by Anne Mather
The nurse hesitated, but she replaced the receiver on its rest. ‘Well,’ she murmured. ‘Mr Carne is much improved. And Doctor Muhli was most concerned when no one could tell him who Joanna was.’ She seemed to come to a decision. ‘I’m sure he won’t object, Miss Carne.’ She came out from behind the desk and pointed along the corridor. ‘Mr Carne’s room is the one at the end. Number 23. You can’t miss it.’
‘Thank you.’
Joanna sped along the corridor on trembling legs. She was terrified lest Camilla should appear and prevent her from seeing Shannon, and this Doctor Muhli might well listen to her. But she reached her destination without incident, and peered breathlessly through the glass panel at the top of the door.
Her legs went weak when she saw Shannon. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his brown chest half-concealed beneath the swathe of dressings. He looked so pale and thin, and before she could prevent herself, her fingers had closed on the handle and opened the door.
He looked towards the door as it opened, and then made an obviously painful effort to get up on his elbows when he saw who was standing there.
‘Joanna?’ he muttered disbelievingly. ‘Dear God, is it really you?’
Joanna stepped right inside the room and closed the door, leaning back against it for a moment, too overcome with emotion to answer him. Shannon stared at her through narrowed eyes, and then he sank back against the pillows muttering: ‘Oh, why did you have to come, Joanna, why did you have to come? Finding me like this. I’m too weak to send you away.’
His tortured words brought her up and away from the door, flying to the bed and kneeling down beside it, burying her face against his shoulder. ‘Oh, Shannon!’ she breathed, over and over again, ‘we didn’t know. We didn’t know!’
She could feel him trembling and raised her head to look into his face. Its gauntness tore her heart, even while the look in his eyes drove all other considerations from her head. With a whispered endearment, she put her mouth to his and was devastated by his urgent response. With a groan, he pulled her on to the bed beside him, and she was lying in his arms, returning his kisses with hungry satisfaction.
‘Joanna, Joanna,’ he breathed, into her neck, his hands parting her thin blouse, his mouth seeking the rounded softness beneath. ‘Oh, God, I’ve wanted you, so much—so much …’
‘Me, too,’ she murmured, when she could get her breath, aware that he had kicked away the covers and she was lying close to his lean, hard body. ‘Oh, Shannon, I was so afraid you’d turn me away.’
‘Turn you away?’ Her words made him lift his head and look down at her, and a sudden embarrassment brought the colour to her cheeks. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, faint amusement in the possession in his eyes. ‘Don’t you want me to see how beautiful you are?’
She hid her face against his chest. ‘When you didn’t come home, I thought you’d changed your mind,’ she whispered huskily.
‘Changed my mind?’ He was obviously confused. ‘You—expected me to come back?’
Joanna ventured to look up at him. ‘For—for the funeral,’ she prompted softly, and was shocked by his astonishment. ‘Don’t you know that—that my father’s dead?’
Shannon stared down at her through disbelieving eyes. ‘No!’ He blinked rapidly. ‘No.’ He seemed to be finding it hard to take in. ‘Maxwell Carne is dead?’
Joanna nodded. ‘Ten days ago.’
Shannon showed his comprehension. ‘The explosion at the mine,’ he muttered. ‘I gather I was informed.’
‘We sent a cable.’
‘I didn’t get it.’ His lips tightened suddenly. ‘I wonder why.’
The same thought struck both of them, but Shannon put it into words, one word: ‘Camilla!’
‘You think—she kept it from you?’ asked Joanna, frowning.
‘I think it’s likely.’ Shannon was bitter. ‘Oh, Joanna, since I came back, I’ve hardly seen Camilla. She knows how I feel about you. She knows you’re not my sister.’
‘Lorenz told me. He said she doesn’t like me.’
Shannon gathered her closer. ‘Camilla was never more than a friend, Joanna. But—do you realise what this means?’
‘Do you?’
He nodded. ‘It means I can find out how long it takes to disprove my identity.’
Joanna licked her lips. ‘With—with that certificate, I should think it would take no time at all,’ she ventured. ‘What certificate?’ Shannon looked puzzled.
‘Your birth certificate.’
‘My birth certificate?’ Shannon shook his head. ‘My darling, you’re not making sense.’
‘Shannon, your birth certificate shows your real father’s name. Daddy only had your surname changed later.’
‘What?’ He lay back weakly against the pillows.
Joanna could see his complete bewilderment, and hope stirred in her heart. ‘You must have seen your birth certificate, Shannon. You needed it to apply for your passport.’
‘I suppose I did.’ Shannon frowned, trying to think. Then he uttered an exclamation. ‘No, I didn’t see it,’ he told her, frowning. ‘I remember now. I asked your father for it when I was planning to leave for South Africa, and he said he’d get it out for me. Then I filled in all the forms, and he posted it for me. He must have put in the birth certificate himself. And I saw nothing odd in that. I never saw it at all. When the passport came back, it was opened along with the other mail, and by the time I got it, only the passport itself was in the envelope.’
‘Oh, Shannon!’ Joanna leant unthinkingly over him, drawing back aghast when she realised she was hurting him. She ran her fingers over the elastic bandage, and then bent her head to kiss it. ‘I thought—I thought you had known and hadn’t told me.’
