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 was well aware that Aunt Emma considered her whole attitude sadly lacking in sympathy, but it was simply that Joanne was not the kind of person who could publicly display her grief and consequently sometimes she appeared cold and unfeeling.
Jimmy emptied the teapot into the sink, and busied himself with the dirty dishes. If he was curious he was endeavouring to conceal it. Joanne watched him with gentle eyes. She did love him, she thought tenderly. He was so kind, so reliable, so lovable! She smiled and on impulse slid her arms round his waist from behind, hugging him.
‘Hey!’ he exclaimed, with pleasure, turning round to her. ‘What’s all this? Cupboard love?’
Joanne shook her head. ‘No, nothing much. Oh, Jimmy, what I’ve got to tell you you’re not going to like!’
Jimmy’s face darkened. ‘No? Why?’
Joanne sighed and drew back from him, aware of the change in his attitude at her words. ‘I’ve got to go to Greece,’ she said, without preamble. ‘My father wants to see me.’
Jimmy’s face registered shock, anger and disbelief in quick succession. ‘You can’t be serious!’
She nodded slowly. ‘I’m afraid I am, Jimmy. I have a reason …’
‘What possible reason can you have?’ he interrupted her. ‘My God, only hours ago you were considering the way your mother was left with you to bring up on a pittance! Now that she’s buried you’re actually considering visiting the man responsible because he sends some blasted henchman to bring you to him!’
‘No,’ protested Joanne. ‘It’s not like that.’ She sighed, seeking words to explain things to him. ‘My father is very ill – he’s dying, in fact. He wants to see me—’
‘It’s a bit late for him to want that now, isn’t it?’ sneered Jimmy, his good-humour banished. ‘What is this? Some kind of dying act of recompense? Is he making retribution for his sins?’
‘No!’ Joanne turned away, fumbling with cups and saucers. She had known Jimmy would take this badly, but what could she do? She had to go. Of that she was certain. It didn’t matter what anyone said, she had to accept that at least part of what Dimitri Kastro had said was true. ‘Jimmy,’ she pleaded, ‘try to understand.’
Jimmy slammed shut the cutlery drawer and leant back against the sink. ‘What’s there to understand?’ he snapped angrily. ‘I don’t understand you, that’s obvious!’
Joanne gave a helpless gesture. ‘I have no choice.’
‘Didn’t your mother mean anything to you, Joanne?’ he exclaimed.
‘How can you ask that?’ she whispered. ‘You know I loved her very much.’
‘Then how can you do this to her memory?’
Joanne swung round. ‘Do what? She’s dead! What I do can’t hurt her now! I have to think of my father; he’s still alive!’
‘And when did he think of you?’
Joanne didn’t want to discuss that. She didn’t want to tell Jimmy what Dimitri Kastro had said until she knew more about it. If what he had said was true then surely even Jimmy must feel less aggressive. But right now he was not likely to even listen to her.
Now, she said: ‘When my parents were divorced and my mother was given custody of me, my father made several attempts to see me. But he didn’t succeed. My mother made it plain that it would be better for me not to see him and he accepted that.’
‘I’ll bet he did!’ Jimmy hunched his shoulders. ‘I don’t suppose his second wife encouraged his interest.’
Joanne shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose she did. They have a child – a girl – my half-sister.’
Jimmy snorted. ‘How touching! And what is this visit to be? A kind of family reunion?’
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. Look, Jimmy, my father sent Mr. Kastro to ask me to come to Greece, to see him. In the normal way I would refuse outright. As it is, I can’t.’
Jimmy chewed his lower lip. ‘Because of his illness?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure he is ill?’
Joanne coloured. ‘I have no reason to doubt it,’ she said stiffly.
Jimmy shook his head helplessly. ‘It doesn’t make sense! Why ever did you write to him in the first place?’
Joanne lifted her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I just felt he should know. After all, she was his wife – his first wife.’
‘Hmmn!’ Jimmy sounded impatient. ‘You didn’t tell me you’d written.’
‘I didn’t tell anyone. Heavens, I only wrote three days ago. And these last three days haven’t exactly been easy for me!’
‘I suppose not.’ Jimmy sighed, running a hand over his hair. ‘Are you going to tell your aunt?’
‘I shall have to, shan’t I?’
‘Today?’
Joanne shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I should wait. Give her time to get over your mother’s death.’ He looked at her suddenly with speculative eyes. ‘How much time have you? When do you intend to go?’ He gave an exclamation. ‘What about your job?’
Joanne was thankful that the kettle boiled at that moment. She didn’t know how to answer him. She didn’t know sufficient about it herself to make any statements. She made the tea and added milk to the cups, hoping he would be diverted. But as she poured the tea, he said:
‘Well, Jo? What’s on your mind now?’
Joanne sighed. ‘Honestly, I don’t know myself yet. I – I – promised to meet Mr. Kastro tomorrow at twelve to give him my decision.’
Jimmy’s face brightened. ‘You mean you haven’t committed yourself?’
Joanne shook her head again. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m going to.’
‘But why?’ Jimmy made an angry gesture. ‘You’re crazy! We’ve got a good life here, haven’t we? You’ve got a good job and so have I. In a few weeks we’ll be looking around for a house and then there’s the wedding… . How can you jeopardize everything? Can’t you write to your father and explain how things are?’
Joanne looked uncomfortable. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘How could I write and tell a dying man that I haven’t the time – or the inclination – to visit him?’
‘And what about your job? These trips cost money.’
Joanne shrugged. ‘I expect my father will pay my fare.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s his money that interests you!’ Jimmy’s lip curled.
‘That’s a foul thing to say,’ she cried unsteadily. ‘If that’s the way you feel I can pay my own fare! I don’t want his money; not any of it!’
‘Huh!’ Jimmy turned and stared moodily out of the window at the darkened garden. ‘And what will you do if they won’t release you