernedly from the bathroom, dressed in her nightclothes now, and stood expectantly in front of Cassandra as she waited for the nightly ritual of having her hair brushed.
‘Uncle Jonas…’ she began tentatively as Cassandra made the steady strokes through her hair with the brush. ‘Uncle Jonas, do you believe in Father Christmas?’ She frowned across the room at him as he sat in the bedroom chair now watching them.
Cassandra stopped the brushing to look down at her daughter in some surprise; this was the first indication she had ever had that Bethany was even beginning to doubt the myth! Of course, once a child started school, it was difficult to stop older children from telling her the truth, but even so they had gone through all the usual rituals together this year—the letter to Santa with a list of what Bethany would like for Christmas this year dutifully sent off to the North Pole, the trip to see a Father Christmas, in a well-known shop, that Bethany had known wasn’t the real one, but who she believed could pass a message on to him, just in case her letter should go astray. Bethany had helped Jean in the kitchen while she made mince pies, one of which was to be placed on a plate on Christmas Eve, along with eight carrots—one for each of the reindeer—and she had also checked the sherry supply, so that they could leave a glassful out with the mince pie, to warm the poor man on his busy round. In actual fact, either Cassandra or Jean would end up drinking the latter, depending on which of them felt more in need of it after the last-minute rush of getting everything arranged under the tree for the next morning when Bethany woke them at some ungodly hour so that they could go downstairs and see if Father Christmas had been yet!
All of which made Bethany’s apparent doubt now more than a little puzzling…
Jonas looked taken aback by the question too. ‘Why do you ask, poppet?’ he avoided warily.
Bethany still looked thoughtful. ‘Well, Father Christmas only brings you presents if you believe in him—and I would so like you to get lots and lots of presents, Uncle Jonas!’ She grinned at him endearingly, at the same time dispelling any doubts Cassandra might have had about her own belief in Father Christmas! ‘Mummy always does,’ she confided excitedly.
Because Charles, despite her protests, had always swamped her with gifts, and not just at Christmas. Even though she had protested at the expense, assuring him she didn’t need any of the things, he had begun showering her with jewellery, clothes, cars, anything he thought would give her pleasure, to the extent where Cassandra had begun to think he got more pleasure from giving her the things than she did receiving them…
But there would be no gifts from Charles for her to protest at this year. In fact, for Cassandra, the whole festive season was filled with unhappiness. A year ago on New Year’s Eve, drunken revellers had crashed into her father’s car and killed him instantly, and within weeks, it seemed—eight exactly, Cassandra knew—Charles had been dead too, from a massive heart attack that had given them no warning of its imminence.
No, there would be no outrageously extravagant gifts under the tree for her from Charles this year. Not that she would miss them; she would gladly have given away everything Charles had ever given her if she could have sorted out the financial mess her life had become during the last year. But none of those things would have been enough to solve that!
Jonas saw the shadows in her eyes, guessing, she was sure, only half the reason for her unhappiness. Jonas believed she had only married his brother for his money anyway, so there was no point in even trying to explain the truth of things to him!
‘I bet if you stayed here with us Christmas night Father Christmas would leave you lots of presents too!’ Bethany burst out expectantly. ‘Ouch, that hurt, Mummy!’ she protested indignantly as Cassandra dug the brush into her scalp.
‘Sorry, darling,’ Cassandra told her distractedly as she carefully untangled the brush from the glossy black locks, all the time fighting back her inward panic that Bethany should have said such a thing. She was sure Jonas had no more wish to stay here with them at Christmas than she did to have him here—she also knew he was bloody-minded enough to accept the suggestion just because he knew how much it would upset her if he did!
‘Do you really think so, Bethany?’ he thoughtfully answered the child, but his gaze was fixed on Cassandra’s flushed face, tauntingly so.
‘Oh, yes,’ Bethany nodded with certainty, her expression so gravely intent that it was endearingly appealing—even to Cassandra, who felt like strangling her at this moment! ‘So will you, Uncle Jonas? Stay here, I mean. We have lots of rooms, and—and I would like you to!’ she added earnestly.
