All The Fire. Anne Mather

But apart from Mrs. Thwaites she would get no encouragement from anyone, of that she was certain, and Jimmy’s parents were likely to regard her actions as nothing short of thoughtless. She was being drawn two ways at one and the same time, and she didn’t know which was right.

      Dimitri Kastro ordered coffee and cognac, and then said: ‘Without wanting to appear discourteous, Miss Nicolas, I should tell you that your expression is very revealing. You’re uncertain and distrustful, and you haven’t the strength of your own convictions.’

      Joanne sighed. ‘You must agree – I have a problem.’

      He lit a cheroot slowly and exhaled the pleasant aroma in her direction. ‘The problem is of your own making,’ he commented shrewdly. ‘Deep inside you want to go. That is natural. Don’t imagine all difficult situations can be resolved by deciding what is wrong and what is right. It is only your conscience invading your subconscious that arouses self-doubt.’

      Joanne looked through the arched window at the street beyond. On a dull day, the sun scarcely dispersing the heavy clouds that hung over the steeple of St. Stephen’s church, Oxhampton was not an inspiring sight and she wondered with perspicacity what her father must have thought of her mother for wanting to stay here when all his instincts, his yearnings, must have been towards a warmer, sunnier land. Had he subjugated his desires to her only to find her wanting in other respects? What had driven him to give up his wife and family? If he were the unfeeling tyrant her mother had made him out to be, why had he continued to send her money, and why had he sent Dimitri Kastro to find his daughter now that her mother was dead? These were only a few of the questions that tormented Joanne’s mind, and no amount of soul-searching could dispel her desire to know the truth.