Читать книгу All The Fire - Anne Mather - Страница 7

DIMITRI KASTRO thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his thick sheepskin coat, his collar turned up against the unaccustomed chill of an English spring. The grim environs of the cemetery were stark against the grey sky from which a smattering of rain was beginning to fall, and the trees, skeletal bare in the fading afternoon light, gave little protection. Dimitri hunched his shoulders and thought longingly of the warmth and light of his hotel suite and the bottle of Scotch that awaited him there. But, of course, they would have to wait. He began to walk slowly along the path to where a small gathering of mourners were gathered round an open grave. Standing in the shadow of a stooping oak, he regarded the group sombrely, speculating which of them was Joanne Nicolas.

He glanced at his watch. Matt had said three-fifteen and it was already long after three-thirty, but obviously he was in time. He should have arrived sooner but he had been caught up with a business telephone call at the hotel and his departure had been delayed.

He looked again at the group. There were not many of them; a couple of middle-aged women, a middle-aged man and a boy, a young man of perhaps twenty-five, and a girl who was without doubt Joanne Nicolas. Dimitri’s expression hardened. From here he could see very little. She was tall and slim, but her features were turned away from him and her hair was concealed beneath a black headscarf. He imagined she would look a little like Matt; round features, dark hair and eyes, an amiable disposition. He felt a surge of contempt as he wondered again why she had chosen to contact her father after all these years, just to tell him his first wife, her mother, was now dead. What could it matter to her father who had been denied seeing her for twenty years? Dimitri felt that in Matt’s place he would have ignored the letter altogether, but Matt was made of gentler tissue and despite Andrea’s doubts he had determined to contact his daughter. It was natural of course that Andrea should have doubts. She had had to bear his disappointment in being denied access all these years. And there was Marisa. Obviously, she was bound to feel something when for eighteen years she had been the apple of his eye.

Dimitri stamped his feet impatiently. The service was almost over. The priest was intoning the last rites, throwing the first handful of earth on to the coffin. This was something Dimitri was familiar with, although the rest of the service had been alien to him.

He watched the girl, studying her reactions. She stood very straight and still, showing no emotion, and he wondered if she was as cold as she appeared. Surely the involvement in burying her own mother must have left some pain in her heart? He shrugged. British people were unlike his own countrymen. They were so reserved, so afraid to show their feelings. Didn’t they realize that that was what life was all about? That being involved, sharing pain and ecstasy, was part of the joy of living! Back home in Greece they would not have been afraid to cry, to shout their grief aloud. Just as in times of gaiety they were not afraid to show their excitement and pleasure. But his was a warm land with warm people, not cold and bare like this England of today.

He glanced round. His car was parked by the gate and he wondered whether the rest of this group had provided themselves with transport. He didn’t want to go to the girl’s home. Matt had said: speak to Joanne; that could be done almost anywhere. At his hotel, for example, which seemed much more suitable than someone’s living-room.

The service was soon over. The priest turned and put a reassuring hand on the girl’s arm, and then led the way back through the rows of headstones to the path. The girl followed him, her head bent, and Dimitri moved forward, allowing the priest to pass him before putting a restraining hand out and catching the girl’s arm.

‘Miss Nicolas?’ His voice sounded alien, even to himself, with its rather deep accent.

The girl halted and turned her face up to him, staring at him with wide curious eyes. Dimitri felt a muscle jerk in his cheek; she was so vastly different from anything he had imagined. She was not like Matt at all, except perhaps that she had his height and slenderness of build. Her face was oval, her skin creamy soft and flawless, while the widely spaced eyes were an amazing shade of violet and fringed with black lashes. Her mouth was wide also, but there was real beauty in her features, and her hair, as the concealing scarf slipped back to her shoulders, was that peculiar shade of ash-blonde which can appear white in some lights. It was long and straight, and fell against her cheeks now as she removed the scarf altogether.

‘Yes?’ she said now, questioningly, and her voice was slightly husky, but whether from emotion or not he couldn’t be certain.

