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.
JOANNE turned into Latimer Road with some misgivings. She wished it could have been possible for her to return to the house without having to face her aunt and uncle. Aunt Emma was her mother’s only sister and obviously she would have little sympathy with any pleas Joanne might make on her father’s behalf. She was bound to support all that Joanne’s mother had done, and it would not be easy to convince her that Joanne could not in all conscience ignore everything that Dimitri Kastro had told her.
And then of course there was Jimmy to face. He had made his attitude very plain and his instant dismissal of the other man had been an instinctive effort to show his authority where Joanne was concerned. It was certainly a difficult situation, but at least it had in part banished the sense of bereavement that had previously absorbed her. Maybe she was being unreasonable in considering all that Dimitri Kastro had told her on a day when her thoughts should have been all with her mother. But in spite of everything that had gone before, Matthieu Nicolas was her father and the knowledge that he was dying had disturbed her quite badly. She couldn’t remember him at all, of course, and what little her mother had told her about him had not been complimentary, and yet Joanne had to admit to herself that he was still her parent, and as such, the closest living relative she possessed.
She reached number twenty-seven, and pushed open the gate. There were lights in the front lounge, the dullness of the day requiring the artificial illumination. She could see her aunt and uncle and their son, her cousin Alan, watching the television, while Jimmy was standing at the window and waved enthusiastically when he saw her.
He came to meet her as she entered the hall of the small house, taking her coat from her and saying: ‘You’ve been ages! You should have let me run you back.’
Joanne managed a faint smile, smoothing her hair behind her ears automatically. ‘Mr. Kastro offered to run me back,’ she said quietly, ‘but I preferred to get the bus. I needed time to think.’
‘Think? What about?’ Jimmy frowned.
Joanne sighed. ‘Lots of things.’ She moved down the hall despite his attempts to detain her. ‘Is there a cup of tea? I’m thirsty.’
Aunt Emma came bustling out of the lounge. ‘So there you are, Joanne,’ she exclaimed. ‘And about time, too. Whatever have you been doing? It’s almost six!’
Joanne shook her head. ‘Is there some tea?’ she asked, ignoring her aunt’s question.
‘Of course. Though you’d better boil up the kettle, it’s ages since it was made. We’ve all had some sandwiches. I thought we’d better get on. Mrs. Thwaites has gone. She said she had to see to her husband’s tea.’
Joanne nodded. ‘That’s all right, Aunt Emma, I can manage. Did you have plenty to eat?’
Her aunt dabbed her eyes. ‘I wasn’t particularly hungry,’ she maintained with a sniff. ‘Joanne, what did that man want with you? Foreigners! I never did trust them. Look what happened to your dear mother …’
‘Not now, Aunt Emma,’ exclaimed Joanne, brushing past her into the small kitchenette. ‘Er – Jimmy – empty the teapot, will you, love?’
Both Jimmy and her aunt were forced to accept that for the moment Joanne had no intention of divulging her affairs, so Aunt Emma returned to the lounge where she could be heard talking in undertones to her husband. Joanne half-smiled. She could guess what she was saying. She