When the Devil Drives

on his knees, slowly turning the pages as if they held the answer tosome mystery he was desperate to solve. Joanna had sat beside him,trying to take an interest in the faded prints. After all, these picnics,carriage outings and stiltedly posed groups constituted a large part ofthe Chalfont family history, she'd thought, so it was a pity there wereso many missing, and that so few of the others had been captionedwith names. Her grandfather was instantly recognisable, of course,and she'd supposed the rather downtrodden woman beside him insome of the photos was her grandmother, but when she'd mentionedthis to her father he'd stared at her vaguely, and said, 'Joanna. Thatwas her name—Joanna.'And as she'd been named after her, that was something his daughterknew already.She'd looked wistfully around the room, filled with her father'sfavourite pieces of furniture. His desk from the study, a high-backedarmchair beside the fireplace, the pipe rack Simon had made for himat school^ they were all there. Anything that might help him retain hisprecarious hold on reality. The walls were hung with his best-lovedpaintings too, and his collection of books was stored in a revolvingbookcase close to his chair.Not that he read much these days, she thought, stifling a sigh. Hisconcentration span was too erratic for that. Gresham read to him,mostly from the newspapers, and Joanna had also taken part since herreturn, using mainly short pieces from anthologies, and poems thatshe knew he liked. Sometimes he seemed to remember, but most ofthe time he didn't. She wondered sadly if he would forget her too onceshe no longer lived at Chalfont House.'Planning to throw yourself in, Joanna?'