Cassandra looked at Jonas in dismay, wondering how he was going to withstand such an appeal; she knew she was already resigned now to having Jonas here if that was what Bethany really wanted and Jonas was agreeable. Even though she personally would hate every minute of it she would willingly do it if it would make Bethany happy——
A fact Jonas was very much aware of as he watched the emotions flickering across her face with knowing mockery—although his expression softened, became almost gentle, as he went down on one knee beside the standing Bethany, putting their faces on the same level, one of his arms going about her tiny waist as he cradled her to his side. ‘That really is very kind of you to think of me in that way, Bethany,’ he told her gruffly. ‘Of both of you,’ he couldn’t resist adding with a challenging glint in his eyes for Cassandra. ‘But I’m afraid,’ he drawled with slow torture—for Cassandra, ‘that I’ve already left my note out for Father Christmas, and so he will be expecting me to be at my apartment on Christmas night.’
‘Oh, but that’s easy,’ Bethany told him in a pipingly confident voice. ‘You just put out another note for him telling him where you will be. We did it last year when we went to Grandma’s house.’
It was Cassandra’s turn to raise black brows derisively this time, in answer to Jonas’s accusing look for her previous year’s efficiency. Well, what had she been supposed to do in that situation? Children worried, needed an explanation for such things, and that second note to Father Christmas last year had seemed the only answer when they were invited to spend Christmas with her parents. In the light of what had happened in the New Year, she was so grateful that she, Charles and Bethany had spent that last Christmas with both her parents…
‘How clever of you.’ Jonas’s teasing attention returned to Bethany. ‘And it really is a very good idea. But actually I have to go and see your grandfather Peter on Christmas Eve.’ He shook his head disappointedly. ‘He’s on his own too, you see, and he shouldn’t really be on his own at Christmas, should he?’ Jonas reasoned gently.
And Cassandra couldn’t help wondering just how much time Jonas actually intended spending with his father on Christmas Eve; not very much, if any, she was sure. The two had met rarely since Jonas’s return, and she didn’t think the season of Christmas would make too much difference to their strained relationship. She was taking Bethany down to see her grandfather on Boxing Day, once some of the excitement for Bethany had died down; Peter was frail and old now, and young company tended to tire him more than any other.
‘No,’ Bethany accepted, although she had to blink back tears of disappointment at Jonas’s not being with them after all. ‘But I wish you could live here with us, Uncle Jonas.’ Her bottom lip still trembling emotionally.
Cassandra almost choked! ‘Bethany——’
Jonas shook his head, smiling ruefully. ‘I’ll see you later on Christmas Day, at your grandmother’s house, and you can tell me all about your Christmas presents,’ he cajoled brightly. ‘I’ve been invited for lunch.’
Yet more news for Cassandra! What on earth did her mother think she was doing? Jonas wasn’t family, was no relation to her mother whatsoever, and his connection to Cassandra was tenuous to say the least—a half-brother-in-law who had refused to even come to her wedding and had been nothing but objectionable since he had exploded into their lives a little over nine months ago! The unavoidable connection they all had with him through business certainly didn’t mean that any of them had to be this friendly with him on a social level. Christmas Day at her mother’s without her father’s calming presence was going to be bad enough, but to now find Jonas was going to be there too…!
Only Bethany looked thrilled by the news, throwing her arms about Jonas’s neck to hug him. ‘All of us together for Christmas!’ she glowed, clapping her hands with excitement now. ‘That’s the next best thing to having you live with us. I’m going to tell Mrs Humphries what a lovely Christmas we’re all going to have!’ She ran out of the room, hair flying, tendrils still slightly damp at the bottom where they had had a wetting in the bath.