Dimitri recovered himself and gave a slight bow of his head. He was conscious that the other members of the group had gathered about them, most closely the young man who had placed a possessive hand on her other arm and seemed poised to make some cutting retort to anything Dimitri might say. He was young, with overly long brown hair and the kind of arrogant youthfulness Dimitri had seen in the faces of students involved in demonstrations against authority. Obviously he considered Dimitri’s intervention unwelcome to say the least. But Dimitri was not perturbed. He was perfectly capable of dealing with any antagonism that might arise.

Now he looked again at Joanne Nicolas. ‘My name is Dimitri Kastro,’ he introduced himself politely. ‘I am the second cousin of your father, Matthieu Nicolas, and it is on his behalf that I am here.’ He paused, glancing rather impatiently at the attentive faces of the group around them. ‘Is there somewhere we might talk? My hotel, perhaps?’

Joanne Nicolas studied him with her composed violet eyes. ‘Dimitri Kastro?’ she murmured, shrugging her shoulders. ‘That means nothing to me.’

Dimitri controlled his impatience. ‘Why should it?’ he inquired bleakly. ‘However, you did write to your father, did you not, Miss Nicolas?’

‘To tell him of my mother’s death, yes, I did,’ she nodded.

‘Joanne?’ It was the young man who spoke now. ‘What is all this about?’

The girl shook her head, obviously not wishing to discuss her affairs here. ‘I wrote – to my father,’ she explained reluctantly. ‘I thought he had a right to know that – that Mother was dead!’ There was just a trace of emotion in her tones and Dimitri felt slightly relieved. She was not as indifferent as she would have them believe.

The young man frowned. ‘Heavens, why?’ he exclaimed, echoing Dimitri’s own sentiments. ‘He never cared about you, did he? Why should you consider him now?’

A middle-aged woman intervened. ‘Joanne,’ she said reproachfully, ‘you didn’t tell me you had written to your father.’

Joanne Nicolas looked impatiently at Dimitri. ‘I didn’t think it was necessary, Aunt Emma,’ she replied.

Dimitri glanced at the other members of the group. Then he looked again at the girl. ‘Miss Nicolas,’ he said, rather shortly, ‘I realize you are involved with your family at this time, but it is important that I should speak with you.’

She lifted her slim shoulders. She was wearing a coat of dark blue woollen cloth, its hem and collar edged with a silvery fur, and as she moved her head the lightness of her hair was startling against the darkness. At another time and in another place Dimitri would have found her disturbingly attractive, but as it was he felt a rising sense of frustration at having such difficulty in adhering to Matt’s wishes.

‘Perhaps you could come and see me tomorrow Mr. Kastro.’ She was speaking again.

Dimitri felt the muscle jerking in his cheek. ‘That would not be at all convenient, Miss Nicolas.’

The young man gave him an appraising stare. ‘Can’t you see that Miss Nicolas is upset?’ he inquired angrily. ‘She doesn’t want to be bothered with any – foreigners tonight!’

Dimitri stiffened. ‘I think we should allow Miss Nicolas to decide, don’t you?’

‘Oh, Jimmy, please!’ Joanne sighed. ‘Can’t you see I’ll have to speak to Mr. Kastro if he insists, after he’s come so far …’ She compressed her lips and looked at the others. ‘Aunt Emma, Uncle Harry, Alan, Mrs. Thwaites! Would you all mind? I mean – I don’t suppose this will take long, and there’s nothing more to do …’ She bit her lip suddenly.

The woman she had called Mrs. Thwaites came forward to press her arm understandingly. ‘Of course we don’t mind, Joanne,’ she said. ‘It’s only right that you should speak to this gentleman. Just because your parents were divorced doesn’t make you any the less your father’s daughter …’

Joanne frowned. ‘Oh, yes, Mrs. Thwaites, it does. My father and I are strangers to one another. This is a purely formal affair.’ She looked again at Dimitri. ‘Isn’t it, Mr. Kastro?’

Dimitri shrugged. ‘If you are ready … I have a car …’

The girl’s aunt snorted. ‘How do we know he’s who he says he is?’ she asked, tossing her head.

