All The Fire

Even so, it was a little disturbing to discover that the woman around whom you had built your life had been systematically deceiving you.

Her thoughts turned to more immediate matters. The following day was Friday and she was not expected back at her desk until Monday morning. But once her decision was taken she would have to contact Dr. Hastings, the senior partner in the practice, and explain the position to him. It was extremely doubtful that he would appreciate her problems, for her work required a certain amount of local knowledge and she was very efficient in this respect. She knew most of the patients, she knew which doctor they invariably saw, and she was capable of deciding what was serious and what was not. She had been with the practice for three years and as she was rarely absent herself they relied upon her completely.

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.

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