by Anne Mather
The young man nodded. ‘Of course. He’s my brother.’
Brother!
Joanne felt a little light-headed. ‘I see,’ she said, trying to sound more composed than she felt. ‘And do you live with your brother?’
‘No.’ Constantine shook his head. ‘I live with my parents in Delphi. But at present I am on holiday and I am staying at Dimitri’s villa.’ He hesitated a moment and then went on: ‘I am sure you’re going to enjoy your stay, Miss Nicolas.’
‘So you did know I was coming?’
‘Oh, yes. Matt was going to send Marisa down to meet you.’
‘Marisa.’ Joanne repeated the word softly. ‘I see. But now you are here.’ She smiled. ‘Thank goodness!’
Constantine studied her admiringly. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I am here. Now - where are your cases?’
After Constantine had collected her cases from the jetty, Joanne accompanied him to the Land Rover. She wondered how old he was, probably about eighteen or nineteen, only two or three years younger than herself. He was certainly a lot younger than Dimitri. He was also extremely attractive and from the way he was regarding her he seemed to find her good to look at, too. Joanne smiled to herself. Perhaps it was as well she was engaged to Jimmy or she might have found herself getting involved in more ways than one!
And then without warning she thought about Dimitri Kastro, seeing the thin darkness of his features with absolute clarity, and a chill touched her heart. It was all right being flippant and allowing Constantine to admire her as many young men had admired her in the past, but Dimitri Kastro was something else again, something she didn’t care to think about too closely.
Never before had she experienced this sense of freedom, and consequently she was allowing her surroundings to influence her mood. At least that was what she told herself with desperate earnestness. After all, for years her mother had directed her life, choosing her career, her friends, practically choosing her husband from the many boy-friends Joanne had exhibited before her. And obviously Jimmy Lorrimer’s background had coloured her mother’s judgment.
Joanne chewed her lower lip. Even so, she knew her mother would have said that she ought to be capable of coming away on a trip like this without permitting every man she met to flirt with her. But it was difficult here to be cold and detached when there was so much warmth and colour and a sensuous awareness of emotion. Was this what Dimitri Kastro had meant yesterday when he had warned her to take care?
Constantine helped her into the Land Rover, stowed her cases in the back, and climbed behind the wheel. They left the cottages and shops behind and began to ascend a steep, rugged track that curved round the cliff face. Flowering shrubs grew in profusion and as they left the cliff they ran between pine forests smelling pungently and lacing their way with shadows. They passed an inland lake, shimmering in the morning air, and Constantine said that he sometimes bathed there. Then they descended from the heights again and ran along a track beside a rocky shoreline that presently opened out into a narrow cove. Above the cove stood a flower-hung villa, its shutters wide, above a paved patio that faced the sea. Tubs of climbing plants lined its walls, while elegant cypress trees formed a backcloth.
‘The Villa Ibiscus,’ remarked Constantine, drawing the Land Rover to a halt to one side of its entrance. ‘Come. I will introduce you.’
Joanne was relieved and yet reluctant. She was glad of Constantine’s company, and yet wished she could have been alone. But she went with him, across the lawns and flower beds, across the mosaic-tiled patio to where shallow steps led into a cool tiled hall. All the doors, like the shutters, stood wide, and there was a delicious smell of baking bread. Even as they entered a young girl appeared from an archway into the hall and her eyes lightened when she saw Constantine.
‘Con!’ she exclaimed, with obvious pleasure. ‘Pios ine—’then she noticed Joanne and broke off abruptly.
Joanne glanced at Constantine, and then looked back at the girl. This must be Marisa, of course. She was small and dark, with a tanned skin and lustrous dark eyes. Dressed in a tunic of scarlet cotton, a chain belt about her slender waist, she looked very ornamental, although her expression was not encouraging.
‘Marisa,’ said Constantine, confirming Joanne’s suspicions, ‘speak English. This is your - half-sister, Joanne.’
Marisa hesitated and then gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. ‘You have brought her from the harbour?’ she asked questioningly, but at least obeying his instructions to speak English.
