All The Fire

‘To tell him of my mother’s death, yes, I did,’ she nodded.

‘Joanne?’ It was the young man who spoke now. ‘What is all this about?’

The girl shook her head, obviously not wishing to discuss her affairs here. ‘I wrote – to my father,’ she explained reluctantly. ‘I thought he had a right to know that – that Mother was dead!’ There was just a trace of emotion in her tones and Dimitri felt slightly relieved. She was not as indifferent as she would have them believe.

The young man frowned. ‘Heavens, why?’ he exclaimed, echoing Dimitri’s own sentiments. ‘He never cared about you, did he? Why should you consider him now?’

A middle-aged woman intervened. ‘Joanne,’ she said reproachfully, ‘you didn’t tell me you had written to your father.’

Joanne Nicolas looked impatiently at Dimitri. ‘I didn’t think it was necessary, Aunt Emma,’ she replied.

Dimitri glanced at the other members of the group. Then he looked again at the girl. ‘Miss Nicolas,’ he said, rather shortly, ‘I realize you are involved with your family at this time, but it is important that I should speak with you.’

She lifted her slim shoulders. She was wearing a coat of dark blue woollen cloth, its hem and collar edged with a silvery fur, and as she moved her head the lightness of her hair was startling against the darkness. At another time and in another place Dimitri would have found her disturbingly attractive, but as it was he felt a rising sense of frustration at having such difficulty in adhering to Matt’s wishes.

‘Perhaps you could come and see me tomorrow Mr. Kastro.’ She was speaking again.

Dimitri felt the muscle jerking in his cheek. ‘That would not be at all convenient, Miss Nicolas.’

The young man gave him an appraising stare. ‘Can’t you see that Miss Nicolas is upset?’ he inquired angrily. ‘She doesn’t want to be bothered with any – foreigners tonight!’

Dimitri stiffened. ‘I think we should allow Miss Nicolas to decide, don’t you?’

‘Oh, Jimmy, please!’ Joanne sighed. ‘Can’t you see I’ll have to speak to Mr. Kastro if he insists, after he’s come so far …’ She compressed her lips and looked at the others. ‘Aunt Emma, Uncle Harry, Alan, Mrs. Thwaites! Would you all mind? I mean – I don’t suppose this will take long, and there’s nothing more to do …’ She bit her lip suddenly.

The woman she had called Mrs. Thwaites came forward to press her arm understandingly. ‘Of course we don’t mind, Joanne,’ she said. ‘It’s only right that you should speak to this gentleman. Just because your parents were divorced doesn’t make you any the less your father’s daughter …’

Joanne frowned. ‘Oh, yes, Mrs. Thwaites, it does. My father and I are strangers to one another. This is a purely formal affair.’ She looked again at Dimitri. ‘Isn’t it, Mr. Kastro?’

Dimitri shrugged. ‘If you are ready … I have a car …’

The girl’s aunt snorted. ‘How do we know he’s who he says he is?’ she asked, tossing her head.

Dimitri put his hand into his jacket pocket and produced the letter Joanne had written to her father. He did it silently and Joanne studied it equally silently. ‘Shall we go then?’ she asked stiffly. The young man, Jimmy, caught her arm, but she merely shook her head, saying: ‘Go back to the house with the others, Jimmy. I won’t be long, but I’d rather be alone. Whatever Mr. Kastro has to say, it can’t take long.’

Jimmy chewed his lip. ‘All right, Jo,’ he agreed, but he was obviously put out by her attitude. ‘Do you want me to meet you in town?’

Joanne refused politely, and then said: ‘Where are you staying, Mr. Kastro?’ as though she wanted her family to know where she might be found.

‘The Bell,’ returned Dimitri uncommunicatively, and she nodded, turning to say goodbye to the others.

Dimitri thrust his hands back into his pockets and leaving her to follow him, he began to walk briskly back to his car. His impatience was not appeased by her apparent acquiescence. She was not coming with him gladly and this puzzled him. He would have thought she would have jumped at the chance to discuss her father. Why else had she written to him unless it was to try and cash in on his affairs now that Ellen Nicolas was dead and unable to offer any objections?

He reached the sleek Mercedes and glanced round. She was still hovering with the others and his impatience increased. Just who the hell did she think she was, keeping him hanging around? Did she imagine he was some kind of messenger boy for her father? Did she imagine she could treat him like she treated that long-haired youth, Jimmy? He got into the car and slammed the door deliberately, the sudden noise reaching her ears and causing her to glance his way rather anxiously.

Reaching into the glove compartment, he produced a case of cheroots and putting one between his teeth he lit it with his lighter. Drawing on it deeply, he stared grimly out at the fading day. The warmth of the car was welcoming after the chill outside, but it did not improve his temper.

A few moments later the passenger door opened and Joanne Nicolas hesitated tentatively on the point of entering.

‘Get in!’ he commanded coldly, his accent thickening in his anger. ‘You’re letting in the cold air!’

She gave him a speculative glance and then with a shrug she got in beside him, sitting as far away from him as it was possible to sit. ‘I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting,’ she ventured politely.

‘Yes, so am I,’ remarked Dimitri dryly, and set the car in motion.

He was conscious of her resentment at his words, but he could not retract them. There was something about her attitude, her indifference, that infuriated him and he realized he would find it quite enjoyable to hurt her. His lean fingers tightened on the wheel as he swung the car on to the main Oxhampton Road. He would be glad when his part in this affair was over and he could leave this country of cold climate and cold people.

The cemetery where Ellen Nicolas had been laid to rest was on the outskirts of the town, but his hotel was quite central. However it was not a large town and it did not take many minutes to cover the couple of miles between the two. Dimitri had no intention of starting any kind of desultory conversation in the car, and as Joanne Nicolas seemed wrapped in her own thoughts they remained silent for the whole journey.

The Bell Inn was not large, but it had a reputation for comfort and good food and was the usual accommodation sought by the more affluent visitors to the town. Dimitri parked the Mercedes in the car park, and switching off the engine indicated that she should get out. He didn’t feel particularly polite and as he had 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.