Don’t you find it dull now, living in the same place all the time?’
‘No.’ The syllable was clipped, and for a moment Joanna wondered if she had said something to offend him. But almost immediately, he added: ‘I was very sorry to read about your father. You must miss him terribly. Still, I imagine you and Marcia are company for one another.’ He paused. ‘I suppose she’s here with you.’
‘No.’ Joanna spoke hastily now, eager to dispel that particular illusion. It had been a surprise to learn that he appeared to know Marcia. She couldn’t remember her stepmother ever mentioning him, or indeed her father ever discussing Matthew’s activities with his wife. ‘I—er—I’m on my own,’ she went on, trying to sound casual. ‘I’m nineteen now, you know. Not a little girl any more.’ She smiled again. ‘But it’s lovely to see you again. Is that your house?’
She pointed to the sprawling villa just visible above a spiky wooden fence. Because the house was set on sloping ground, its pale cream walls were capable of being seen from this angle, and the profusion of plants and flowering shrubs that surrounded it only provided an exotic setting.
But if she had expected an invitation, she was disappointed. ‘Yes,’ he responded shortly, ‘that’s my house.’ He gave her a polite smile in return. ‘It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, Joanna. But I’m afraid I must leave you now. I have work to do.’ He half turned away. ‘Enjoy the rest of your holiday—–’
‘Wait!’ Joanna could not let him go like that. ‘I mean—–’ this as he turned to her stiffly, his expression not so friendly now, more like the way it had been when he first found her trespassing, ‘I wonder if I could trouble you for a drink?’ She licked her dry lips expressively. ‘It’s such a hot afternoon, and I didn’t realise I’d come so far. I’m staying at the Hotel Conchas, you see …’
Matthew’s dark face mirrored his impatience, but common decency forbade his refusal. Even so, Joanna felt a sense of amazement that she had ever had the temerity to call him Uncle Matt. He seemed so remote now from the jolly playmate she remembered.
‘A drink?’ he said. ‘Of what? Water? Lemonade?’
‘Anything,’ she averred. ‘Water would do fine.’ She grimaced. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being a nuisance.’
He made no response to this, and she was left to the conclusion that she was being exactly that—a nuisance. He wasn’t very friendly, she mused, wondering if her father had done anything to offend him before he died. But somehow she sensed his displeasure was not with her father, more with her, though what she had done to arouse it she couldn’t honestly imagine. After all, he thought she had come upon him by accident. Heaven help her if he ever discovered the truth, she thought uneasily, following him across the sand to the iron gate set in the wooden fence.
‘If you’d just wait here,’ he said, astounding her still further, and she gazed at him aghast.
‘Wait here?’ she echoed. ‘Can’t I come with you?’ She hesitated, and then decided she might as well plunge right in: ‘I mean—I’d like to see your house, if you’ve no objection. It looks really beautiful!’
‘But I do,’ he interjected quietly. ‘Have objections, that is. I’m afraid my home is off-limits to anyone. It’s a little foible of mine. I permit no visitors.’
Joanna’s cheeks flamed. ‘I see.’
‘I doubt you do, but I’ll go and get your drink,’ he remarked, swinging open the gate and mounting the first step. ‘I’m sorry about this, Joanna, but believe me, it’s for the best possible reasons.’
Joanna turned her back on him, but after a moment’s sense of outrage she squatted down in the shade of the fence. It was such a relief to get out of the direct rays of the sun, and she blew her breath up over her face, enjoying the brief draught of air it afforded.
Matthew came back perhaps ten minutes later carrying a jug of iced fruit juice and a glass. ‘Sorry to be so long,’ he said, holding the glass out to her, and after she had taken it he filled it from the jug he was carrying. Joanna shook her head, still too affronted at his rudeness to offer him any respite. Instead she gulped thirstily at the delicious liquid, only pausing for breath when the glass was completely empty.
‘Do you want some more?’ he asked, but she made a barely audible refusal, her wet lips muffled against the back of her hand.
‘I shouldn’t like to detain you,’ she declared, getting determinedly to her feet and brushing the sand from her culottes. Being submissive was going to get her nowhere, and she was disappointed that what she had thought was going to be so easy was proving to be so hard.
Matthew took the empty glass from her and set it, along with the jug, on the steps leading up through his garden. ‘I’ll walk with you to the breakwater,’ he said, and although she was tempted to refuse him, she knew that giving in to pique would get her nowhere either.
‘All right,’ she said offhandedly, her mind engrossed with the problem of how she was going to arrange another meeting, and he fell into step beside her, his hands pushed carelessly into the back pockets of his shorts.
‘I suppose it surprises you that I recognised you,’ he remarked, and briefly Joanna acknowledged that this was something she had not yet considered.
‘How did you?’ she asked, looking sideways at him, and his lips twisted humorously as he answered her question.
‘From photographs,’ he said simply. ‘Your father wrote to me from time to time, and in his last letter he enclosed a picture of you. I believe it was taken after you’d won some art award. He was very proud of you.’
‘Oh …’ Joanna bent her head. ‘It must have been the poster competition at school. I haven’t won any other awards.’
‘Nevertheless, you evidently have a talent in that direction.’ Matthew paused. ‘I gather you’re not interested in writing.’
Joanna shrugged. ‘Sometimes I think I would like to write children’s books and illustrate them, but it’s a very competitive field, and I don’t think I’m good enough.’
‘Are you sure you’re not letting your father’s success overshadow your own efforts?’ he asked shrewdly. ‘Perhaps you should discuss it with someone. What does—your stepmother say?’
‘Marcia?’ Joanna wondered how much to tell him. ‘As a matter of fact, Marcia and I don’t talk much any more.’
They had reached the breakwater, and she would have left him then, but now he detained her. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked, his attractive voice causing her to pause before scrambling over the wooden struts. ‘Don’t you and Marcia get on? Has there been some trouble between you since Drew died?’
‘You might say that.’ Even now, Joanna could feel her eyes smarting at the remembrance of what her father would say if he knew exactly what had happened. But pushing these thoughts aside, she politely held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, Mr Wilder,’ she said carefully. ‘I hope we can meet again.’
He did not take her hand, however, and presently it fell, rather gauchely, to her side. He really was the most unpredictable man, she thought irritably, looking up at him through her lashes. But also the most disturbing, she conceded, aware of him as she had never been aware of any man before.
‘Is