Dimitri put his hand into his jacket pocket and produced the letter Joanne had written to her father. He did it silently and Joanne studied it equally silently. ‘Shall we go then?’ she asked stiffly. The young man, Jimmy, caught her arm, but she merely shook her head, saying: ‘Go back to the house with the others, Jimmy. I won’t be long, but I’d rather be alone. Whatever Mr. Kastro has to say, it can’t take long.’

Jimmy chewed his lip. ‘All right, Jo,’ he agreed, but he was obviously put out by her attitude. ‘Do you want me to meet you in town?’

Joanne refused politely, and then said: ‘Where are you staying, Mr. Kastro?’ as though she wanted her family to know where she might be found.

‘The Bell,’ returned Dimitri uncommunicatively, and she nodded, turning to say goodbye to the others.

Dimitri thrust his hands back into his pockets and leaving her to follow him, he began to walk briskly back to his car. His impatience was not appeased by her apparent acquiescence. She was not coming with him gladly and this puzzled him. He would have thought she would have jumped at the chance to discuss her father. Why else had she written to him unless it was to try and cash in on his affairs now that Ellen Nicolas was dead and unable to offer any objections?

He reached the sleek Mercedes and glanced round. She was still hovering with the others and his impatience increased. Just who the hell did she think she was, keeping him hanging around? Did she imagine he was some kind of messenger boy for her father? Did she imagine she could treat him like she treated that long-haired youth, Jimmy? He got into the car and slammed the door deliberately, the sudden noise reaching her ears and causing her to glance his way rather anxiously.

Reaching into the glove compartment, he produced a case of cheroots and putting one between his teeth he lit it with his lighter. Drawing on it deeply, he stared grimly out at the fading day. The warmth of the car was welcoming after the chill outside, but it did not improve his temper.

A few moments later the passenger door opened and Joanne Nicolas hesitated tentatively on the point of entering.

‘Get in!’ he commanded coldly, his accent thickening in his anger. ‘You’re letting in the cold air!’

She gave him a speculative glance and then with a shrug she got in beside him, sitting as far away from him as it was possible to sit. ‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting,’ she ventured politely.

‘Yes, so am I,’ remarked Dimitri dryly, and set the car in motion.

He was conscious of her resentment at his words, but he could not retract them. There was something about her attitude, her indifference, that infuriated him and he realized he would find it quite enjoyable to hurt her. His lean fingers tightened on the wheel as he swung the car on to the main Oxhampton Road. He would be glad when his part in this affair was over and he could leave this country of cold climate and cold people.

The cemetery where Ellen Nicolas had been laid to rest was on the outskirts of the town, but his hotel was quite central. However it was not a large town and it did not take many minutes to cover the couple of miles between the two. Dimitri had no intention of starting any kind of desultory conversation in the car, and as Joanne Nicolas seemed wrapped in her own thoughts they remained silent for the whole journey.

The Bell Inn was not large, but it had a reputation for comfort and good food and was the usual accommodation sought by the more affluent visitors to the town. Dimitri parked the Mercedes in the car park, and switching off the engine indicated that she should get out. He didn’t feel particularly polite and as he had little respect for Joanne Nicolas’s motives he had no intention of treating her with consideration. If she considered him rude and ill-mannered she refrained from revealing her feelings to him and did as he indicated and closed her door securely, waiting while he checked that all the doors were locked. Then as he began to walk into the hotel she accompanied him in silence.

Dimitri glanced at his watch. It was a little after four, but English licensing hours were such that the bars in the hotel were closed and he cursed the fact. It would have been easier confronting her over a drink, whereas now their only alternative was the ubiquitous afternoon tea.

Loosening his overcoat, he said: ‘We’ll go into the lounge. I don’t suppose it will be busy at this hour of the afternoon.’

In fact the lounge was deserted, but at least it was warm, and when a waiter came to ascertain their needs, Dimitri ordered afternoon tea realizing that he could not in all decency refrain from offering the girl some refreshment.

Joanne Nicolas seated herself at a table in one corner on a low banquette and after he had removed his overcoat Dimitri seated himself opposite her in a comfortable armchair. It was difficult to know where to begin, and he took out his cheroots and lit one before commencing.

‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a cigarette,’ he commented coldly, but Joanne shook her head indifferently.

‘I don’t smoke,’ she replied calmly, and he realized she had successfully disposed of his impoliteness.

He studied the glowing tip of his cheroot for a moment, and then he said: ‘Tell me, Miss Nicolas, just why did you write to your father?’

She shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Mr. Kastro,’ she said carefully, ‘let me say something first. I am perfectly aware from your … well … attitude that you consider my reasons for contacting my father were those of self-interest. Before we go any further, let me disabuse you of that fact!’

Dimitri’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed. Then answer my question; why contact him at all? Didn’t you know it would disturb him?’

Joanne’s eyes widened. ‘Disturb him?’ she echoed rather faintly. ‘I hardly think the death of a woman with whom he spent less than three years of his life would disturb him!’

Dimitri’s expression hardened. ‘But then you didn’t take the trouble to discover much about the man who is your father, did you, Miss Nicolas?’ he inquired bleakly.

She looked annoyed at this. ‘I suppose I was as interested in him as he was in me!’ she returned, rather heatedly.

Dimitri frowned. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ he asked ominously.

But just at that moment the waiter came in with their tray of tea and placed it on the table in front of Joanne. Dimitri nodded his thanks and the waiter withdrew, closing the door behind him.

The girl was obviously endeavouring to control her feelings, and she used the tray of tea as an excuse for avoiding his eyes. Glancing his way, she saw that he was making no attempt to deal with the teapot and fragile tea service, so with a sigh she said: ‘Shall I?’ and took his lack of reply as assent.

But Dimitri refused any tea so that she poured only one cup and sipped it rather nervously, ignoring the delicately cut sandwiches and plates of cakes. Eventually she had to answer him, and she said slowly:

‘You must be aware, Mr. Kastro, that I have not seen my father since I was two years old.’

‘I am aware of that, yes.’ Dimitri nodded.

She looked up at him curiously. ‘Then why do you ask – what do I mean?’ She shook her head. ‘Look – this conversation hasn’t much point. My reasons for writing to my father were simple ones. I wanted to inform him that my mother was dead, that was all. I didn’t – and don’t – expect anything from him. If my letter led him to believe otherwise – then I’m sorry.’ She finished slowly as though choosing her words carefully.

Dimitri studied her intently. She certainly seemed sincere enough, and yet he could not believe the truth of it. She must know her father was a wealthy man. It was inconceivable that she should be willing to ignore the fact that he was in some way responsible for her now. It didn’t matter that she was not a child; she was Matthieu’s daughter and for him that was a lot.

She was speaking again, and Dimitri forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying: ‘If that was what you wanted to talk to me about, then I suppose our conversation is over—’ she was beginning, but he shook his head, interrupting her.

‘Just wait a moment, Miss Nicolas,’ he said, impatiently. ‘My reasons for being here have far more reaching tendencies. And our conversation has been a trifle one-sided, you will agree. However, I’m prepared to accept to a degree that your motives for writing to Matt were innocent ones, even though my brain argues that this cannot be so.’

Joanne’s eyes were disturbed now. ‘Mr. Kastro, you’ve been consistently rude and objectionable to me ever since we met this afternoon at the cemetery! And now that I have stated my case, I don’t intend to sit here any longer listening to your insinuations about my honesty—’ She rose abruptly to her feet, and with a sigh, Dimitri rose too, preventing her escape by blocking her path.

‘Calm yourself, Miss Nicolas,’ he said sourly. ‘This kind of ridiculous display will get neither of us anywhere!’

Joanne was breathing swiftly, her breast rising and falling beneath the softness of a black cashmere jumper. She had loosened her coat while she drank her tea and Dimitri could see the rounded contours of her body matched the flawlessness of her complexion. In consequence, his tone was harsher than he desired.

‘Will you get out of my way, or shall I call for assistance?’ she exclaimed angrily.

