by Anne Mather
The sight of a herd of zebra some distance away across the plain brought a gasp of delight to her lips, and for a while she was diverted from her thoughts. Coming up from Menawi, she had seen little of the game for which West Africa was famous, and now she turned to Lorenz and asked him whether there were elephants and lions in this part of the country.
‘There is a national safari park, Miss Carne. You can see plenty of game there. Here—well, occasionally I have seen a family of lions, and once we had a rogue elephant causing trouble at the mine, but man brings death to the animals, so they stay away.’
Joanna shook her head. ‘That’s awful, isn’t it?’
‘Wealth, too, has its price, Miss Carne. Once the game was the gold of Africa, but no more.’
‘Are you—were you born in Lushasa, Mr—er—Lorenz?’
He looked her way. ‘No. I was born in the Cape, Miss Carne. That is, South Africa. But I found the—climate here more to my liking.’
Joanna acknowledged this, and for a while there was silence. Then, without preamble, he said: ‘How long is it since you have seen your—er—brother, Miss Carne?’
Joanna straightened her back. ‘Some time,’ she replied evasively. ‘Do you—do you know him well?’
‘A man in my position does not know the General Manager of the Kwyana Mine very well,’ replied Lorenz bitterly.
‘General Manager!’ Joanna’s involuntary ejaculation could not be denied. She had known her brother had taken a degree in engineering. Her father had been furious about it at the time, maintaining that an agricultural college would have served him better than a university. But obviously Shannon had put his knowledge to good use.
Lorenz was raising his eyebrows. ‘You did not know your brother was so important?’
‘No.’ Joanna made an impatient little gesture. ‘I’ve told you, it’s some time since—since I saw him.’
‘What a pleasant surprise, then. A man in Carne’s position should be worth some small investment, wouldn’t you say?’
Joanna caught her breath. ‘I don’t know what you’re implying, Mr Lorenz, but I can assure you that my sole purpose here is to deliver a message to him from our father!’
Lorenz studied her flushed face for a moment, and then shrugged, returning his attention to the road. ‘You may not find that so easy right now,’ he commented cryptically.
‘What do you mean?’ Joanna stared at him.
His fingers flexed against the wheel. ‘Our gallant Manager is ill, Miss Carne. I would doubt your ability to deliver any message to him during the next forty-eight hours.’
‘Ill?’ Joanna felt cold inside. ‘What is it? What’s wrong with him?’ She put a hand to her throat. ‘There—there hasn’t been an accident——’
‘Oh, no, no.’ Lorenz shook his head, his tone mocking. ‘Nothing so exciting, I assure you.’
‘Then what is wrong with him?’ Joanna couldn’t hide her anxiety, or her impatience.
‘Just a touch of fever, Miss Carne.’ Lorenz was irritatingly indifferent as he drawled the words. ‘Just a little fever.’
‘Fever!’ Joanna shifted restlessly. ‘What kind of fever?’
‘Relax, Miss Carne. Your concern does you credit, but it is nothing to get excited about. In a couple of days your—er—brother will be as good as new, no doubt.’
Joanna’s brows were drawn tight together above worried eyes. ‘You should have told me sooner,’ she exclaimed.
‘Why?’ Lorenz swung the lorry to avoid an enormous cavity yawning in the road, and she had to clutch the seat to prevent herself from being thrown against him. ‘We could have got here no sooner. Unless—unless in his—er—debilitated state you might have decided not to come.’
Joanna did not answer this. She was too tense to exchange abuse with this man who seemed to be enjoying imparting such information, and besides, she didn’t really know whether he was telling her the truth. But if he was, then perhaps it might have been better if she had not come …
The mountains were nearer now, and as they began to climb the steeper gradient, the air became blessedly cooler. She guessed it was the breeze coming through the open windows of the vehicle which created the coolness and that outside it was still enervatingly hot, but any respite was a relief.
‘Not much farther now, Miss Carne,’ remarked Lorenz, as their wheels churned up a cloud of fine grey dust, and it was questionable whether the dusty air coming through the windows was preferable to closing them and suffering the heat inside. ‘Just beyond this bluff—see!’