A heavy, oppressive silence followed Bethany’s departure, and with a weary sigh Cassandra turned to look at Jonas—— And then wished she hadn’t! He stood in the doorway again now, leaning back against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, mouth twisted tauntingly, eyes darkly mocking behind those somewhat protective glasses—not that this man needed protecting, from anything! Arrogant. Despicable. Ruthless. The adjectives she could find to describe this man were endless.
‘I can see you’re absolutely thrilled at the prospect of all of us being together on Christmas Day too!’ he scorned in that harshly derisive voice of his that so grated on her.
‘Thrilled’ in no way described how she felt about spending Christmas Day in this man’s company; she was absolutely horrified at the thought of spending that day of ‘peace on earth and goodwill to all men’ with this particular man!
‘Bethany will like it,’ she said dismissively—it was the only positive thing she could find to say about it!—as she placed the brush carefully back on the dressing-table with the rest of the gold-trimmed set, needlessly straightening the already neatly placed comb and hand-mirror. But she desperately needed something to occupy her hands—she was more than a little unnerved now at Jonas’s presence here alone with her, in the bedroom she had shared with Charles for all of their marriage. ‘Just as I know she appreciates your coming here to see her, as you have tonight,’ Cassandra continued determinedly, unable, with this man here, to even glance at the huge four-poster bed—a wedding present from Charles to her—that was usually so dominating in the room; this evening this man dominated it!
‘But I didn’t come here to see Bethany tonight,’ Jonas told her softly. ‘Much as I enjoy her company too,’ he shrugged dismissively.
Cassandra gave him a sharp, frowning look. ‘No?’ she said warily.
‘No,’ he echoed tauntingly, straightening suddenly, even the mocking humour erased from his face now. ‘As you’re the other major shareholder in Hunter and Kyle, I thought you should know that I have just had an internal audit done of the company.’
Cassandra stared at him. ‘You didn’t mention this before…’
‘No,’ he acknowledged grimly. ‘I didn’t believe there was any need to; I ordered it as a matter of course now that I’ve been in charge of things for six months. I just wanted to be ready for the end of the tax year, although there didn’t appear to be any problems. I say “appear to be”——’ he met her gaze with steady intent ‘—because now I know differently.’
Cassandra swallowed hard, even as she felt all the colour drain from her face.
CHAPTER THREE (#uc1eee6d9-b7ce-545d-86fa-73dc3023da2e)
‘DID you hear me, Cassandra?’ Jonas rasped coldly. ‘I said——’
‘I heard you!’ She turned away, totally shaken by this. She had known it had to come, of course, had realised it had to, but with the mess her own company had become she hadn’t had the chance—or time! —to think about Hunter and Kyle. And she should have done, the dangerous intent in this man’s eyes warned her harshly, when she risked another glance at him. She gripped her hands tightly together in front of her to stop their trembling. ‘It was——’
‘Mummy, Uncle Jonas, don’t you want your coffee?’ Bethany protested as she came bounding into the room to frown up at them impatiently for their delay.
‘I would love some.’ Jonas was the one to answer her, glancing at the plain gold watch with its leather strap. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have the time now,’ he refused with a disappointed grimace, his eyes narrowed as he glanced across at the still pale Cassandra. ‘Marguerite has invited me to dinner tonight too,’ he told her softly.
He thought she was going to be at her mother’s for dinner, Cassandra realised. Thank God she wasn’t; there was no way she could have given even a semblance of normality tonight at one of her mother’s dinner parties, not after what this man had just told her.
And Cassandra knew exactly why Jonas had been invited to dinner tonight. It wasn’t just that her mother wanted to ask Jonas to give Joy away at the wedding—although God knew that was bad enough. No, her mother was very much aware that Jonas was now head of Hunter and Kyle, and as such he was responsible for any profits the company might make, profits she and Joy had a share in. She wouldn’t put it past her mother and Joy to have plans for Joy’s fiancé Colin either—he was Jonas’s assistant, and neither Marguerite nor Joy would be happy with him remaining just that, Cassandra was sure.