Dimitri stood aside without a word and she brushed by him, marching across the room to the door. She was certainly a magnificent young animal, thought Dimitri with reluctant admiration. How proud Matt would be of her. And Marisa? He frowned. Marisa wouldn’t like it at all.

As she reached out a hand to turn the handle, Dimitri spoke: ‘Did you know that your father has only about six months left to live?’ His voice was mild but very distinct.

Joanne halted as though carved to stone, and for a moment she did not move at all. Then slowly she turned to face him, her cheeks paling slightly and a questioning disbelief in the wide violet eyes. ‘You – you can’t be serious!’ she murmured huskily.

‘Oh, but I am,’ he returned coolly, thrusting his hands into the front pockets of his trousers.

Slowly, with hesitant steps, she came back to him, staring at him curiously as though willing him to admit he was merely trying to frighten her. Finally, when his eyes did not waver, she said: ‘But why? Why? My father is a young man! He can’t be more than about forty-five!’

‘That’s right.’

‘Then – then how?’ She shook her head.

‘A year ago he had a heart attack and it was discovered he had an organic heart disease. The doctors give him until the fall!’

Joanne pressed her fingers to her lips. ‘How terrible!’ she whispered incredulously. ‘I – I never – suspected …’

‘How could you?’ queried Dimitri, rather sardonically. ‘You’re not psychic, are you?’

‘No, but – well – I’m so sorry… .’ Her voice trailed away.

Dimitri lifted his broad shoulders in an eloquent gesture. ‘So are we all,’ he commented sombrely. ‘Your stepmother – your half-sister …’

Joanne’s face suffused with colour. ‘I have a half-sister?’ she said wonderingly. ‘I didn’t know.’

Dimitri’s eyes grew sceptical again. ‘I can’t believe that,’ he muttered roughly.

Joanne looked at him again. ‘Why not? My father did not apprise us of his affairs!’ she said stiffly.

‘Did he not?’ Dimitri raised his eyes heavenward. ‘My dear Miss Nicolas, one of us has been grossly deceived!’

Joanne bit her lip. ‘I don’t understand you.’

‘Obviously not.’

‘Stop talking in innuendoes!’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘If you have something to say to me, say it!’

Dimitri gave her a half-smile, but it was a sardonic salutation. ‘Very well,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘Your father wrote regularly to your mother. Not only that, he continued to support you both long after it was necessary to do so!’

‘That’s not true!’ She scarcely let him finish. ‘My mother would accept nothing from my father – after – after he deserted us!’

Dimitri endeavoured to control the anger that her words aroused in him. He must try to accept that she was more innocent than he would have believed possible. ‘It is true!’ he said tightly. ‘I can prove it, if you give me time!’

Joanne’s eyes mirrored her distrust of him. ‘Is there more?’ she demanded, biting her lips.

‘Much more,’ he snapped, a trifle impatiently. ‘Much, much more! So much that I doubt my capacity for telling you without losing my temper!’

She stared at him unhappily. ‘Then don’t tell me,’ she said, rather chokingly. ‘Surely you can see you are as biased as I am?’

Dimitri heaved a sigh. ‘Won’t you sit down?’ he inquired tautly. ‘Some of this must be said. I insist. If only for the sake of your father who is still alive. Your mother is dead. What I say cannot hurt her now.’

Joanne hesitated, and then with a gesture she perched rather nervously on the edge of the banquette. ‘Very well,’ she said quietly. ‘What have you to say?’

‘Merely this,’ said Dimitri heavily. ‘Your father is a man involved with his family – every member of his family, and that includes you. Whatever has gone before, he is prepared to forgive you and take you back.’

Joanne stared at him. ‘Take me back?’ she echoed, uncomprehendingly.

‘Maybe my choice of words was unsuitable in the circumstances,’ said Dimitri, leaning his hands on the table and looking down at her. ‘But that was what your letter accomplished, Miss Nicolas!’

Joanne could not meet his gaze for long, and her lashes veiled her eyes. ‘So that was why you imagined I had written to my father,’ she said slowly. ‘Your fears were unfounded, Mr. Kastro.’

Dimitri straightened and frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Joanne looked up. ‘Surely it’s obvious. Naturally the news of my father’s illness has shocked me, but ultimately it alters nothing.’

