by Anne Mather
‘You’re crazy, do you know that?’ he muttered huskily. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you!’
‘I’m sorry.’
Her response was mechanical, and she heard his muffled oath. ‘Why the devil did you walk out of the restaurant like that? What did I say? For God’s sake, Joanna, you must have known that mining for gold was no picnic!’
Joanna turned indignant eyes upon him. ‘I don’t suppose I thought about it in those terms,’ she retorted, through trembling lips.
‘So now you have. What of it? All jobs contain some risk. Good God, I could—turn a tractor over and kill myself tomorrow. You don’t think about things like that. You just do your job and hope for the best.’
‘But you don’t have to work in mining!’ she cried. ‘You need never go back to Kwyana. The estate’s yours. Your father said so.’
‘Your father, Joanna!’ he stated coldly. ‘Not mine.’
‘That’s crazy, Shannon! Of course he’s your father, too. You can’t shrug off the relationship of a lifetime!’
Shannon dropped his coat over the back of a chair. ‘You don’t understand, Joanna. You never have. But make no mistake—this is a visit, nothing more. I shall not be staying in England.’
She hunched her shoulders, withdrawing as far from him as it was physically possible. He didn’t care that his safety might mean something to her, to all of them. How could he deny his own father with such callous unconcern? He was right, she didn’t understand.
‘Oh, Joanna!’ He was looking down at her, and the words seemed torn from him. She felt his fingers curling round the bare skin of her upper arm, warm hard fingers that touched her with lingering possession. Then he bent his head, and her shoulder lifted involuntarily to meet the lips that sought her creamy flesh. ‘You should stop me, Joanna.’
She half turned to look at him, her breath catching in her throat at the look in his eyes.
‘Don’t—look at me—like that!’ she whispered, but it was already too late. His firm mouth was parting her lips with an urgency that sent the blood hammering through her veins, throbbing through her head, until all coherent thought ceased. He smelt so warm and male, and her hands slid up to the back of his neck, twining in the hair that grew there, holding him closer. His splayed fingers were at her midriff, bare between the halter top and her skirt, arching her against him, and she could feel his heart pounding against her breasts.
The flight call seemed to bring him to his senses. With a groan of protest, he thrust her away from him, getting to his feet and reaching for his jacket. He buttoned his shirt with fingers that were not quite steady about their task, and thrust it impatiently back into the waistband of his pants.
Joanna remained where he had left her. She, too, was shaken and trembling, and she wondered where she was going to find the energy to walk the distance to the plane. She did not dare to examine the consequences of what had just happened, but she could not believe that the way she was feeling was wrong. From the moment they had met she had been aware of him in a way no girl should be aware of her half-brother, and what had just happened was a culmination of that attraction.
The look on Shannon’s face was not encouraging. His mouth which only a few moments ago had been sensually demanding on hers, was drawn into a grim line, and there was impatience in the way he said: ‘Stop looking like that, Joanna. We haven’t done anything morally wrong, if that’s what’s troubling you. Except perhaps to—Philip. I’m sorry, but he needn’t ever know, need he? Just forget it!’
‘Forget it?’
Her tormented cry was drowned beneath a repetition of the flight call, and she was forced to grab her belongings and follow Shannon towards the group moving steadily in the direction of the departure gate. Lou Ellen and Susie had rejoined them, and their apparently sincere queries as to why Joanna had so suddenly left the restaurant earlier filled the awkward moments. But everything Shannon had said, everything they had done, filled her brain with jumbled confusion, and the reality of her coming marriage to Philip had never seemed more remote.
If she had expected Shannon to talk to her once they were aboard the plane, she was mistaken. He settled himself in his seat and then closed his eyes, pointedly ignoring her. Joanna stared blindly through the darkened window as the plane took off, pretending an interest in the mass of lights below them, while she acknowledged the realisation that so far as Shannon was concerned she knew practically nothing about him.