The knowing look in Jonas’s eyes, when she looked up to make a reply, said he knew perfectly well of her mother and Joy’s ambitions for Colin—also that he would do what he damned well pleased about that situation!
‘That’s nice,’ Cassandra finally replied distractedly.
Jonas gave a taunting smile. ‘Is it?’
She was tempted to tell him she didn’t give a damn whether he went to her mother’s for dinner every night of the week—as long as she didn’t have to be there too! But Bethany clasped his hand at that moment, diverting his attention to her, and also putting an end to the conversation.
Bethany hung on to Jonas until the very last minute, making it impossible for Cassandra and Jonas to talk privately again. Cassandra was glad of the respite, and she knew Jonas wasn’t bothered by the delay, because he expected to be talking to her again later on this evening. Cassandra shivered, glad once again that she had made other plans.
Bethany turned away now from the door where she had been standing forlornly waving to her uncle until the tail-lights of his car had completely disappeared. ‘Can’t Uncle Jonas come and live with us?’ She looked up at Cassandra appealingly.
Cassandra had been deep in thought, but this brought her sharply back into the present. This was the second time tonight her young daughter had made such a statement, and the sooner she was firmly told it wasn’t even a possibility, the better! ‘I wanted to talk to you about that, darling,’ she told Bethany firmly as she sat her down in one of the armchairs.
It was still quite early when Cassandra arrived at her mother’s house—deliberately so on her part; she was determined she wouldn’t run into Jonas there now.
Her mother, she was informed, was still dressing for dinner, and so Cassandra sat down to wait for her. It was more imperative than ever that Jonas not be drawn any deeper into their personal lives than he already was; the man had the power—and the ruthlessness!—to destroy all of them, if he chose to do so.
Her mother was a good hostess; she had a fire burning brightly in the hearth to give the elegant lounge, with its pale cream and peach décor, a welcoming warmth, the family dining table, rather than the large formal one in a separate room, laid for dinner, the silver shining brightly, the crystal wine glasses sparkling in the firelight, the delicate posy of roses in the centre of the table perfectly matching the peach and cream in the rest of the room.
Cassandra stood up as her mother came into the room; she was much taller than her petite mother, and their colouring was completely different too, her mother’s auburn hair going graciously—and expertly!—grey now. Joy looked the most like their mother; both women were short and slim, with beautifully even features, eyes a deep blue. But her mother and Joy, her two closest relatives, had always seemed a little like an alien species to Cassandra.
They lived their lives on such a superficial level, going to the beauty salon twice a week, lunching with friends, being seen in all the ‘right’ places, knowing all the ‘right’ people, likewise wearing all the ‘right’ clothes, both of them always immaculately dressed for the occasion. And both of them would recoil in horror at the mere suggestion that they should ever actually work a single day of their lives to pay for all that luxury they took so much for granted! Cassandra had always stood out like a duckling among such beautifully elegant swans…
She had never been able to understand how her mother and Joy could live such vacuous lives. But if she felt that way about them she knew her mother didn’t understand her way of life any better. Her mother had given up on Cassandra when, at the age of seventeen, she had insisted on going to art college rather than the exclusive finishing-school her parents had picked out in Switzerland for their two daughters. Even worse, when Cassandra had left college two years later, she had gone to work for a major London fashion house, not as a model or designer herself, but as assistant to a designer. Humble beginnings—much to her mother’s obvious disgust; there had never been anything humble about either Marguerite or Joy Kyle!
Even the relative success she had had as a designer herself hadn’t exactly redeemed her in her mother’s eyes: she still worked for a living. But at least Cassandra’s choice of husband, after years of having her actions looked on with dismay, had met with her mother’s approval—although even that new-found respectability had taken a knock in her mother’s eyes, she knew, when Charles had died so suddenly: it simply wasn’t the done thing to become a widow at only twenty-four years of age!
Her mother looked as graciously lovely as usual this evening, her auburn hair elegantly grey at the temples, her black below-the-knee dress perfect for this small family dinner-party—although she looked slightly disconcerted to see that Cassandra was also dressed for dinner, wearing the pale gold gown Bethany had requested.