Dimitri uttered an expletive. ‘You don’t seem to understand what I am trying to say, Miss Nicolas,’ he affirmed with emphasis. ‘Your father sent me here to bring you back to him!’

Joanne looked positively astounded. ‘My father did what?’

‘I think you heard what I said, Miss Nicolas. What other reaction did you expect him to have?’

Joanne shook her head bewilderedly. ‘I didn’t imagine he would react in any way,’ she exclaimed. ‘After all, why should he? He never bothered about me all these years—’

‘That is not true!’ said Dimitri harshly. ‘You must not labour under that misapprehension!’

‘What do you mean?’ Her young face was strained.

‘Exactly what I say! Believe me, Miss Nicolas, this is as distasteful to me as it is to you, but it seems your mother has deceived you on various points. Your father did not abandon you without making absolutely certain you were well taken care of. And during the years since your parents’ divorce, he has regularly apprised himself of your activities.’

Joanne got unsteadily to her feet, and walked shakily across the room to where a tall window overlooked the bleak aspect of the car-park. ‘I – I can’t believe it,’ she said unevenly. ‘Why – why would my mother do a thing like that?’

Dimitri shrugged. ‘Who knows? Perhaps for the same reasons she discouraged every attempt Matt made to see you.’

Joanne swung round. ‘He tried to see me?’

‘When you were a child, yes. Your mother could not absolutely deny him the right when reasonable access had been granted by the courts, but she made it plain that any attempt he made to do so would meet with her disapproval and he realized that it would be impossible to have any kind of normal relationship with you without her condolence.’ Dimitri sighed. ‘Besides, he considered it unfair to place you between them like a bone of contention. I suppose later – after Marisa was born he became less aggressive, and Andrea naturally didn’t encourage his interest.’

‘This is the woman he married, of course,’ Joanne’s voice was chilled.

‘Yes.’

Joanne shook her head. ‘It’s incredible! I always thought my mother was completely independent. She worked, you know. She had an office job. I didn’t attribute her adequate income to anything except good housekeeping.’ She bit her lip. ‘Anyway, if my mother considered her reasons for keeping us apart were reasonable, I shouldn’t contest them.’

Dimitri studied her pale face. ‘Do you think her reasons were adequate?’

Joanne twisted the strap of her handbag. ‘I’m hardly in a position to judge. I was so young when – when they separated.’

Dimitri stifled an exclamation. ‘Obviously, it is impossible for us to discuss something so personal,’ he said brusquely. ‘However, my reasons for being here are impersonal, to me at least, and it is necessary that we should discuss them.’

‘You mean – my going to see my father?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, that’s impossible! Absolutely impossible!’

Dimitri frowned. ‘Why?’

‘It’s not that simple,’ Joanne exclaimed. ‘I have a job to do. I can’t take time off – just like that.’

‘Then give up your job. Your father will support you.’ There was contempt in Dimitri’s expression now.

Joanne gave him an eloquent stare. ‘I prefer my independence,’ she averred quietly.

He shrugged. ‘What is your job?’

‘I’m a secretary to a group practice of doctors.’

‘Not an irreplaceable position,’ he commented dryly.

‘No. But I like it,’ she replied hotly. ‘And my holiday is fixed for June. I’m getting married then.’

‘Indeed?’ Dimitri’s voice was like ice. ‘While your father is slowly dying.’

Joanne gasped, and bent her head. ‘That’s a cruel thing to say,’ she whispered.

Dimitri took a deep breath. It was a cruel thing to say, he knew that, but he was fighting for Matt’s peace of mind. Until now it had never occurred to him that she might refuse, but to return to Matt with her refusal was untenable. Somehow she had got to be made to see sense. He clenched his fists, wishing he could simply demand that she accompany him, but he could not, and not even the hurt anguish in her eyes could deter him from doing everything in his power to get her to agree.

‘Have you ever been to Greece, Miss Nicolas?’ he asked now.

Joanne looked up. ‘No. When my parents were married my father worked in London.’