‘Of course.’ Constantine looked impatient. ‘Joanne - may I call you that?’ and at her nod he continued: ‘Joanne came ashore earlier than your father expected.’
‘I see.’ Marisa studied her half-sister appraisingly. ‘How do you do?’
Joanne managed a smile. ‘I’m fine, thank you. I - I’ve looked forward to meeting you.’
‘Have you?’ Marisa sounded disappointingly bored. ‘Well, you had better come and meet my mother. Con, will you stay?’ Her tone was more appealing now.
Constantine looked at Joanne, meeting her eyes understandingly, and she felt she had an ally in him whatever happened. ‘No,’ he replied at last, when Marisa intercepted that revealing stare. ‘I must go. I will come back later.’ Marisa’s eyes darkened rather angrily, and Joanne wondered why. Then as her half-sister moved away she smiled apologetically at Constantine and followed her. It was not an auspicious beginning. If Andrea Nicolas was as antagonistic as her daughter appeared to be then Joanne felt the time here would drag interminably.
They passed through a low light lounge furnished simply but comfortably with teak and leather, skin rugs in various shades adorning the polished floor. Beyond was a dining recess furnished in similar vein and running parallel with these two rooms, along the side of the house, was a long streamlined kitchen that seemed completely at variance with its surroundings. It was here that they found Andrea Nicolas, working herself at the business of making her husband’s breakfast. Another young girl, apparently a maid, was extracting a tin of hot bread rolls from the oven while Andrea prepared a tray. The older woman turned as Marisa and Joanne entered the room and Joanne saw that she was an older edition of Marisa, with dark hair worn in a chignon and a slim, athletic figure. But now her brows drew together for a fleeting moment before her eyes widened and she exclaimed:
‘You’re Joanne, aren’t you?’ She glanced swiftly at her watch. ‘Have I made some mistake about the time?’ There was anxiety in her voice.
Joanne shook her head and taking the initiative said: ‘No, I’m sorry to be so early, but I was awake, and - well, I couldn’t wait!’
Andrea Nicolas smiled warmly, banishing the worry from her face. Leaving the tray half-prepared, she stepped towards Joanne, holding out her hands. ‘I’m so glad you feel like that,’ she said, taking Joanne’s unresisting hands in her own. ‘We’re very glad to have you here, Joanne. Matt’s talked of nothing else for days. He’ll be delighted to see you.’
Joanne’s anxieties evaporated in Andrea’s warmth of greeting. ‘And I’m glad to be here,’ she responded honestly. ‘It’s all so - so beautiful!’
Andrea smiled, releasing her hands. ‘I’m so glad you think so,’ she said, turning back to her duties. ‘We love it. When Matt - your father - found that his health was failing ten years ago we found this place and although for a time he still kept an apartment in Athens we spent every week-end here.’ She glanced at Marisa. ‘What’s the matter?’ she questioned. ‘By the way, how did Joanne get here?’
‘Con brought her,’ replied Marisa moodily, unmoved by her mother’s enthusiasm.
‘I see.’ Andrea nodded. ‘What did you think of Con, Joanne? You’ll know he’s Dimitri’s brother?’
Joanne inclined her head. ‘Yes, he told me.’ She bit her lip. ‘Mr. Kastro was very kind.’
‘Dimitri?’ Andrea looked reflective. ‘Yes, he can be kind,’ she conceded thoughtfully. ‘He’s been a very good friend to us.’ Then she seemed to gather herself me
ntally, and continued: ‘Come along. I can’t wait any longer to take you to Matt. If he heard the Land Rover he’ll be waiting impatiently.’
Joanne hesitated, and then followed Andrea out of another door into a tiled hallway from where a passage led through to the front doors which she and Constantine had used earlier. Andrea opened a door to the right of the hall, and pushing it open, she said: ‘Go in, my dear. I think perhaps it might be easier for both of you if you were alone.’
