Sara Craven - Sup With The Devil

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Former journalist SARA CRAVENpublished her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

COVER

TITLE PAGE Sup with the Devil Sara Craven www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

ENDPAGE

COPYRIGHT

‘SO when do the bulldozers move in?’

Robin Lincoln flushed angrily. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Courtney! It won’t be that bad.’

‘No?’ his sister queried ironically. ‘Judging by these—–’ she swept a contemptuous hand over the pile of plans and folders lying between them on the living room table ‘—it’s about as bad as it could be. You surely can’t imagine the local people are going to stand for anything like this? Why, they’ll be up in arms as soon as the news gets out!’

‘Well, I don’t happen to share your opinion,’ Robin said defensively. ‘I admit it may take them a while to accustom themselves, but…’

‘A while?’ Courtney’s echo was derisive. ‘When they hear that Hunters Court—the house that’s been looked on as the manor all these years—has been bought up by a consortium who want to turn it into a cheap country club?’

Her brother glared at her. ‘There you go again—sitting in judgment. Just because it’s poor old Monty!’

‘Hardly an apt description—or one that he would appreciate.’ Courtney raised her eyebrows. ‘Wealthy middle-aged Monty would be more to the point.’

Robin’s mouth turned down sullenly. ‘You really dislike him, don’t you?’

‘I’ve hardly made any secret of it,’ Courtney returned crisply. ‘I think he’s a repulsive little creep, and that this—scheme he’s dreamed up is typical of him. The only thing I can’t understand is how you ever got involved with him in the first place.’

‘Oh no, you wouldn’t understand,’ Robin said savagely. ‘You don’t like success, do you, Courtney? You’re frightened of it. Ever since we lost Hunters Court and Father had that second stroke you decided it was safer to settle for this—rabbit hutch, and a dull future just ahead of the breadline, rather than make any attempt to recoup what we lost, but I’m not prepared to do that, and you don’t like it.’

Courtney sat down wearily on one of the elderly chairs which flanked the table. ‘Rob, that’s not true! Do you think I haven’t dreamed as you have of getting Hunters Court back somehow? But I’ve always known it wasn’t possible. Even before that—other business, Father was having a job to keep it going. You know that. Houses like Hunters Court eat money, and their appetite gets bigger every year.’

‘Of course I know it,’ Robin said shortly. ‘Why do you think I agreed to act for the consortium? Because it’s a way—probably the only way that we’ll ever get Hunters Court back.’

‘But we won’t be getting it back,’ Courtney argued. ‘It will belong to them. All you’ll be is the manager—a paid employee. It won’t be the same. It can’t.’

Rob shrugged. ‘Then it will have to do,’ he said. ‘I’m not dogsbodying at Carteret’s for the rest of my life. I’m sick of being treated as a charity case. Sick of the whispered remarks. “Lincoln? Lincoln? Any relation to the man whose partner embezzled all that money?” ‘

Courtney sighed inwardly. Three years ago Geoffrey Devereux had been arrested at Heathrow, after a spot audit had revealed discrepancies in the handling of clients’ money. He had been charged with embezzlement, and bail had been opposed while further enquiries were made, but he had died of a heart attack while on remand, leaving James Lincoln, the head of the firm, facing ruin, and the knowledge that his friend and partner of many years’ standing had betrayed him.

When the full amount of the liability that Devereux had created became known, James Lincoln himself had become ill, suffering two strokes, the second of which had left him semi-paralysed and hardly able to speak.

Within a matter of weeks Courtney and Robin found their world had turned upside down. Geoffrey Devereux had died without making any kind of confession, or even a hint as to what he’d done with the thousands of pounds he had stolen. But it had to be repaid somehow, and Hunters Court, which had been the Lincoln family home for generations, was put on the market.

Robin’s dream of becoming a racing driver died there and then, under the necessity of earning some kind of living, and he reluctantly accepted his godfather’s offer of employment in his merchant bank.

Courtney, in the middle of an A-level course at her expensive boarding school, abandoned her plans for university, and thanked heaven for the shorthand and typing option she had taken instead of the needlework she loathed. She had to leave school because there was no more money forthcoming for fees.

The cottage, offered to them by the owner of the neighbouring estate, Colonel FitzHugh, was a godsend, even if it did seem like the rabbit hutch of Robin’s description after the spaciousness of Hunters Court. And because the Colonel was an old friend of their father’s, they only paid a minimum rental for it.

She said gently, ‘Rob, mud sticks, that’s inevitable, but it will pass. The job at Carteret’s may not be very exciting, but it’s security. Don’t throw it away for some chancy scheme put forward by a man you hardly know.’

Robin looked mutinous. ‘We knew Geoffrey Devereux, or thought we did, and a lot of good it did us. All you have against Monty is sheer female prejudice.’

There was a certain amount of justice in that, Courtney was forced to concede. She knew no actual harm of Montague Pallister and the companies with which he was associated, but instinct told her that he was a speculator, whose genial manner concealed a ruthless determination to squeeze the last penny out of any project with which he was connected, and the thought of such a man getting his hands on Hunters Court frankly nauseated her.

It had hurt when the Hallorans had bought the estate, but they were nice people and had looked after it well. Courtney was disappointed that they too were being forced to sell, but she understood that Mrs Halloran’s health demanded a warmer winter climate than Britain had to offer. She had hoped that some like-minded people would come along and buy Hunters Court, but the economic recession had made many potential buyers rethink the wisdom of acquiring a country estate, however modest, and Courtney had come reluctantly to realise that when Hunters Court was put up for auction, it would probably be bought by some commercial concern—as a small private hotel, perhaps, or a nursing home.