All The Fire

Still, she sighed, that was something she would have to face, and if they chose to dismiss her and find someone else then no doubt she would not find it too difficult to obtain another job on her return. She was an experienced secretary and she was sure that in spite of their feelings the doctors would be only too willing to supply her with a reference.

The biggest stumbling block was, of course, Jimmy. It was natural that he should feel resentful. He didn’t know all the facts and besides, he was not involved as she was. He must be made to understand the tenuous threads of a blood relationship that were impossible to destroy entirely. He hadn’t considered that she might actually want to see her father. That thought had not occurred to him. But it had occurred to Joanne, more strongly every minute, and the idea of meeting Matthieu Nicolas filled her with a forbidden sense of excitement that no amount of self-recrimination could erase. She was only human, after all, and she had never before allowed her thoughts such free rein.

Her mother had always refused to discuss personal matters with her daughter, and the little Joanne had learned had been from Aunt Emma. Naturally Aunt Emma was biased, Joanne had realized that, but even so there had had to be a certain amount of truth in what she had told her.

Her mother, Ellen, had first met Matthieu Nicolas while he was at college in London, just after the war. Ellen had been working as a secretary, taking a commercial course in the evenings. She was a couple of years older than Matthieu, but with the kind of English beauty that attracted the swarthy young Greek. When she discovered his parents were rich, she had tried to put an end to their affair, but Matthieu’s attraction had proved too great for her and eventually she had succumbed. Matthieu’s time at college ended, and when he found that Ellen wanted to stay in England, he arranged to work at the British-based branch of his father’s company. To begin with, they had been happy, but it was after Ellen became pregnant that the trouble started. Joanne had always been aware that her mother had not wanted children so early in their marriage, and in consequence she had blamed Matthieu for her condition. He on the contrary had affirmed that he wanted many children, and while on Aunt Emma’s lips that had sounded coarse and unfeeling, now Joanne wondered. Was it so unreasonable to want a large family? Had her mother been entirely reasonable in refusing to consider a second child? Joanne didn’t know. She only knew that after she was born her father began to spend time away from them, often in Athens with his family, and eventually the break-up came. There was another woman, of course, this Andrea, that Dimitri Kastro had spoken about, and now they had a daughter, too. But that was hardly the large family her father had previously planned, so maybe her mother had not been so unreasonable after all.

Joanne heaved a sigh and slid out of bed. It was impossible trying to sleep with so many thoughts tormenting her brain. It was still hard to realize that her mother was not asleep in the next bedroom, and a shiver ran through her at the knowledge that she was alone in the house. Aunt Emma had wanted to stay, but she had not encouraged her to do so. Sooner or later she would have to get used to living here alone, and the sooner the better.

But it had been a shock when she learned of her mother’s sudden illness that precipitated her death, and now the whole affair assumed overwhelming proportions.

Leaving her bedroom, Joanne went down the stairs and going into the kitchen she put on the kettle. Tea, she thought, with some sarcasm, the universal tonic.

While the kettle boiled she went into the lounge. The house was not centrally heated, but there was an all-night burner in the lounge, and now she opened it up and glanced at the clock. It was only a little after midnight. Still quite early really, but after Aunt Emma and Jimmy and the others had gone, she had gone straight to bed feeling exhausted. But not exhausted enough, obviously, she thought now.

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later she almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Wh – who is it?’ she called nervously, suddenly aware of her own vulnerability.

‘Joanne! It’s me, dear. Mrs. Thwaites,’ came a voice through the letter box, and with a sigh of relief Joanne went and opened the door.

‘Mrs. Thwaites!’ she exclaimed, in astonishment. ‘What are you doing here?’

The older woman smiled gently. ‘Oh, Joanne, I wanted to come back earlier on, but I knew your aunt was here, and Jimmy, of course, and I didn’t like to intrude. How are you? Are you all right? I was just going to bed when I saw this light come on.’ The Thwaites just lived across the road.

Joanne invited her into the lounge and said: ‘I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep, so I’m just making some tea. Will you have a cup?’

Mrs. Thwaites’ eyes twinkled. ‘Yes, please. I never say no to tea,’ she confessed, with a chuckle.

Joanne went and made the tea, her spirits rising considerably. She liked Mrs. Thwaites. Indeed, in her younger days she had been the recipient of many of Joanne’s confidences, and had always been there with a friendly ear to listen to her troubles. Somehow her own mother had not been so easy to talk to.