Joanne thanked her for her understanding, and slowly entered what proved to be a large light bedroom. Wide windows overlooked the sweep of beach and shoreline, while balcony doors stood wide to the morning air. It was a bright, cheerful room, equipped with every kind of gadget to make life easier for a man who spent half his life in a wheelchair. But Joanne was unconcerned with her surroundings. Her eyes were drawn to the man who lay propped on pillows in the bed presently studying a magazine. Thin, with gaunt tanned features, Matthieu Nicolas was only a shadow of the man he had once been and Joanne’s heart contracted with a pity she tried hard to disguise. It was a difficult moment, and for a silent period neither of them uttered a word. Then Matthieu beckoned her to come closer to the bed, and Joanne moved towards him with faltering steps.
‘Joanne!’ he said, with obvious satisfaction. ‘Joanne.’
Joanne’s cheeks coloured a deep red, and she waited, unable to formulate any kind of sentence which would not sound inadequate.
Matthieu spoke again. ‘When last I saw you, Joanne, you were a baby of two with long hair and violet eyes. Fair then, as you are fair now, but only promising the beauty that was to come. Joanne, come - sit beside me. Let me look at you. I’ve longed to do so.’ There was a trace of agony in his tones and Jeanne responded blindly, unable to answer him, too full of emotion.
She came to sit beside him on the bed and allowed him to grasp her hands with his bony fingers. His studied examination of her almost hurt. ‘Joanne,’ he said again, as though he too was finding it hard to believe. ‘Joanne.’
Joanne felt a lump in her throat that threatened to choke her, but she had to say something. ‘I’m - I’m glad I came,’ she said simply.
Matthieu lay back on his pillows, shaking his head. ‘I hardly dared to hope you would,’ he muttered, with a sigh. ‘But I knew if anybody could persuade you then Dimitri could.’
Joanne allowed that to pass. She didn’t want to discuss Dimitri Kastro right now, she didn’t even want to think about him. This time was for her father, and she would not allow thoughts of that man to come unbidden to her mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
By the time Andrea Nicolas came in with the tray on which was set her husband’s breakfast Joanne had lost her initial sense of nervousness and was talking quite naturally to her father. He wanted to know about her life in England, her interests, her work, that kind of thing, and for the present all mention of her mother was avoided. Some time that topic would be impossible to evade, but right now Joanne had plenty to tell him about herself. She told him how Oxhampton had altered over the years, about Jimmy and her forthcoming marriage, and about her trip out here.
Andrea glanced affectionately at her husband as she placed the tray across his knees, and then she looked across at Joanne. ‘Well, Matt,’ she said teasingly, ‘what do you think of her?’
Matt touched Andrea’s hand warmly. ‘What is more to the point, what do you think of her?’ he queried gently.
Andrea studied Joanne with smiling contemplation. ‘I think she is very attractive,’ she said, with mock-criticism. ‘Very much your daughter, Matt.’
Matthieu looked pleased at this, and wrinkled his nose at her. ‘Yes, I think so, too,’ he agreed, almost as though Joanne were not present. With a smile, he continued: ‘You must not mind our little joke, Joanne. Andrea knows how much I have looked forward to this day.’
Joanne tried to control her colour. ‘You’re very kind - both of you,’ she amended awkwardly. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
Matt shook his head. ‘You are no longer alone, Joanne. You have been like Marisa, an only child, but now you can be sisters together.’
Joanne reserved comment on this. She wasn’t at all happy with the reception Marisa had given her, but she had no intention of spoiling her father’s obvious pleasure in his two daughters. So she smiled and nodded, and when Andrea suggested that she should leave her father to breakfast alone and join herself and Marisa in the dining-room Joanne agreed. It was apparent from the strain in her father’s eyes that he could not talk for long without becoming exhausted, and he needed to rest.
He let her go with obvious reluctance, but she promised to come back later in the morning after he had rested and she had seen her room and settled in.
Over breakfast, Andrea was very kind and very understanding. Only Marisa’s somewhat petulant manner spoiled Joanne’s enjoyment and although she could understand a slight feeling of resentment caused by her arrival, she couldn’t see why Marisa should look at her with such frank dislike when she had barely known her a couple of hours.