Dimitri considered this. ‘I suppose you do realize that your father is a Greek,’ he queried harshly.

Joanne stiffened. ‘Of course.’

‘Your letter was sent to the firm’s offices in Athens; don’t you know where your father actually lives?’

‘Why should I?’ she asked sharply.

Dimitri shrugged. ‘He owns an island, Dionysius. He and Andrea moved there almost ten years ago.’

Joanne compressed her lips. ‘That’s of no interest to me.’

‘Isn’t it? Aren’t you the faintest bit curious about your father? Or his second wife? Or your half-sister?’

‘What are you trying to do, Mr. Kastro?’

Dimitri clenched his fists. ‘I’m trying to make you see sense, Miss Nicolas,’ he said violently. ‘And I’m also trying to keep my temper in the face of extreme provocation!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean you are a selfish young woman, Miss Nicolas, if you can continue with your life here with complete disregard for the man who sowed the seed of your conception in your mother’s womb!’ His dark face was contorted with his anger, and she moved uncomfortably.

‘What would you have me do?’ she cried.

‘I would have you go to Dionysius!’ he told her roughly. ‘I would have you make a dying man happy!’

She pressed the palms of her hands to her hot cheeks. ‘And what of my family? My fiancé?’

‘I am not asking you to abandon your fiancé,’ returned Dimitri impatiently. ‘Surely between now and June you could find the time to spend a visit with your father!’

Joanne looked confused. ‘And my job… .’ she murmured, almost to herself.

‘Leave it!’ he commanded coldly. ‘No doubt you will be leaving in June anyway.’

She frowned. ‘Why?’

‘You said you were getting married,’ he reminded her briefly.

‘In England a wife does not give up her job,’ returned Joanne, with a trace of humour.

Dimitri inclined his dark head. ‘That is indeed a pity,’ he commented expressionlessly.

She shook her head. ‘I need time to think – to talk this over with my fiancé.’

‘I presume the young man at the cemetery was your fiancé.’

‘That’s right.’

Dimitri gave a derogatory grimace. ‘Then I imagine your task will not be a pleasant one,’ he remarked. ‘I do not believe he will voice any enthusiasm for my suggestions.’

Joanne sighed. ‘Jimmy is possessive,’ she admitted.

‘He is also very stupid if he imagines a woman with independent tendencies like yourself appreciates such an attitude,’ Dimitri observed.

Joanne’s eyes darkened. ‘I don’t need your opinion, Mr. Kastro,’ she replied sharply. ‘Jimmy and his parents have been very good to both my mother and myself.’ There was a faint choking sound in her voice, and Dimitri realized he had forgotten exactly what she had been through today.

He realized, also, that he felt suddenly very weary. ‘Very well, Miss Nicolas,’ he said now. ‘I have your word that you will consider my proposition – your father’s proposition?’

Joanne nodded. ‘I don’t have much choice,’ she replied. ‘Contrary to your beliefs, Mr. Kastro, I am not without emotions, and quite honestly the prospect of meeting my father arouses my curiosity if nothing else.’ She bit her lip. ‘That’s a terrible admission to make, isn’t it, on the very day my mother is buried?’

Dimitri lifted his broad shoulders eloquently. ‘It would be unnatural for you not to be curious about your father,’ he stated. ‘We are all human, Miss Nicolas.’

Joanne sighed. ‘With human failings,’ she added.

As their interview appeared to be at an end, Dimitri walked towards the door. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I will run you home,’ but this time she was adamant.

‘I’d rather be alone,’ she affirmed. ‘I’ll give you my decision tomorrow.’

‘At twelve.’ He was cold and businesslike, but as yet he could feel no pity for her. She nodded, and after she had gone Dimitri went swiftly up to his suite. Pouring himself a stiff drink, he loosened his tie and flung himself on the bed. He was relieved that the interview was over and yet he knew that there was something about Joanne Nicolas which would linger in his thoughts. Even while he was verbally berating her downstairs he had been aware of her attraction, and his senses had stirred in spite of himself. He felt a cynical amusement at his own vulnerability, and deliberately forced his thoughts into less disturbing channels.