Opening out below them was a rugged valley, its base a startling mass of machinery and buildings. After so much that was primitive, the Kwyana mine was aggressively modern, and Joanna was astonished at its size and industry. As well as the buildings immediately adjacent to the mine workings, there was living accommodation for over three hundred men, Lorenz volunteered, pointing out laboratories, ventilation and processing plants, the pumping station and mine hospital, as well as the enormous plant which powered the whole complex.
‘Impressive, is it not?’ Lorenz commented dryly. ‘Over three hundred men, and not a woman—a white woman, at least, within a hundred miles. Except yourself, Miss Carne.’
Joanna did not answer this, but her nerves tightened at his words. If that were so, she ought not to have come here, and she had the feeling that Shannon would not appreciate her having done so. If only they had told her in Menawi how remote the mine was! But then she had not told them that she intended making the journey here herself.
At this hour of the afternoon there were few men about, but those there were stared with unconcealed amazement at Lorenz’s companion in the cab of the lorry. Joanna could feel the hot colour in her cheeks adding to the general discomfort of her body, and she did not like the amusement Lorenz made no effort to hide.
The layout of the site reminded her of an industrial estate back home, only here two-storied dwellings mingled with steel-ribbed girders and the intricate maze of a chemical processing plant. Had it not been for the heat which, even though the sun was slowly losing its power, was still intense here in the valley, they could have been in any industrial complex anywhere in the world.
Looking about her, Joanna finally had to ask: ‘Which of these blocks does my brother occupy?’
‘None of them,’ replied Lorenz laconically, startling her for a minute until he added: ‘Managers don’t live in blocks. They have houses. It’s not much further. Have patience, Miss Carne.’
The sarcasm was back and Joanna clenched her lips. They had turned off the main thoroughfare on to a narrow track leading between the living blocks which were interspersed here and there with stretches of scorched grass. Occasionally she caught glimpses of men playing football behind the buildings, but mostly her attention was fixed on the corrugated-roofed bungalows she could see ahead of them. There were several, set at intervals between scrub hedges, all alike with stuccoed walls painted in pastel shades, and overhanging eaves. Lorenz brought the heavy vehicle to a halt before one of them. The place looked deserted, the blinds were drawn and there was no apparent sign of life.
‘That’s it,’ he announced derisively. ‘I hope you don’t find it disappointing.’
Joanna was sure he hoped she did, but she thrust open her door and climbed down quickly before he could offer his assistance. He handed her out her suitcase, and she had perforce to thank him.
‘I don’t know how I’d have managed without you,’ she admitted.
‘Nor do I,’ he agreed, and let out his clutch; the lorry trundled noisily away.
After he had gone, it seemed incredibly quiet. The tiring journey on the train, the uproar at the station, and the trip in the lorry had all taken their toll of her nerves, and even the low throbbing sound which was all she could hear was welcome. Even so, she half thought her arrival would have disturbed someone, but no one appeared to have noticed.
Stifling the awful feeling of panic which was welling up inside her, Joanna picked up
her suitcase and walked determinedly up the path to a meshed door. An outer door stood wide, but the meshed door had a self-closing hinge.
Feeling rather like an interloper, she knocked at the wood which surrounded the mesh and mentally composed how she was going to introduce herself. What if Shannon didn’t recognise her? She was sure she would recognise him. His image was printed indelibly on her mind.
No one answered her knock, and with a sigh she knocked harder. Still there was no response, and she shaded her eyes with one hand and looked hopefully up and down the road. What if Lorenz had brought her to the wrong bungalow? He might have done so deliberately. If only there was someone she could ask.
But the empty road mocked her, and the drawn blinds on the adjoining bungalows did not encourage intruders. When no one replied to her third attempt to attract attention, she tentatively opened the meshed door and went in.
She found herself in a narrow hall covered by some rubber flooring, but otherwise bare. The hall appeared to run from front to back of the building, with several doors opening from it. On impulse, Joanna opened one of these doors and peeped into the room beyond. She saw what appeared to be a study with a desk strewn with papers, a chair, a filing cabinet, and two telephones. A second door revealed a living room—armchairs, dining chairs and table, bookshelves, and a drinks cabinet.
Joanna closed this second door and stood, undecided. If this was not Shannon’s house she was taking dreadful liberties, and even if it was, she had no way of knowing what his reaction to her presence there might be. Perhaps she should go outside again and wait until someone did appear. Surely—she consulted the slim masculine watch on her wrist—surely the day’s work must almost be over. The men who lived in the other bungalows might be returning to them.
She was moving away towards the door when a low groan reached her ears. Immediately she stiffened, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. The sound was coming from a room further along the hall, and with comprehension came the realisation that Lorenz had not been lying when he had told her that Shannon was ill.
Putting down her case again, she went stealthily along the hall and pressed her ear to the panels of the door. There was no further sound from within, but her hand had found the handle and she could not resist turning it.
The room beyond was darkened, but blessedly cool. Whatever else these bungalows lacked, they had air-conditioning, and for a moment it was heaven for Joanna to feel the cool air against her over-heated skin. But then her eyes adjusted themselves to the dimness and she could make out the figure of a man tossing and turning on a narrow bed. Her nails digging into her palms, she moved forward, and then drew back again as she realised the man was naked. He had kicked the thin cotton sheet aside, and although his body was streamed with sweat, she could see he was shivering.
Joanna hesitated only a moment longer, and then moved forward once more, gathering the sheet from the foot of the bed and drawing it up over his shuddering limbs. Mosquito netting hung suspended over the bed, but when she brushed it aside she could see his face, and a curious weakness assailed her. Shannon’s eyes were glazed and unseeing, but they were the same tawny eyes she remembered, the same heavy lids and long curling lashes. He had changed a little; after all, he was ten years older and therefore more mature. Nevertheless, the lean intelligent features were not so different, and from what she had seen of his muscled body, he still hadn’t an ounce of spare flesh on him. His dark brown hair was longer than it had been, but it was just as thick and virile, and her fingers trembled as she touched it now, smoothing a heavy swathe back from his damp forehead. Her fingers lingered against his burning skin, needing that physical contact, but as he fought her attempts to keep the sheet over him, she looked round desperately, wondering what she could do. She felt angry as she wondered how long he had been lying here like this without anyone to care for him. Why wasn’t he in the hospital Lorenz had shown her receiving proper attention?
‘Shannon,’ she ventured at last, sitting down on the side of the bed. ‘Shannon—it’s me, Joanna! Do you remember me?’
Her softly spoken words seemed to penetrate his delirium, and for a few seconds there was a look of faint recognition in the eyes he turned in her direction. But then it disappeared, and he began twisting restlessly again, licking his lips as if he was parched.
‘Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?’
The cold angry words brought Joanna almost guiltily to her feet and she turned to find a woman entering the room. In a white uniform, she was probably a nurse, Joanna decided, and she made an involuntary gesture of apology.
‘I—I’m Joanna Carne,’ she explained awkwardly. ‘Shannon’s—sister.’
The woman’s dark brows drew together uncomprehendingly, and as she drew nearer Joanna could see that like the man Lorenz, she was of mixed blood. But the combination was quite startlingly beautiful. Smooth olive features, lustrous dark eyes, and a wide sensuous mouth, her dark hair confined with madonna-like severity at the nape of her neck, she was unlike any nurse Joanna had ever seen, and her presence in this room emphasised the gulf which had opened between Shannon and his family more surely than the distance of miles could have done.
‘You—are Shannon’s sister?’ The woman shook her head now. Then: ‘What are you doing here—Miss Carne? Your brother is ill, as you can see. Please wait outside and I will speak with you after I have attended to my patient.’
The way she said those words made them an order, not a request, and the curtness of her tone caught Joanna on the raw. She had travelled thousands of miles to find her brother, and he was her brother, after all. How dared this woman, this stranger, nurse or otherwise, order her out of his bedroom?
‘There was no one about when I arrived,’ she stated, annoyed to hear the defensive note in her voice. ‘I let myself in, and when I heard—groaning, I came to see if there was anything I could do.’
‘Well, there is not.’ The nurse’s eyes were coolly appraising as she held up her hand to reveal the syringe she was holding. ‘As I have already suggested, if you will wait outside …’
‘What is that?’ Joanna looked anxious.
The nurse sighed, displaying the tolerance she might have shown to a child. ‘It is quinine, Miss Carne. Nothing more alarming than that. Now, if you don’t mind …’
Joanna almost protested, but one look at Shannon still tossing on the bed silenced her. Arguing with this woman was only delaying his treatment, and she had the feeling she would be wasting her time anyway. With a shrug of her shoulders, she walked towards the door, and as she reached it she looked back and saw the woman drawing down the sheet and taking Shannon’s right arm between her fingers. Joanna watched for a moment longer, and then, as the woman turned impatient eyes in her direction, she pressed her lips together and left the room.
CHAPTER TWO
JOANNA paced up and down the living room, her cork-soled sandals squeaking on the rubber-tiled floor. But she was too disturbed to sit and wait patiently for the nurse to come and speak to her, and with every minute that passed she grew more and more frustrated. How much longer was she to be kept waiting? What was going on in Shannon’s bedroom? Surely it didn’t take this long to give someone an injection.
There was the sound of footsteps behind her, and she swung round in relief, only to find a black youth in white shirt and shorts staring at her from the open doorway. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but like the nurse he obviously considered he had the prior authority here.
‘You waiting to see Mr Carne, missus?’ he asked frowning. ‘You can’t. He sick. He not seeing anyone.’
Joanna sighed. ‘I know he’s sick, but I have seen him.’ Then as his dark eyes mirrored his alarm, she hastened on: ‘I’m Mr Carne’s sister. From England.’ She waited until this was absorbed, and then added a question of her own. ‘Who are you?’
The youth looked taken aback. ‘Jacob, missus,’ he answered reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder. ‘You s
een Miss Camilla?’
‘Miss Camilla?’ Joanna folded her arms, supporting her chin with the knuckles of one hand. ‘Would that be—the nurse?’
Jacob nodded. ‘Miss Camilla looking after Mr Carne.’
Joanna inclined her head. ‘Yes, I’ve seen her.’ She paused in front of him. ‘Do you work for Mr Carne?’
Jacob shifted under her scrutiny. ‘I Mr Carne’s houseboy,’ he admitted, his chin jutting proudly. ‘Jacob best houseboy in Kwyana.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ agreed Joanna dryly. ‘Tell me, how long has Mr Carne been ill?’
‘Two days, Miss Carne.’ The nurse’s cool tones overrode Jacob’s reply. ‘I told you I would answer your questions as soon as I had attended to my patient.’ She looked at the houseboy. ‘That’s all right, Jacob, I can handle this. You can go.’
‘Yes’m, Miss Camilla.’
Jacob left them, and Joanna tried not to let the other woman’s assumption of authority undermine her confidence. But her words had been in the nature of a reprimand, and it was apparent that Jacob regarded her instructions as law.
‘Now …’ The woman Jacob had called Camilla indicated a low armchair. ‘Won’t you sit down, Miss Carne? I’m sure we can speak much more amicably that way.’
Joanna took a deep breath. ‘I prefer to stand.’
She didn’t. But the small gesture of defiance did not go unnoticed as she had intended.
‘Very well.’ Camilla made an indifferent gesture. ‘What brings you to Kwyana, Miss Carne?’
‘I don’t think that’s anything to do with you,’ replied Joanna evenly. ‘And I’d like to ask some questions of my own, if you have no objections.’
‘None at all.’
Camilla lounged gracefully into an armchair, crossing her long slender legs, and immediately Joanna felt at a disadvantage. The white uniform did something for the other woman, she had to admit, and she could quite see that Camilla would enjoy wearing it. It would command admiration and respect among the Africans, and was the perfect foil for her dark beauty.