When the tea was made and they were seated round the now roaring fire, Mrs. Thwaites said: ‘Well? Did you talk to Mr. Kastro? Or is it private?’

Joanne sighed. ‘Of course it’s not private,’ she said, pressing the older woman’s hand. ‘I told Jimmy, but I haven’t told Aunt Emma.’

‘Told her what? Is it about your father?’

Joanne gasped. ‘How did you know?’

‘Well, it was obviously to do with him, wasn’t it? Why else would Mr. Kastro have the letter you sent? What’s it all about, Joanne? Does he want to see you?’

Joanne stared at her in astonishment. ‘Yes.’

Mrs. Thwaites nodded. ‘I thought so. It’s only natural, isn’t it? You being his daughter, and all.’

Joanne shook her head in amazement. ‘Honestly, Mrs. Thwaites, you flabbergast me, you really do. You’re the only person who would say a thing like that, and guess what it was all about into the bargain.’

Mrs. Thwaites sighed. ‘Well, my dear, I’ve known your mother for a good many years, God rest her soul, but she was ever a hard woman where your father was concerned.’

Joanne frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Mrs. Thwaites shook her head. ‘Oh, nothing much, dear. Tell me what that Mr. Kastro said. I’d like to hear it.’

Joanne explained everything, her expressive face mirroring her doubts as she mentioned his illness. When she had finished, even outlining Jimmy’s feelings, Mrs. Thwaites nodded slowly.

‘It’s quite a problem, for you.’

‘I know.’ Joanne stared into the fire. ‘If only Jimmy would try to understand! If he was on my side I wouldn’t care what Aunt Emma said. As it is I know she’ll appeal to him in this, and he’s likely to agree with her.’

Mrs. Thwaites sniffed. ‘Well, it seems to me you couldn’t possibly not go. He is your father, after all.’

‘You understand that?’

‘Of course. And your Jimmy might have understood it better if your father himself had come, or better still sent someone else to do his bidding.’

Joanne frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Mrs. Thwaites compressed her lips. ‘You mean to tell me you didn’t notice what that Mr. Kastro was like?’

Joanne’s frown deepened. ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

Mrs. Thwaites clicked her tongue. ‘Oh, Joanne, it’s been a difficult day for you and I think I’m being a little saucy.’

Joanne narrowed her eyes, seeing again Dimitri Kastro’s dark features. ‘You must tell me now you’ve begun,’ she pressed her. ‘You don’t – you can’t imagine that Jimmy could be – jealous?’

Mrs. Thwaites sipped her tea. ‘Well, it’s certainly worth considering,’ she remarked dryly. ‘Good heavens, Joanne, it’s the most natural thing in the world. Take a look at yourself in the mirror some time. And you can’t deny that this man Kastro was very attractive.’

Joanne half-smiled. ‘Mrs. Thwaites!’ she murmured reprovingly.

Mrs. Thwaites chuckled. ‘Anyway, that’s what I think.’

Joanne sighed. ‘Jimmy has no need to be jealous,’ she averred firmly. ‘Mr. Kastro wasn’t my type at all. All that black hair! And he’s so dark-skinned!’

Mrs. Thwaites finished her tea and accepted another cup. ‘It was only a thought,’ she said. ‘But don’t underestimate yourself so much. I’ve seen men looking at you. And if you ask me, Jimmy has reason to be jealous. What he does not have the right to do is to get his jealousy muddled up with his feelings about your father.’

‘So you think I should go?’

‘Most definitely. Have you made a decision yet?’

‘Not officially. I’m meeting Mr. Kastro at twelve to tell him what I’ve decided.’

Mrs. Thwaites nodded. ‘And that’s what’s keeping you awake.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Well, don’t let it. Joanne, you’re young, what are you? Twenty-one, twenty-two?’ And at Joanne’s nod, she went on: ‘You’ve all your life ahead of you, years to spend with Jimmy, while your father has only six months left. If you don’t go, in years to come, all these years that are Jimmy’s, you’ll always blame yourself for allowing him to persuade you not to go. You may even get around to blaming him, if things are bad. For heaven’s sake, child, you’re not getting married for three months. You’ve got all the time in the world!’

‘But what if I lose my job?’ exclaimed Joanne doubtfully.