After breakfast, Andrea took her on a tour of the villa. It was double-storied, but the upper rooms were used by the servants and all the family rooms were on one level. This made things easier for her father, Joanne realized. His wheelchair would negotiate these polished floors quite easily.
The room she was given was not very big, but it had the most magnificent view of the cove, with an adjoining bathroom that Andrea said was for her sole use. There was a shower compartment and Joanne could not wait to try it, but Andrea left the maid, Sophia, to do her unpacking and took her back to the lounge for morning coffee and biscuits oozing with a sticky sweet substance that Joanne found rather sickly. Marisa had departed about some affairs of her own, and Andrea settled herself comfortably with a cigarette before saying: ‘I should tell you about your father’s illness.’
Joanne sipped her coffee, and then replaced her cup in its saucer with a slight clatter. ‘Yes?’ she said questioningly.
‘Yes. Dimitri told you how ill he is, did he not?’
‘Mr. Kastro said - he said my father had very little time left!’ She felt the dryness of her mouth, and hastily sipped her coffee again.
Andrea looked sympathetic. ‘That’s true,’ she affirmed with a sigh. ‘The specialists say the autumn. If we are lucky.’
Joanne shook her head. ‘That’s terrible!’
‘I agree. But for years Matt has been overworking. Tell me, what do you know about his family?’
‘His family?’ Joanne shook her head. ‘Why - nothing.’
‘You knew his parents were not poor?’
‘I suppose so. They were in commerce, weren’t they?’
‘That is correct. Matt’s father was a banker, but unfortunately Matt’s parents were both killed in a plane crash about twenty years ago. Did you know that?’
Joanne frowned. ‘No.’ She cupped her chin on one hand. ‘But that would be about the time ...’
‘Of course. That caused the eventual break-up, surely you knew?’
Joanne swallowed hard. ‘No.’
Andrea gave her a pitying glance. ‘I see. Your mother took good care to see that you didn’t find anything to criticize her about, didn’t she? And yet I daresay she criticized your father.’ Then she sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about your mother so soon after her death. I should be offering you my sympathy instead of berating her.’
Joanne got to her feet, walking over to the open doors that led on to the patio. ‘Go on about my father,’ she said, in a muffled voice.
Andrea shrugged, and then continued: ‘Well, after his parents died he took on the whole company. It was too much for him, but he has never been a man to delegate duty. Instead, he fought failing health until he could fight no longer.’
‘And the Company?’ Joanne felt bound to ask.
Andrea sighed. ‘That has passed into other hands, thank goodness,’ she said, with some relief. ‘For a time he maintained an inter
est, but now - well - nothing!’
Joanne turned, controlling herself. ‘It must have been hard for you,’ she ventured quietly.
Andrea nodded a trifle sadly. ‘Oh, yes. For Marisa, too. She attended a boarding academy in Athens until she was eighteen about three months ago, but now she feels confined here. It will be different when she is married, of course, but as her father insists that she waits a little longer before committing herself, she is at a - what you would call — loose end!’
Joanne nodded. ‘Then she’s betrothed?’
Andrea smiled. ‘That is our word, yes. To Constantine—who brought you here.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Joanne was beginning to see several things. Maybe that accounted for Marisa’s unreasonable attitude. She was jealous, that was all.
‘Dimitri told us on the telephone that you are betrothed, also,’ went on Andrea.
Joanne came back to her seat. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘To a boy called James Lorrimer. His father owns a garage and Jimmy works for him. When his father retires he’ll take over the garage.’
Andrea listened with interest. ‘That is good,’ she commented. ‘And you like England?’
‘It’s my home,’ replied Joanne simply.
‘Have you ever been abroad before?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. Mother—’ Then she halted. She had been about to say that her mother had not encouraged her to that kind of independence and certainly Mrs. Nicolas would not have considered a trip out of her beloved England. So Joanne changed the subject, and said: ‘Can one bathe here?’
Andrea slid her feet to the ground. She had been relaxing elegantly on a low divan, but now she walked to the french doors and nodded. ‘Yes, it’s quite safe. Farther round the island there are dangerous currents near the rocks, you know, but here it’s idyllic.’