CHAPTER SIX
THE Boeing landed at Heathrow in the early hours of the morning, London time. Shannon had slept for most of the long flight, and seemed physically relaxed. But Joanna had only succeeded in dozing, and the sight of the steadily falling February rain was sufficient to depress her utterly. Shannon himself was cool and detached, and she found it difficult to ally him with the man who had held her in his arms and kissed her with such passion the evening before. But perhaps that was his intention. The incident at Nairobi airport had been a moment out of time, never to be repeated.
They cleared passport control, collected their suitcases on a trolley, and walked through Customs. Formalities were kept to a minimum, and within three-quarters of an hour of landing they emerged from the international terminal buildings to find a taxi.
‘I suggest we go to a hotel, and try and get some sleep for the rest of the night,’ suggested Shannon thoughtfully, noticing the dark rings around Joanna’s green eyes.
‘I’m not tired,’ she denied, drawing her sheepskin jacket closer about her, glad she had not packed it as she had been tempted to do in the heat of Menawi. ‘I’d rather go straight to the station. There may be a train to Carlisle around six.’
Shannon’s lips thinned. ‘Nevertheless, we will go to a hotel,’ he stated flatly, and Joanna pursed her lips as she climbed unaided into the back of the cab.
They drove to the St Mark’s hotel, which was near Euston station, and the night porter arranged for them to have two adjoining single rooms on the fourth floor. Joanna refused to look at Shannon as they went up in the lift, but he seemed immune to her defiance. When they reached her door, he unlocked it and carried her cases inside for her.
‘Well, this should be all right,’ he commented, looking about him critically at the beige and brown curtains and matching bedspread. He tossed her key on to the bed, and walked towards the door. ‘Get some sleep. You look exhausted. We needn’t hurry this morning. We can always catch an afternoon train.’ He paused. ‘I’ll just be next door if you need me.’
Joanna’s resistance ebbed away. ‘Stay with me, Shannon!’ she breathed, and his tawny eyes darkened to burnished amber. She looked a little lost and alone, standing there in the middle of the floor and she saw his fists clench involuntarily.
Then with a muffled oath, he walked through the open doorway, saying: ‘Go to sleep, Joanna!’ before it slammed heavily behind him.
Wearily, Joanna took off her clothes, and slipped naked between the sheets. The bed was cold, but she didn’t notice it. She was cold already, and it was not a physical discomfort.
The sound of the traffic awoke her, and she lay for some time trying to get her bearings. Then the memory of all that had gone before came back to her, and she rolled miserably on to her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.
Eventually she aroused herself sufficiently to look at her watch and was startled to find it was after eleven o’clock. The room seemed absurdly dull for that time of day, but when she rolled out of bed and padded to the window, she found that it was sleeting and everywhere looked grey and depressing.
She showered in her bathroom, and then opened one of her suitcases and took out the maroon jersey slack suit she had worn to travel out to South Africa. It was more suitable to the weather than the thin summer clothes she had been wearing, and complemented the extreme fairness of her hair.
There were no sounds from Shannon’s room, but she went and knocked at his door. This elicited no response, and with a frown she collected her handbag and went dow
nstairs. The receptionist politely informed her that Mr Carne had gone out over an hour ago, but had left a message that she should have some brunch and wait for him.
Joanna decided to do as he suggested, but only ordered toast and coffee instead of the grill the waiter suggested. She was drinking her second cup when Shannon appeared in the doorway, dark and attractive in a dark brown suede suit, and a toning cinnamon-coloured shirt. His tie was brown, too, and Joanna thought he had never looked more sexually disturbing. He came lazily across to her table, the restaurant was practically deserted at this hour of the morning, and lounged into the seat opposite. He surveyed her appearance with casual appraisal, and then said quietly: ‘You look better. I gather you got some sleep.’
Joanna’s cup clattered into its saucer. ‘Yes. Thank you.’ She moved her shoulders awkwardly. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Renewing my acquaintance with London—buying myself a coat.’ He shrugged. ‘I went up to my room when I got back. I thought you might still be asleep. When I could get no reply from your room, I came down here.’
Joanna nodded. ‘I—would you like some coffee? Have you had any breakfast?’