‘What if you do? You’re a competent secretary. You can easily get another job. Reliable secretaries are not so easy to come by.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right.’ Mrs. Thwaites pressed her arm gently. ‘Joanne, you’re letting other people make your decisions, just like you’ve done all your life.’

Joanne stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean. Your mother! You can’t deny she dictated your life almost entirely. Until her illness …’

‘It’s terrible to think that both my parents are dying so young,’ Joanne exclaimed.

Mrs. Thwaites stirred her tea thoughtfully. ‘Your mother died heedlessly, Joanne. She was warned months ago that she should have that operation. It was her own fault that she let it wait.’

‘But why did she?’

‘I wonder?’ Mrs. Thwaites sniffed. ‘Maybe she was afraid of what you might learn if she went into hospital.’

Joanne frowned. ‘You mean – about the money?’

‘I guess I do. Maybe your father wrote letters. Maybe he asked about you. She must have known you would take it badly that she hadn’t told you.’

Joanne shook her head. ‘I don’t understand why she should do such a thing.’

‘Don’t you? Your mother was a very possessive woman, Joanne, surely you realized that. After your father left, you became everything to her.’

‘A bone of contention,’ sighed Joanne unhappily.

‘A sword of victory, you mean,’ said Mrs. Thwaites almost inaudibly. ‘It must have been terribly hard for your father to accept that he no longer had a child except as a name on a certificate.’

‘You never said anything like this before,’ Joanne cried.

‘How could I? Your mother would never have forgiven me for attempting to alienate your affections. At least, that was how she would have seen it. But now, with this opportunity facing you, I feel you should be apprised of some of the facts.’

Joanne nodded. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she agreed again. ‘I suppose Jimmy will understand eventually.’

‘If he loves you, he’ll have to,’ commented Mrs. Thwaites dryly, and Joanne was forced to agree yet again.

Much later, after Mrs. Thwaites had assured herself that there was nothing more she could do and left, Joanne returned to bed. Now she felt less indecisive. If Mrs. Thwaites thought she ought to go, too, then she couldn’t be all wrong in going, could she?

Ultimately she slept, and it was almost eleven o’clock before she woke to the realization that she was meeting Dimitri Kastro at twelve.

CHAPTER THREE

THE Bell Inn was crowded with lunchtime diners when Joanne entered the reception hall a little after twelve. It was a popular eating place, although not one that Joanne had frequented previously. Pushing her way through to the reception desk, she confronted the young woman who was endeavouring to cope with the internal switchboard as well as handle inquiries. When Joanne asked for Mr. Kastro she looked rather surprised and said:

‘Is he expecting you, Miss – er …?’

‘Nicolas,’ Joanne said helpfully. ‘And yes, he is expecting me.’

The young woman raised arched eyebrows. ‘Oh, very well. Hang on a moment and I’ll ring his suite for you.’

Joanne registered the word ‘suite’ and turned to one side to await developments. Obviously whoever he was and whatever his occupation he was not without affluence. She looked about her with interest as she waited, enjoying the aromas of perfume and cigar smoke, and a faint smell of good food emanating from the restaurant. Most of the group occupying the reception hall seemed to be in a party and were gravitating towards the bar for a drink before their meal. Joanne glanced down at the suit she was wearing, wondering whether she ought to have used the cloakroom before encountering Dimitri Kastro, and then decided she was being unnecessarily self-conscious. After all, she was only here to affirm that she would go to see her father, and it was unlikely that he would notice anything about her.

When she was beginning to feel conspicuously solitary and slightly annoyed that she should be kept waiting a hand touched her arm, and she swung round hastily. Dimitri Kastro stood before her, dark and alien in a bronze-coloured suit and a cream shirt patterned with dark brown. On Jimmy the shirt would have looked informal, but Dimitri Kastro’s darkness gave elegance to his attire.

‘Good morning,’ he said politely, ‘or perhaps I should say good afternoon. I’m sorry if I have kept you waiting, but I had several business calls to make.’

Joanne gathered her composure. ‘That’s quite all right,’ she replied, equally politely. ‘I suppose I could have telephoned my decision. I didn’t think of that last night.’

Dimitri shook his head. ‘I do not care to discuss personal matters on the telephone,’ he replied smoothly. ‘And in any case, there are various arrangements to be made if you have decided to accept your father’s invitation.’

