All The Fire. Anne Mather
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little respect for Joanne Nicolas’s motives he had no intention of treating her with consideration. If she considered him rude and ill-mannered she refrained from revealing her feelings to him and did as he indicated and closed her door securely, waiting while he checked that all the doors were locked. Then as he began to walk into the hotel she accompanied him in silence.
Dimitri glanced at his watch. It was a little after four, but English licensing hours were such that the bars in the hotel were closed and he cursed the fact. It would have been easier confronting her over a drink, whereas now their only alternative was the ubiquitous afternoon tea.
Loosening his overcoat, he said: ‘We’ll go into the lounge. I don’t suppose it will be busy at this hour of the afternoon.’
In fact the lounge was deserted, but at least it was warm, and when a waiter came to ascertain their needs, Dimitri ordered afternoon tea realizing that he could not in all decency refrain from offering the girl some refreshment.
Joanne Nicolas seated herself at a table in one corner on a low banquette and after he had removed his overcoat Dimitri seated himself opposite her in a comfortable armchair. It was difficult to know where to begin, and he took out his cheroots and lit one before commencing.
‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you a cigarette,’ he commented coldly, but Joanne shook her head indifferently.
‘I don’t smoke,’ she replied calmly, and he realized she had successfully disposed of his impoliteness.
He studied the glowing tip of his cheroot for a moment, and then he said: ‘Tell me, Miss Nicolas, just why did you write to your father?’
She shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Mr. Kastro,’ she said carefully, ‘let me say something first. I am perfectly aware from your … well … attitude that you consider my reasons for contacting my father were those of self-interest. Before we go any further, let me disabuse you of that fact!’
Dimitri’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘Indeed. Then answer my question; why contact him at all? Didn’t you know it would disturb him?’
Joanne’s eyes widened. ‘Disturb him?’ she echoed rather faintly. ‘I hardly think the death of a woman with whom he spent less than three years of his life would disturb him!’
Dimitri’s expression hardened. ‘But then you didn’t take the trouble to discover much about the man who is your father, did you, Miss Nicolas?’ he inquired bleakly.
She looked annoyed at this. ‘I suppose I was as interested in him as he was in me!’ she returned, rather heatedly.
Dimitri frowned. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ he asked ominously.
But just at that moment the waiter came in with their tray of tea and placed it on the table in front of Joanne. Dimitri nodded his thanks and the waiter withdrew, closing the door behind him.
The girl was obviously endeavouring to control her feelings, and she used the tray of tea as an excuse for avoiding his eyes. Glancing his way, she saw that he was making no attempt to deal with the teapot and fragile tea service, so with a sigh she said: ‘Shall I?’ and took his lack of reply as assent.
But Dimitri refused any tea so that she poured only one cup and sipped it rather nervously, ignoring the delicately cut sandwiches and plates of cakes. Eventually she had to answer him, and she said slowly:
‘You must be aware, Mr. Kastro, that I have not seen my father since I was two years old.’
‘I am aware of that, yes.’ Dimitri nodded.
She looked up at him curiously. ‘Then why do you ask – what do I mean?’ She shook her head. ‘Look – this conversation hasn’t much point. My reasons for writing to my father were simple ones. I wanted to inform him that my mother was dead, that was all. I didn’t – and don’t – expect anything from him. If my letter led him to believe otherwise – then I’m sorry.’ She finished slowly as though choosing her words carefully.
Dimitri studied her intently. She certainly seemed sincere enough, and yet he could not believe the truth of it. She must know her father was a wealthy man. It was inconceivable that she should be willing to ignore the fact that he was in some way responsible for her now. It didn’t matter that she was not a child; she was Matthieu’s daughter and for him that was a lot.
She was speaking again, and Dimitri forced himself to concentrate on what she was saying: ‘If that was what you wanted to talk to me about, then I suppose our conversation is over—’ she was beginning, but he shook his head, interrupting her.
‘Just wait a moment, Miss Nicolas,’ he said, impatiently. ‘My reasons for being here have far more reaching tendencies. And our conversation has been a trifle one-sided, you will agree. However, I’m prepared to accept to a degree that your motives for writing to Matt were innocent ones, even though my brain argues that this cannot be so.’
Joanne’s eyes were disturbed now. ‘Mr. Kastro, you’ve been consistently rude and objectionable to me ever since we met this afternoon at the cemetery! And now that I have stated my case, I don’t intend to sit here any longer listening to your insinuations about my honesty—’ She rose abruptly to her feet, and with a sigh, Dimitri rose too, preventing her escape by blocking her path.
‘Calm yourself, Miss Nicolas,’ he said sourly. ‘This kind of ridiculous display will get neither of us anywhere!’
Joanne was breathing swiftly, her breast rising and falling beneath the softness of a black cashmere jumper. She had loosened her coat while she drank her tea and Dimitri could see the rounded contours of her body matched the flawlessness of her complexion. In consequence, his tone was harsher than he desired.
‘Will you get out of my way, or shall I call for assistance?’ she exclaimed angrily.
Dimitri stood aside without a word and she brushed by him, marching across the room to the door. She was certainly a magnificent young animal, thought Dimitri with reluctant admiration. How proud Matt would be of her. And Marisa? He frowned. Marisa wouldn’t like it at all.
As she reached out a hand to turn the handle, Dimitri spoke: ‘Did you know that your father has only about six months left to live?’ His voice was mild but very distinct.
Joanne halted as though carved to stone, and for a moment she did not move at all. Then slowly she turned to face him, her cheeks paling slightly and a questioning disbelief in the wide violet eyes. ‘You – you can’t be serious!’ she murmured huskily.
‘Oh, but I am,’ he returned coolly, thrusting his hands into the front pockets of his trousers.
Slowly, with hesitant steps, she came back to him, staring at him curiously as though willing him to admit he was merely trying to frighten her. Finally, when his eyes did not waver, she said: ‘But why? Why? My father is a young man! He can’t be more than about forty-five!’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then – then how?’ She shook her head.
‘A year ago he had a heart attack and it was discovered he had an organic heart disease. The doctors give him until the fall!’
Joanne pressed her fingers to her lips. ‘How terrible!’ she whispered incredulously. ‘I – I never – suspected …’
‘How could you?’ queried Dimitri, rather sardonically. ‘You’re not psychic, are you?’
‘No, but – well – I’m so sorry… .’ Her voice trailed away.
Dimitri lifted his broad shoulders in an eloquent gesture. ‘So are we all,’ he commented sombrely. ‘Your stepmother – your half-sister …’
Joanne’s face suffused with colour. ‘I have a half-sister?’ she said wonderingly. ‘I didn’t know.’
Dimitri’s eyes grew sceptical again. ‘I can’t believe that,’ he muttered roughly.
Joanne looked