When the Devil Drives

She drew a deep, quivering sigh, and looked down at the grave,wiping the tears from her face.I wronged you, Martin, she told him silently. I've never been able toadmit that before, even to myself. But now I'm going to be made tosuffer for it, so I can ask you, at last, to forgive me.Maybe, one day, I'll even be able to forgive myself.She got slowly to her feet, and turned away.'I'd like a word with you, Joanna.'Joanna hesitated with one foot on the bottom stair. She glanced atSimon over her shoulder. 'Can't it wait? I was planning to have anearly night.'Dinner had been a frankly awful meal. She was still so traumatised bythe self-knowledge which had come to her that she'd hardly been ableto swallow a thing. For the most part, she'd pushed the food round herplate in a pretence of eating, while her mind ran in crazy circles,rejecting the unpalatable truths still battering at her consciousness,desperately seeking a refutal—an escape, yet finding none.Simon too had seemed abstracted, but Fiona, who'd arriveddownstairs in a pink quilted housecoat that did nothing for herincreasing girth, had more than made up for him. She'd sat throughthe meal like an aggrieved blob, complaining about her heartburn andrevelling in her mother's gushing sympathy and endlessreminiscences about the trials of her own pregnancies.'I can imagine you might need an early night,' Simon said grimly. 'ButI'd prefer us to talk now, please.' He opened the study door, and stoodwaiting for her to join him.