‘I had something earlier,’ he answered. ‘And no, thanks. I’m going to have a beer in a few minutes. I’ve made inquiries about trains and there’s one at twelve-fifty-five. I suggest we get that, and have lunch on the train.’
Joanna nodded her agreement. ‘All right.’
Shannon leant towards her suddenly, his eyes intent. ‘Are you all right, though?’ he demanded impatiently. ‘God, you still look—drained! I’m sorry, Joanna. I’m sorry for what happened. I blame myself entirely. I shouldn’t have touched you. But I couldn’t help myself. That’s no excuse I know, but—well, you make me——’ He broke off, and leaned back again, faint colour darkening his tan. ‘It won’t happen again, I promise you.’ He felt around in his pockets and produced a pack of cigarettes, taking one out and putting it between his lips. ‘You’d better tell me about—Philip. It wouldn’t do for me to meet him not knowing a single thing about him except his name and where he lives. Everyone will be expecting you to have told me all about him.’
‘Do you really want to know about Philip?’ she exclaimed in a choked voice, and her words checked him as he was applying his lighter flame to his cigarette.
‘No,’ he told her honestly. ‘I already dislike him intensely. But I think you’d better tell me just the same.’
Joanna rested an elbow on the table, supporting her head with her hand. ‘I—I don’t want to talk about Philip, Shannon.’
Shannon inhaled deeply on his cigarette, his eyes narrowing. ‘You love him, don’t you?’
‘What? Oh, yes, yes. Of course I love him. He—he’s a wonderful man. I—I just don’t feel like talking about him now.’
‘Why not?’
She lifted bruised eyes to meet his. ‘You know why.’
Shannon got abruptly to his feet. ‘I need that beer,’ he said harshly, and strode out of the restaurant.
The train arrived at Carlisle just before five o’clock. The weather had not improved, and it was much colder here than in London. Because the train had been full, they had been separated for most of the journey, and Shannon, Joanna knew, had spent a lot of his time in the buffet. She guessed he needed a drink before facing his father again, and she wished alcohol could provide some release for her. But the only time she had ever drunk too much, at a party, she had been violently sick afterwards, and she did not want that to happen now.
As they passed through the ticket barrier, she said. ‘Shall I telephone Philip? He could come and pick us up. There isn’t a bus until six o’clock.’
Shannon shook his head grimly, and glancing round summoned the nearest cab. ‘I’m not waiting around for anyone in this!’ he declared, handing their luggage to the driver who stowed it in the boot. ‘Go on, get in. I’ll sit in front.’
Joanna climbed obediently into the back of the musty-smelling cab, closing the door behind her, and drawing her legs closely together. The last lap, she thought bitterly, and he would not even sit beside her.
It was too dark to distinguish any landmarks once the lights of the town were left behind. Just beyond Thursby, they turned off the main Carlisle to Cockermouth road, taking the narrower, winding track which led along the banks of the River Mallow, to Mallowsdale. The Hall, which had been the home of the Carne family for generations, stood about a mile from the village, and as the road twisted and turned between snow-capped hedges, Joanna could see the lights of the house gleaming through the bare twigs. She wondered what Shannon’s feelings must be, coming home after all these years, but he was talking desultorily to the taxi driver, and seemed unmoved by the poignancy of the situation. She refused to consider what his coming home had meant to her …
The taxi turned between the stone posts which flanked the driveway to the house. Wooden gates stood wide as always, but as they neared the building, her father’s collie, Bess, set up a wild barking.
‘Seems like someone knows you’re here,’ remarked the taxi driver, with a grin at Shannon. ‘Your dog, is he?’
Shannon shook his head, casting a faintly derisive glance in Joanna’s direction. ‘No,’ he said briefly. ‘Not mine.’
The front door had opened by the time the taxi reached the house, but it was not any member of the Carne family who closed it behind him and came slowly down the steps. It was Philip Lawson, and as the vehicle’s headlights swept the area in front of the house, Joanna could see Philip’s Triumph parked a few yards from the house. He had halted, obviously as surprised by their arrival as Joanna found she was to see him, and he shaded his eyes against the headlights’ glare and waited until the taxi came to a halt.
