A Woman of Courage Read Online Free Page A

had she expected?
    She hated driving at night, especially alone, but knew she had no choice. Did she know the way? Of course she did. Jennifer went out to her car, climbed in and drove down the road, the engine coughing like a bronchial old man.
    It was a nightmare journey. She found she was not as sure of the way as she had thought and every time she slowed to check the signposts someone behind her would hoot. She became increasingly flustered. The congestion was horrible, particularly in Toorak Road; more than once she was afraid the poor old car would conk out on her and was terrified she might miss the turning altogether. By the time she arrived in Hopetoun Road she was a nervous wreck, but at least now she was safe. The Hawthorns’ house could not be far away. She pressed her foot on the accelerator and the engine coughed and died. She pulled in to the side of the road – at least she managed to do that – and tried to start the car again. The engine did not fire. Tears perilously close, she looked at her watch (the clock on the dashboard didn’t work). Seven-forty. Ten minutes late already and the car refused to budge.
    â€˜You wretched, beastly thing!’ said Jennifer.
    Again she tried the starter. Nothing doing.
    â€˜I shall have to walk,’ she said.
    And did so, grimly. Her high heels didn’t help but somehow she managed. Luckily her destination was nearby: an imposing sandstone mansion, its entrance flanked by white stone pillars. She walked down the driveway and rang the bell.
    â€˜We were afraid you’d got lost,’ said Mrs Hawthorn, ever so sweetly. She was looking at Jennifer’s new outfit. Or perhaps at what it did not quite conceal. ‘Interesting,’ she said.
    â€˜I had car trouble,’ Jennifer said.
    Davis, glass in hand, was scowling and she knew she would be in for it later. There were several other people she did not know. All of them staring; all of them waiting.
    â€˜I am so sorry,’ she said.
    Mr Hawthorn looked at his watch. ‘Perhaps if we are all here now we might go in.’
    They trooped in like sheep, Jennifer not knowing where to look. She tugged surreptitiously at her dress, hoping to lift the bust line a little, but it was too tight and she couldn’t shift it. Dratted thing! She wished now she’d not let Miranda’s assistant talk her into it. And the price! Davis would go ballistic when he found out.
    She found herself sitting next to a man she didn’t know but who introduced himself as Anthony Belloc.
    â€˜Are you a lawyer, too, Mr Belloc?’
    â€˜I’m a businessman.’
    â€˜I have often wanted to ask,’ Jennifer said brightly. ‘What exactly does a businessman do?’
    Anthony Belloc laughed loud and long. ‘We try to make money, Mrs Lander.’
    â€˜And how do you do that exactly?’
    â€˜I have an interest in a number of companies.’
    â€˜Just like my mother. And do you make lots and lots of lovely money like she does? Not that I see any of it, unfortunately.’ It was her turn to laugh; it might have been the joke of the year.
    â€˜I try,’ he said.
    Jennifer often wished she’d married a businessman. Davis made pots of money – they had a holiday home in the Whitsundays as well as the lovely house in Brighton – and that was what she’d always wanted, but the idea of the law had always bored her. Having your hands on the money itself seemed far more exciting.
    Mr Belloc was a delightful dinner companion, both charming and handsome, with neatly groomed dark hair. She guessed he was in his early fifties, which she had always thought the ideal age for a man, mature yet young enough to be interesting, and he was wearing a beautifully made suit. He looked like a million dollars. A million dollars that was now inspecting her with frank admiration. Jennifer’s new outfit no longer embarrassed her. Mr Belloc’s smile made her feel young