‘As if I would,’ he muttered, winding a handful of her hair round his hand and bringing her head back to his. He looked at her disturbingly for several seconds, then his mouth curved sensuously as it sought hers. ‘Hmm, Joanna, are you going to stay with me until I can make an honest woman of you?’
Joanna was submerged in a tide of feeling which threatened to overwhelm her, but suddenly she remembered that she had not come to Lushasa alone. With a supreme effort, she pushed him away from her, smiling at his pained expression.
‘Darling, I have something else to tell you,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t you want to know who your father really is?’
Shannon stretched back against the pillows. ‘Some American airman. Your father told me that.’
‘Did he?’ Joanna bit her lip. ‘Would you like to meet him?’
‘To meet him?’ Shannon stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘Now what are you saying?’
‘Oh, Shannon, it’s a long story, but briefly, your mother wrote to—to my father and told him she was going to tell this—this airman that he had a son.’
‘Good God!’
‘You can imagine how that affected Daddy. I think—I’m not sure, but I think that’s what caused his stroke.’
Shannon shook his head. ‘Poor Maxwell!’
Joanna’s eyes widened. ‘Do you feel sorry for him?’
‘Of course I do. Any man so—concerned with pride, with possessions, was only to be pitied.’
Joanna paused for a moment and then went on: ‘Anyway, I think that’s why Daddy decided you should have Mallowsdale. He was so afraid there’d be a scandal.’
‘I know.’
‘After—after you’d gone …’ The memory of the way of Shannon’s departure was still to poignant for her to go on without a shudder of remembered despair, and guessing her feelings, Shannon drew her closer. Pressing her face against his warm body, she continued: ‘After you’d gone, Matt managed beautifully, and I broke my engagement to Philip.’ She felt his lips against her hair, and it was difficult to concentrate when all she wanted was for Shannon to make love to her. ‘Then—then one evening, one terrible evening about ten days ago, this man arrived, this American. His name is Andrew Steinbeck. He’s your fathe
r, Shannon.’
Shannon made a disbelieving sound. ‘He came—to Mallowsdale?’
‘Yes. He wanted to see you. Jacqueline—your mother, that is—didn’t know you weren’t to be found there.’
‘Oh, God!’
‘Daddy got very upset. That was what killed him.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Shannon shook his head. ‘Poor old devil.’
Joanna sighed. ‘If only he hadn’t judged everyone by his standards. He was sure that Andrew was coming to England to claim you as his son. After all these years. When all he really wanted was to see you—a natural enough desire.’
‘You said—Andrew—as if you know him well,’ murmured Shannon, frowning.
Joanna half smiled. ‘I feel as though I do. Oh, that may sound crazy to you, but he’s—well, he’s so like you. Just like you. Tall—only he’s grey, instead of dark-haired, and so—handsome.’
Shannon buried his face in her neck. ‘And where is this paragon of virtue now?’
‘In Menawi.’
‘What?’
‘It’s true. He—it was he who persuaded me to come here and see you for myself. Like I said, when you didn’t respond to our cable, I thought—I thought …’
‘You’re crazy, do you know that?’ muttered Shannon, half angrily. ‘Don’t you know I love you more than—more than life itself?’
Joanna looked up at him wonderingly. Then she said quietly: ‘He—Daddy, that is—he left you the estate.’
‘Oh, God!’ Shannon uttered a groan. ‘Joanna, I don’t want the estate.’
‘I know that. But I had to tell you.’
‘Does it make a difference?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I mean, you didn’t just come here because of that, did you?’
‘You know better than that.’
‘I’ve got to be independent, you see. I can’t take anything else from your father, do you understand?’
‘I—I think so.’
Shannon sighed. ‘My work is here, at Kwyana. It’s not much of a place, I know, but in six months I’m to be moved to Menawi, and then it won’t be so bad.’
Joanna looked at him with her heart in her eyes. ‘Shannon, if I’m to live with you, it could be in Timbuktu for all I care!’
‘And what about the estate?’
‘I don’t know. Since Daddy died, Mummy’s coped wonderfully. She and Matthew work well together. You’re instructed to look after her for her lifetime.’
‘Am I?’ Shannon frowned. ‘Oh, Joanna, what problems your father created! What am I to do. I can’t sell the estate. It’s your mother’s home.’
Joanna hesitated. Then she said: ‘Let her run it. She and Matt. We can decide what to do with it later.’
‘Like—keep it for our son?’ suggested Shannon softly. ‘That’s not a bad idea. What was it your father used to say—there have always been Carnes at Mallowsdale?’
Joanna blushed again, and he bent to kiss her. But as his body moved over hers, she protested: ‘What about your father, Shannon? Would you mind if he came to Kwyana?’ Shannon smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead. ‘Do you want him to come?’
‘Hmm,’ she nodded.
‘All right. But not today, and maybe not tomorrow. Right now, I just want you all to myself …’ and when the reception nurse tiptoed along the corridor some time later to make sure everything was all right, she stole back again with a mischievous smile of envy on her face.
ISBN: 978-1-472-09773-6
THE SMOULDERING FLAME
© 1976 Anne Mather
Published in Great Britain 2014
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
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