by Anne Mather
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.
CHAPTER THREE
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 registered the word ‘suite’ and turned to one side to await developments. Obviously whoever he was and whatever his occupation he was not without affluence. She looked about her with interest as she waited, enjoying the aromas of perfume and cigar smoke, and a faint smell of good food emanating from the restaurant. Most of the group occupying the reception hall seemed to be in a party and were gravitating towards the bar for a drink before their meal. Joanne glanced down at the suit she was wearing, wondering whether she ought to have used the cloakroom before encountering Dimitri Kastro, and then decided she was being unnecessarily self-conscious. After all, she was only here to affirm that she would go to see her father, and it was unlikely that he would notice anything about her.
When she was beginning to feel conspicuously solitary and slightly annoyed that she should be kept waiting a hand touched her arm, and she swung round hastily. Dimitri Kastro stood before her, dark and alien in a bronze-coloured suit and a cream shirt patterned with dark brown. On Jimmy the shirt would have looked informal, but Dimitri Kastro’s darkness gave elegance to his attire.
‘Good morning,’ he said politely, ‘or perhaps I should say good afternoon. I’m sorry if I have kept you waiting, but I had several business calls to make.’
Joanne gathered her composure. ‘That’s quite all right,’ she replied, equally politely. ‘I suppose I could have telephoned my decision. I didn’t think of that last night.’
Dimitri shook his head. ‘I do not care to discuss personal matters on the telephone,’ he replied smoothly. ‘And in any case, there are various arrangements to be made if you have decided to accept your father’s invitation.’
Joanne nodded. ‘I suppose so.’
Dimitri glanced round, and said: ‘Come. We will go into the residents’ bar. We can get a drink there before lunch.’
‘Lunch?’ Joanne frowned uncertainly.
‘But of course. Did I not make this plain yesterday?’
‘Frankly - no.’ Joanne wasn’t at all sure she wanted to have lunch with him. She wasn’t sure she ought to. Jimmy would be hardly likely to approve, for one thing, and for another, her relationship with Dimitri Kastro was a business one and nothing more. Even so, today, after Mrs. Thwaites’ assertions of the night before, she was aware that many women would consider it very exciting to be invited to lunch with him. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean hard body, he was certainly attractive, although Joanne wasn’t at all sure she liked such blatant masculinity. Besides, he was far too sophisticated for her tastes, and she didn’t much like the cynical line to his rather sensuous mouth. He looked at her as though he found women easy game and despised them for it.
Now
Joanne said: ‘Perhaps we could settle our affairs over a drink, Mr. Kastro. I don’t think I should lunch with you.’
Dimitri Kastro’s dark brows ascended. ‘May I ask why?’ he queried, his accent pronounced as it sometimes was, she had noticed, when he was annoyed.
Joanne shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Well, to be honest, my fiancé wouldn’t approve.’
The trace of a sardonic smile touched his lips. ‘Would he not?’ he commented thoughtfully. ‘But surely you are old enough to make that kind of decision for yourself.’ There was mockery in his tone.
Joanne felt a faint flush staining her cheeks. ‘That’s not the point ...’ she began uncomfortably.
Dimitri Kastro began to look bored. ‘Nevertheless, I feel I must insist,’ he replied, his voice hardening. ‘I do not intend to be dictated to by your fiancé.’
Joanne sighed, and when he indicated that she should precede him across the entrance hall she did so, passing through the swing doors that separated the private apartments of the hotel from the public ones. Here the carpet was thicker, more luxurious, and the residents’ bar was attractively decorated with coloured lights and ships’ wheels. Dimitri suggested that they seated themselves at the bar, and Joanne agreed, perching on one of the tall scarlet padded stools. The bar steward was swiftly summoned and Joanne said she would have a gin and tonic. Dimitri ordered Scotch for himself, and then turned sideways to study Joanne as he spoke.
‘Now; do I take it that you have decided to accept your father’s invitation?’
Joanne ran her tongue over dry lips. ‘Yes,’ she said quickly, before she had a chance to change her mind, and then felt an immense sense of anxiety at her impulsiveness.
‘Good.’ Dimitri nodded briefly at the steward who brought their drinks. He pushed Joanne’s glass towards her, and added: ‘I rather thought you might.’
Joanne frowned. ‘You say that as though you think I have some ulterior motive for agreeing,’ she said sharply. ‘Let me assure you that my reasons are not personal ones. My fiancé is against the whole affair, and he doesn’t consider I owe my father anything. He thinks I’m crazy for going, jeopardizing my job at a time when we should be concentrating on saving for a house. As for my aunt - well, she doesn’t know yet, but she won’t like it either. She is my mother’s sister, and obviously she’ll consider I’m being unfaithful to her memory.’ Her cheeks were heated as she finished, and Dimitri toyed with his glass thoughtfully.
‘I see,’ he said, drawing out his case of cheroots. ‘This – er - young man - Jimmy; he doesn’t consider it a worthy gamble?’
Joanne stared at him incomprehensively. ‘What do you mean?’
Dimitri raised his dark brows. ‘Never mind,’ he replied evasively. ‘Come; we must discuss details.’
Joanne sipped her drink with some misgivings. She was aware that in spite of his eagerness to persuade her to go and see her father Dimitri Kastro did not trust her. But she didn’t care, she told herself with some impatience. It was actually nothing to do with him, and she couldn’t see what his involvement was. Being a distant cousin gave him no rights so far as she was concerned.
‘Tell me, Mr. Kastro,’ she said suddenly, ‘do you work for my father?’
Dimitri Kastro shook his head. ‘No. Why?’
Joanne bit her lip. ‘I just wondered. You do have a job, though, do you?’ She was being inquisitive and she knew it. After all, it was none of her business.