Without waiting for anyone’s assistance, Joanna thrust open her door and climbed out. All of a sudden she needed Philip, and she was reassured by his instantaneous reaction.
‘Joanna!’ he exclaimed, half disbelievingly. ‘Oh, Joanna!’ He came towards her, pulling her eagerly into his arms. ‘I never expected it to be you! I only got a letter from you this morning telling me you were going to spend a few days in Kwyana.’ He raised his head after giving her a welcoming hug. ‘Where’s Shannon? Is he with you?’
‘Yes …’ Joanna’s response was stiff, but she couldn’t help it. She had been aware of Shannon getting out of the car behind them, of his brief exchange with the driver, and after settling the fare getting their cases out of the boot. But now she was forced to turn to him as the taxi reversed cautiously away, and she was glad of the sheltering darkness to hide her flushed cheeks. ‘Come and meet my fiancé, Shannon,’ she said jerkily. ‘Philip—this is my—this is Shannon.’
The two men shook hands, Philip following this up with his usual friendly greeting: ‘Glad to know you, Shannon. I know your father’s going to be pleased to see you.’
There was stiffness between the two men, and Joanna could not help but be aware of it. The sleet was turning to snow, and in the half light she saw the tightness in Shannon’s face, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at the house. But his tone was civil as he thanked Philip for his welcome, adding: ‘The place doesn’t change much, does it? I don’t know why I thought it would.’
‘You’d better come along inside,’ exclaimed Philip, urging them both up the steps to the door, but Joanna hung back, trying to see her home through Shannon’s eyes. He was right, of course, it didn’t change. But that was one of the things she most loved about it.
Mallowsdale Hall was not a large country house, but it was built of stone, and stone was built to last. It stood on a slight rise, backed by a copse of fir trees, the ground sloping away beyond to the banks of the Mallow. Long, mullioned windows looked proudly over land which had been in the Carne family for almost two hundred years, good grazing land, without the gentleness to be found further south. The first Carnes had been mine-owners, using the estate as a country retreat, but gradually, as standards of living levelled out, they had been forced into
becoming farmers themselves. Over the years, the estate had dwindled in size. Land taxes and death duties had meant the sale of much of the property, and the Hall, the land immediately surrounding it, and the home farm, were all that was left of the original estate. Still, there was always plenty to be done, and since her father’s stroke, Philip had spent more and more time at Mallowsdale.
‘Joanna!’
Philip’s slightly impatient summons interrupted her reverie, and realising the two men were waiting for her, she hurried after them. It was Shannon who opened the door, however, Shannon who entered the house first; Shannon—his face contemptuous of his presence here as the prodigal returned.
Jessie Duxbury, the Carnes’ daily, was crossing the hall with a tray, on which reposed a single glass and a bottle of Scotch, when the door opened, and she turned with a start to face them. Then her homely face cleared as she recognised the boy she had first seen when he was only a few hours old.
‘Shannon!’ she exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Eh, Shannon, you’ve come home!’
Shannon’s expression lost its bitterness for a moment, and he went to bend and kiss Jessie’s lined cheek. ‘Now then, Jessie,’ he greeted her gently. ‘You don’t look a day older than when I went away.’
Jessie struggled to hold back her tears. ‘You’re a rare one to talk—going away like that. Not caring what happened to us all!’
‘That’s not true, Jessie. Of course, I cared. But a man has to be—independent.’
‘You were ever that,’ muttered Jessie, brushing an impatient hand across her eyes. ‘I heard the dog barking. Bess knows when there’s something up.’
Another woman appeared, attracted no doubt by the unexpected sound of voices. Smaller than her daughter, still with that touching air of helplessness which had first aroused Maxwell Carne’s protective instincts, Catherine Carne stared at the gathering in the hall with faintly disbelieving eyes. Her gaze moved quickly from her daughter to Philip to Shannon, and then back to her daughter again as she moved forward.