Joanne nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

Dimitri glanced round, and said: ‘Come. We will go into the residents’ bar. We can get a drink there before lunch.’

‘Lunch?’ Joanne frowned uncertainly.

‘But of course. Did I not make this plain yesterday?’

‘Frankly – no.’ Joanne wasn’t at all sure she wanted to have lunch with him. She wasn’t sure she ought to. Jimmy would be hardly likely to approve, for one thing, and for another, her relationship with Dimitri Kastro was a business one and nothing more. Even so, today, after Mrs. Thwaites’ assertions of the night before, she was aware that many women would consider it very exciting to be invited to lunch with him. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean hard body, he was certainly attractive, although Joanne wasn’t at all sure she liked such blatant masculinity. Besides, he was far too sophisticated for her tastes, and she didn’t much like the cynical line to his rather sensuous mouth. He looked at her as though he found women easy game and despised them for it.

Now Joanne said: ‘Perhaps we could settle our affairs over a drink, Mr. Kastro. I don’t think I should lunch with you.’

Dimitri Kastro’s dark brows ascended. ‘May I ask why?’ he queried, his accent pronounced as it sometimes was, she had noticed, when he was annoyed.

Joanne shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Well, to be honest, my fiancé wouldn’t approve.’

The trace of a sardonic smile touched his lips. ‘Would he not?’ he commented thoughtfully. ‘But surely you are old enough to make that kind of decision for yourself.’ There was mockery in his tone.

Joanne felt a faint flush staining her cheeks. ‘That’s not the point …’ she began uncomfortably.

Dimitri Kastro began to look bored. ‘Nevertheless, I feel I must insist,’ he replied, his voice hardening. ‘I do not intend to be dictated to by your fiancé.’

Joanne sighed, and when he indicated that she should precede him across the entrance hall she did so, passing through the swing doors that separated the private apartments of the hotel from the public ones. Here the carpet was thicker, more luxurious, and the residents’ bar was attractively decorated with coloured lights and ships’ wheels. Dimitri suggested that they seated themselves at the bar, and Joanne agreed, perching on one of the tall scarlet padded stools. The bar steward was swiftly summoned and Joanne said she would have a gin and tonic. Dimitri ordered Scotch for himself, and then turned sideways to study Joanne as he spoke.

‘Now; do I take it that you have decided to accept your father’s invitation?’

Joanne ran her tongue over dry lips. ‘Yes,’ she said quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind, and then felt an immense sense of anxiety at her impulsiveness.

‘Good.’ Dimitri nodded briefly at the steward who brought their drinks. He pushed Joanne’s glass towards her, and added: ‘I rather thought you might.’

Joanne frowned. ‘You say that as though you think I have some ulterior motive for agreeing,’ she said sharply. ‘Let me assure you that my reasons are not personal ones. My fiancé is against the whole affair, and he doesn’t consider I owe my father anything. He thinks I’m crazy for going, jeopardizing my job at a time when we should be concentrating on saving for a house. As for my aunt – well, she doesn’t know yet, but she won’t like it either. She is my mother’s sister, and obviously she’ll consider I’m being unfaithful to her memory.’ Her cheeks were heated as she finished, and Dimitri toyed with his glass thoughtfully.

‘I see,’ he said, drawing out his case of cheroots. ‘This – er – young man – Jimmy; he doesn’t consider it a worthy gamble?’

Joanne stared at him incomprehensively. ‘What do you mean?’

Dimitri raised his dark brows. ‘Never mind,’ he replied evasively. ‘Come; we must discuss details.’

Joanne sipped her drink with some misgivings. She was aware that in spite of his eagerness to persuade her to go and see her father Dimitri Kastro did not trust her. But she didn’t care, she told herself with some impatience. It was actually nothing to do with him, and she couldn’t see what his involvement was. Being a distant cousin gave him no rights so far as she was concerned.

‘Tell me, Mr. Kastro,’ she said suddenly, ‘do you work for my father?’

Dimitri Kastro shook his head. ‘No. Why?’

Joanne bit her lip. ‘I just wondered. You do have a job, though, do you?’ She was being inquisitive and she knew it. After all, it was none of her business.

Dimitri gave her a sardonic smile. ‘Oh, yes, I have a job,’ he answered. Then: ‘Shall we go through to the restaurant? They’re saving a table for us.’