Dimitri gave her a sardonic smile. ‘Oh, yes, I have a job,’ he answered. Then: ‘Shall we go through to the restaurant? They’re saving a table for us.’
Joanne noticed that he had finished his drink and hastily swallowed the rest of hers. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he had deliberately snubbed her although his manner was as urbane as before.
In the restaurant the waiter escorted them to a table near the tall windows and left them with the menu. Dimitri studied his with some concentration and then said: ‘Have you any preference? Myself, I find your food lacking in variety.’
Joanne studied the list of dishes available. ‘Perhaps you ought to try the Chinese restaurant,’ she commented coolly. ‘They have a much wider variety. I understand their food is quite colourful!’
Dimitri lowered his menu and regarded her over its rim. ‘Thank you for the suggestion,’ he murmured mockingly, unperturbed by her attempt at retaliation. ‘However, there is a Greek restaurant in Brownsgate, so I’ve been informed, and if I feel the need for sustenance I can always go there!’
Joanne refrained from answering him. She felt certain that whatever she might say he would have a ready answer for her, and it was rather annoying to feel continually at a disadvantage. With Jimmy she felt his equal, but this man seemed bent on submitting her to his will. She studied him surreptitiously from behind the menu. She was aware that several feminine eyes had turned in their direction as they entered and she wondered if they were causing speculation among this gathering of business men and country squires. Although Oxhampton was only fifty miles from London it was mainly a farming community and such industry as there was was confined to dairy production. Therefore Dimitri Kastro was bound to arouse interest particularly with his foreign manner and swarthy appearance.
Finally Joanne decided to have a prawn cocktail followed by steak and salad, and with a faint smile in her direction Dimitri ordered the same. Then he ordered some wine and sat back to regard her thoughtfully.
‘Your father is delighted with your decision,’ he said casually, astounding her by the calm indifference of his statement.
Joanne, who had been silently admiring the fur coat worn by a woman just entering the restaurant, jerked her head back to stare at him in amazement. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said uneasily, ‘what was that you just said?’
Dimitri stubbed out the cheroot he had been smoking. ‘I said your father was delighted that you had agreed to come to Dionysius,’ he replied smoothly. ‘I spoke to him last evening - the telephone, you know.’ His tone mocked her astonishment.
Joanne shook her head. ‘But you didn’t know my decision last evening!’ she exclaimed.
He shrugged. ‘Let us say I presumed what it would be,’ he remarked. ‘My dear Miss Nicolas, there never was any doubt, was there? Unless you were a woman without heart, you could not deny a dying man’s last request.’
Joanne seethed, staring down at the cutlery on the table with assumed concentration. She had never met a man who was so supremely indifferent to her feelings. ‘I think you took a chance - a very big chance,’ she muttered tightly, not looking at him. ‘You couldn’t be certain that my fiancé wouldn’t stop me!’
Dimitri Kastro gave a derisive exclamation. ‘Could I not? Miss Nicolas, your fiancé could not prevent you from writing to your father ...’
‘He knew nothing about it!’
‘Exactly. You kept it from him.’ Dimitri snapped his fingers. ‘And yesterday he could not prevent you from coming with me - to speak with me!’
‘That’s ridiculous! Why shouldn’t I have spoken to you?’
Dimitri shrugged. ‘Maybe you might have suggested he accompany you.’
Joanne shook her head. ‘Are you trying to say something, Mr. Kastro, because I warn you—’
‘My dear Miss Nicolas, what you do, who you involve yourself with, is your own affair. All I am saying is that the possibility of your fiancé deterring you once your mind was made up was very slight - very slight indeed!’
The waiter arrived with the wine and Dimitri tasted it experimentally before allowing it to be poured. Then, when the prawn cocktail was served, he applied himself to it with easy assurance.
Joanne was less relaxed and had to force herself to eat at all. Something about Dimitri Kastro disturbed and frightened her a little. There was a ruthlessness about him that defied any attempt at rationalization, and it was impossible to better him. With determination, she said:
‘You appear to know everything about me, Mr. Kastro, simply by deduction. It’s
a pity I am not blessed with your gift of perception.’
Dimitri shrugged lazily. ‘I have known many women, Miss Nicolas. They are not the complex creatures they would have us men believe.’
‘That’s rather a cynical attitude, Mr. Kastro.’
‘Perhaps it is. Perhaps I am a cynic. In my work it is sometimes impossible to be anything else.’
Joanne eyed him curiously. ‘And what precisely is your work, Mr. Kastro?’
He did not immediately reply, for the waiter came to remove their plates and it was not until their steaks had been served that he said:
‘I am a biochemist, Miss Nicolas. A rather unsavoury subject for discussion at lunch, wouldn’t you say?’
Joanne was surprised. ‘I should think it’s a fascinating occupation,’ she replied.
He helped himself to salad and then said: ‘But not if one has a weak stomach.’
Joanne’s eyes narrowed. ‘I am not aware that my stomach is weak,’ she countered, rather impatiently.
‘Did I say it was?’ His urbane manner was infuriatingly detached.
Joanne endeavoured to tackle the food on her plate. At least his occupation suited the ruthless streak in his nature. She wondered if he had ever been married, or whether indeed he was married at present. He had not the gregarious open nature attributed to his countrymen in general and did not volunteer information with any enthusiasm. He was an enigma, and one which she ought not to be so intrigued by. Yet she was. Maybe it was his difference, his alien attitudes, his foreignness, that fascinated her. In any event, she deliberately turned her concentration to the food, determined not to give him the satisfaction of guessing her feelings. She had been engaged to Jimmy now for almost two years and in consequence this unusual involvement with another man, a stranger, was infecting her with a sense of restlessness, and it was as well that he was not too closely associated with her father.