Cassandra smiled, taking pity on her mother. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not gatecrashing your dinner party; I’m going on somewhere.’
Her mother couldn’t quite hide her relief. ‘You’re welcome to join us if you would like to,’ she said politely now that she knew Cassandra had no intention of staying.
Cassandra’s smile widened. ‘No, thanks. I’m meeting Simeon later——’
‘Oh, really, Cassandra.’ Her mother looked irritated now. ‘That dreadful young man!’
That ‘dreadful young man’, her own assistant at the salon she ran in town still, had helped get her through the last difficult months. But he wasn’t ‘top-drawer’ enough for her mother, coming from a working-class background; it didn’t matter that he was also kind and caring, and that Cassandra liked him very much.
‘Never mind Simeon,’ she dismissed lightly. ‘He isn’t the reason I’m here.’ She glanced across at the intimately laid dinner table. ‘Five places, Mother?’
Her mother looked disconcerted again. ‘Godfrey is joining us for dinner,’ she dismissed.
‘Us’ was obviously Joy, Colin, and Marguerite. Godfrey Chorley was an old family friend who had become very helpful to her mother as a partner for social evenings since the death of her husband a year ago. At almost sixty, Godfrey seemed a confirmed bachelor, and after only a few minutes spent it his company it was easy to see why: Godfrey, as fond as Cassandra was of him, was easily the most boring man she had ever met!
Cassandra arched black brows. ‘And the fifth?’
‘Jonas,’ her mother supplied offhandedly. ‘I do feel so sorry for the dear man; he seems to know so few people in England, and——’
‘Spare me that, please, Mother,’ Cassandra cut in impatiently. ‘If Jonas spends a lot of his time alone, it’s because he chooses to,’ she said knowingly; Jonas, for all his coldness with her, was an extremely attractive man, could have his pick of women to share his life.
‘Well, anyway, he’s coming to dinner this evening too,’ her mother announced almost challengingly—a challenge Cassandra was only too happy to meet!
‘Why?’ she prompted softly.
‘I’ve just——’
‘Why, Mother?’ she repeated firmly, easily meeting her mother’s searching gaze.
‘Bethany!’ her mother finally realised. ‘She was here earlier when we were discussing…! Joy has a perfect right to ask whom she wants to give her away,’ she said in defence of her youngest daughter.
‘It wasn’t so long ago Joy was chasing after Jonas for quite another reason,’ Cassandra reminded her drily, perfectly aware that when Jonas had first returned to England her sister had been very attracted to him indeed. But while Jonas hadn’t seemed averse to having Joy reacquaint him with London he hadn’t been interested in anything more than that from her, Joy had told her disappointedly one day. Cassandra had been most embarrassed by the whole incident; she had been sure Jonas was secretly laughing at them all for her sister’s obvious ambitions where he was concerned. Joy’s engagement to Colin was a relatively new thing, and Cassandra just hoped it was for the right reasons; Colin was nowhere near as ‘primitively exciting’ as Joy had claimed she thought Jonas was! Still, that was Joy’s problem, not hers. Her problems were much more pressing than that.
‘And if she had succeeded it might just have been the answer for all of us,’ her mother snapped angrily.
Cassandra looked at her mother closely. ‘And just what do you mean by that remark?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ her mother said with impatient dismissal—although she wasn’t quite meeting Cassandra’s gaze, she noticed with a frown. Did her mother know more than she was prepared to say…?
‘It would have been the perfect arrangement if we could have kept the company in the family,’ her mother continued briskly. ‘As it is, Jonas could eventually marry anybody, and then where will we all be?’ She frowned.
Exactly where they were now, Cassandra would have thought. Unless her mother did know something…
‘Don’t start being difficult about this, Cassandra,’ her mother told her shortly. ‘The decision has been made, and nothing you say will make any difference.’