Joanne noticed that he had finished his drink and hastily swallowed the rest of hers. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he had deliberately snubbed her although his manner was as urbane as before.

In the restaurant the waiter escorted them to a table near the tall windows and left them with the menu. Dimitri studied his with some concentration and then said: ‘Have you any preference? Myself, I find your food lacking in variety.’

Joanne studied the list of dishes available. ‘Perhaps you ought to try the Chinese restaurant,’ she commented coolly. ‘They have a much wider variety. I understand their food is quite colourful!’

Dimitri lowered his menu and regarded her over its rim. ‘Thank you for the suggestion,’ he murmured mockingly, unperturbed by her attempt at retaliation. ‘However, there is a Greek restaurant in Brownsgate, so I’ve been informed, and if I feel the need for sustenance I can always go there!’

Joanne refrained from answering him. She felt certain that whatever she might say he would have a ready answer for her, and it was rather annoying to feel continually at a disadvantage. With Jimmy she felt his equal, but this man seemed bent on submitting her to his will. She studied him surreptitiously from behind the menu. She was aware that several feminine eyes had turned in their direction as they entered and she wondered if they were causing speculation among this gathering of business men and country squires. Although Oxhampton was only fifty miles from London it was mainly a farming community and such industry as there was was confined to dairy production. Therefore Dimitri Kastro was bound to arouse interest particularly with his foreign manner and swarthy appearance.

Finally Joanne decided to have a prawn cocktail followed by steak and salad, and with a faint smile in her direction Dimitri ordered the same. Then he ordered some wine and sat back to regard her thoughtfully.

‘Your father is delighted with your decision,’ he said casually, astounding her by the calm indifference of his statement.

Joanne, who had been silently admiring the fur coat worn by a woman just entering the restaurant, jerked her head back to stare at him in amazement. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said uneasily, ‘what was that you just said?’

Dimitri stubbed out the cheroot he had been smoking. ‘I said your father was delighted that you had agreed to come to Dionysius,’ he replied smoothly. ‘I spoke to him last evening – the telephone, you know.’ His tone mocked her astonishment.

Joanne shook her head. ‘But you didn’t know my decision last evening!’ she exclaimed.

He shrugged. ‘Let us say I presumed what it would be,’ he remarked. ‘My dear Miss Nicolas, there never was any doubt, was there? Unless you were a woman without heart, you could not deny a dying man’s last request.’

Joanne seethed, staring down at the cutlery on the table with assumed concentration. She had never met a man who was so supremely indifferent to her feelings. ‘I think you took a chance – a very big chance,’ she muttered tightly, not looking at him. ‘You couldn’t be certain that my fiancé wouldn’t stop me!’

Dimitri Kastro gave a derisive exclamation. ‘Could I not? Miss Nicolas, your fiancé could not prevent you from writing to your father …’

‘He knew nothing about it!’

‘Exactly. You kept it from him.’ Dimitri snapped his fingers. ‘And yesterday he could not prevent you from coming with me – to speak with me!’

‘That’s ridiculous! Why shouldn’t I have spoken to you?’

Dimitri shrugged. ‘Maybe you might have suggested he accompany you.’

Joanne shook her head. ‘Are you trying to say something, Mr. Kastro, because I warn you—’

‘My dear Miss Nicolas, what you do, who you involve yourself with, is your own affair. All I am saying is that the possibility of your fiancé deterring you once your mind was made up was very slight – very slight indeed!’

The waiter arrived with the wine and Dimitri tasted it experimentally before allowing it to be poured. Then, when the prawn cocktail was served, he applied himself to it with easy assurance.

Joanne was less relaxed and had to force herself to eat at all. Something about Dimitri Kastro disturbed and frightened her a little. There was a ruthlessness about him that defied any attempt at rationalization, and it was impossible to better him. With determination, she said:

‘You appear to know everything about me, Mr. Kastro, simply by deduction. It’s a pity I am not blessed with your gift of perception.’

Dimitri shrugged lazily. ‘I have known many women, Miss Nicolas. They are not the complex creatures they would have us men believe.’

‘That’s rather a cynical attitude, Mr. Kastro.’

‘Perhaps it is. Perhaps I am a cynic. In my work it is sometimes impossible to be anything else.’

Joanne eyed him curiously. ‘And what precisely is your work, Mr. Kastro?’

He did not immediately reply, for the waiter came to remove their plates and it was not until their steaks had been served that he said: