Sup With The Devil. Sara Craven
that he was part of a bad dream. Well, she was wide awake now and all her senses were jumping. The bird of ill omen had returned, and there could be storm clouds gathering on the horizon even now.
Robin was talking on the phone when she arrived back, and when he replaced the receiver he looked almost jaunty, and she was sorry she had to dispel his optimistic mood.
She said without preamble, ‘Blair Devereux was at the house just now. I thought you should know.’
‘Blair?’ His voice rose incredulously, and he stared at her. ‘What the hell did he want? What did he say?’
She shrugged. ‘Not a great deal, but he made me—uneasy.’ And that was putting it mildly, she thought wryly.
Robin looked rigid with dismay. ‘And he was at the house. Did—did he seem interested in it? Does he know it’s for sale?’
‘Of course. He’d have hardly been wandering around if the Hallorans had been in residence.’
Robin gestured impatiently. ‘I mean—does he know the auction’s tomorrow?’
‘I’ve no idea. I certainly didn’t tell him.’ Courtney eyed him measuringly, wishing that she had said nothing. He looked as if he was going to be sick.
Robin chewed at his lip. ‘Is he still at Hunters Court?’
Courtney shook her head. ‘No, he left just after me. He’s staying at the White Hart,’ she added.
Robin groaned. ‘God, that’s all I need! Then he does know about the auction.’
‘It’s hardly a State secret.’ She was trying to make him smile. ‘There’ll be other people there beside you. It’s a public auction.’
Rob said miserably, ‘I know that—but he’s one member of the public I could do without.’
‘But you can’t stop him going,’ she pointed out. ‘And he can’t be that interested or he’d have got the key from Paxton’s.’
‘What would he need to see?’ Robin demanded. ‘He knows that house almost as well as we do.’
‘That’s true.’ Courtney drew a deep breath. ‘Rob, I just can’t believe it. Why should he want Hunters Court? It makes no sense.’
He said heavily, ‘Envy. Bitterness. I can think of a list of reasons. You didn’t know him as well as I did in the old days.’
‘I didn’t want to know him,’ she said drily. ‘But I find envy hard to swallow. Why should he envy us?’
‘I don’t know much about his background,’ said Robin. ‘But I do know there wasn’t much money. That was probably why he attached himself to dear Uncle Geoffrey, and through him to us. And he certainly made himself at home each time he came. He used to spend hours in the library reading up on the history of the place. If we’d ever decided to do conducted tours, we could have hired Blair as a guide. He knew more about it than Dad, and he probably convinced himself that he cared more than any of us. Of course he wants it.’
Courtney said slowly, ‘You said there wasn’t much money. But I think there is now.’ She described the car, his clothes, the handmade Italian shoes, and Robin’s eyes grew hard and angry.
‘Well, we don’t need to ask where he got it from.’ Courtney looked at him blankly, and he went on, ‘The police never found out what Geoffrey Devereux did with the money he stole. If they had, we might still be living at Hunters Court ourselves.’
She gasped. ‘You’re not serious! You’re saying that Blair has the money?’
‘It makes sense. Someone has to have it, and he seems to have changed into a have from a have-not in the last three years. What was he officially? A mining surveyor? Hardly enough to put him in the millionaire bracket.’
‘Unless he found his own private goldmine.’
Robin looked at her grimly. ‘With our gold in it.’
Courtney sank down on a chair, feeling numb. ‘It’s not possible—is it?’
‘Anything’s possible,’ Robin said bitterly. ‘He’s been out of the picture ever since Geoffrey Devereux died, and if anyone had a clue as to where the money was, it would be him. And money makes money. He’s probably put his absence to good use.’
She shook her head. ‘He’d need to if he wants to buy Hunters Court, but I still can’t believe that he does.’
She didn’t want to believe it. She’d resented Blair, for all kinds of reasons, some of which she hadn’t been able to define too clearly, when he was only a visitor. But the thought of him as owner—possessor, moving among those well-loved rooms, filled her with a sick distaste. She thought she would rather see the place burned to the ground, or wrecked by Monty Pallister, than watch it fall into Blair’s hands.
She said, half to herself, ‘There’s nothing we can do.’
‘Yes, there is,’ Robin said forcefully. ‘We can find out exactly what he’s up to. You say he’s at the White Hart—well, we’ll have dinner there this evening.’
Courtney looked at him, then quickly shook her head. ‘No—I can’t. I don’t want to.’
‘It’s not a question of what you want.’ Robin’s mouth twisted. ‘God, do you think I want to see him again? Of all the people in the world …’ He gave a little cracked laugh. ‘But it’s got to be done. Too much hangs on this deal. No Devereux is going to ruin any more of my life.’
‘Brave words,’ she said ironically. ‘But even if Blair confides in you, and he’s going to the auction tomorrow, what can you do to stop him?’
‘I’ll think of something. And you’ll help.’
Courtney shook her head again. ‘That’s quite impossible. Anyway, I’m seeing Clive this evening.’
‘Oh—Clive,’ said Robin with dissatisfaction, and his sister gave him a swift glance.
He had never totally approved of her seeing Clive FitzHugh, and up to quite recently this had not particularly bothered her because it was a casual relationship created more by familiarity and proximity than searing passion. They’d known each other since they were children, and in the last twelve months had drifted into each other’s company for trips to the cinema and theatre in the surrounding large towns, and sometimes they sampled the local eating houses. Clive was only Robin’s age, and certainly not ready to settle down into thoughts of marriage, which was a relief to Courtney, who knew that although Colonel and Mrs FitzHugh were always kindness itself, they would not welcome the idea of their son tying himself up to a penniless girl. The FitzHughs had always been local landowners and they were nowhere near the breadline, but they would expect Clive to marry ‘sensibly’ in the fullness of time. Meanwhile they welcomed Courtney into their home in much the same spirit as they had done when she was a child. Courtney herself was well content with the relationship. Clive was good company, if nothing more, and the area of Harlow St Mary wasn’t overflowing with young bachelors eager and willing to take her out.
Clive and she were going out for a meal that evening, and she wasn’t prepared to put him off to pursue some wildcat scheme of Robin’s. Besides, she didn’t want to have to see Blair Devereux again.
It was an unfortunate sort of day, and more than once she wished she was at the office. She could have found something to do there surely, and it would have been better than listening to Robin’s constant jeremiads. Uncle Philip telephoned during the afternoon—to find out if Robin was ever going to work at the bank again, Courtney surmised. She absented herself tactfully for the duration of the call, but the cottage was too small to avoid altogether Robin’s voice raised in complaint and self-justification, and although she could only hear his side of the conversation, it was clear it was not going his way.
He offered no explanations when she rejoined him, but there was something about