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.
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