The Smouldering Flame

by Anne Mather

  ‘No.’ Joanna shook her head.

  Shannon’s lips twisted. ‘No. No, of course they wouldn’t.’ He thrust her away from him, putting some distance between them. ‘And you never guessed?’

  ‘No.’ Joanna was confused. ‘What—what did I do?’

  Shannon massaged the muscles at the back of his neck. ‘God, my head aches!’ he muttered, obviously impatient of his weakness. Then; ‘Oh, don’t look like that, Joanna. You didn’t do anything. But you were there. And so was I. And our relationship … Well, do you need me to draw a picture?’

  ‘No!’ Joanna put a horrified hand to her throat. ‘You don’t mean——’

  ‘Don’t pretend you’re not aware of it, Joanna,’ he said, savagely. ‘It’s been there between us ever since you came here yesterday, and if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit it. But there’s no future in it. There never was. Your father took damn good care of that. But don’t ask me to forget, because I know I won’t.’

  ‘You can’t mean …’ Her voice shook and then trailed away.

  ‘Oh, but I can. Everything. Everything, Joanna.’ He turned away as though he couldn’t stand the sight of her. ‘I wasn’t much more than a boy myself, but I——’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. I learned my lesson well. You have nothing to fear from me.’

  Joanna was trembling. She knew she ought to feel ashamed, that she should be disgusted by what she had just heard, but she wasn’t. And that was the frightening part. Whatever he did, she knew she would never despise Shannon. And this explained so much—and yet left so much unexplained. And their father had sent her here, fully aware of what had happened in the past! Who could blame Shannon for despising him?

  Taking a deep breath, she said: ‘I—I’m sorry.’ It was inadequate, but she was too stunned to say more.

  He looked round at her. He had himself in control again, but he was paler than before and the sweat was rolling off him. He was feverish, she knew, but when she attempted to suggest that he should rest, he ignored her, and said: ‘You’re engaged, then? To anyone I know?’

  Joanna shook her head. Philip represented sanity. ‘No,’ she got out. ‘His name’s Philip Lawson. His parents bought High Stoop.’

  Shannon nodded, pressing his knuckles to his temples. ‘Is he a farmer, too? I imagine he must be if he’s won your father’s approval.’

  ‘Yes.’ Joanna took a step towards him, stopping at the look in his eyes. ‘Oh, Shannon—you’re ill! You must go back to bed. Let me—help you.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he muttered impatiently, straddling a chair and sitting down, resting his arms along its back and his head on his arms.

  ‘You’re not all right,’ insisted Joanna, staring at him frustratedly. Then she walked to the door and shouted: ‘Jacob! Jacob, come here!’

  The houseboy came hurrying along the hall and judging by his expression Joanna guessed that he imagined their argument had erupted into violence. His face cleared when he saw Shannon and muttering to himself he came into the room.

  ‘Mr Carne should be in bed,’ stated Joanna firmly, ignoring the angry remonstrance this aroused. ‘Will you help me, Jacob?’

  ‘I can walk,’ muttered Shannon, getting unsteadily to his feet, and refusing her assistance, he allowed Jacob to help him to his room.

  After they had gone, Joanna paced restlessly about the kitchen. What to do now? Shannon had insisted that she must leave, but right now he was in no fit state to enforce that order. Besides, how could she go and leave him like this? She cared about him too much to abandon him, even to the undoubtedly expert ministrations of Camilla Langley, and always at the back of her mind there was the hope that he might change his mind. In spite of everything.

  But one thing was certain. She could not remain at Kwyana with only one change of clothes. She needed the suitcase she had left at the hotel in Menawi, and there was only one way to get it. She would have to go back in the train this afternoon, stay at the hotel overnight, and return here tomorrow. But how was she to get to the railway station?

  Jacob came back while she was worrying this problem, and she looked at him anxiously. ‘Is—is Mr Carne in bed?’

  Jacob nodded. ‘Yes’m, he in bed. He not good patient. Miss Camilla say so.’

  ‘Does she?’ Joanna’s tone was dry. ‘Is there anything I can do for him?’

  ‘No’m.’ Jacob shook his head. ‘He sleep for while. Miss Camilla come again later.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Joanna did not relish the prospect of meeting the nurse again. ‘Er—Jacob? How could I get to the railway station this afternoon?’

  Jacob frowned. ‘To railway station, missus? You leaving?’

  ‘Temporarily,’ said Joanna. Then changed it to: ‘Just for a while. I’ll probably be back tomorrow.’

  Jacob shrugged. ‘I take you to station. Jacob good chauffeur,’ he announced with dignity.

  Joanna gasped. ‘I didn’t realise you drove, Jacob. I’m sorry. Does Mr Carne have transport?’

  ‘Yes’m, he have station wagon. Parked out back. You want to see?’

  ‘All right.’

  Joanna nodded, and followed the houseboy through a door at the far side of the kitchen which opened into a narrow passage. Jacob indicated that this was the storeroom on one side of the passage and his own living quarters at the other. Then they emerged through a second door into the brilliant sunshine at the back of the house.

  The first thing that Joanna noticed was the smell, a rich earthy smell of dampness and rotting vegetation. She guessed there had been rain during the night, but now everything was drying out rapidly, and mist rose from the hedges that gave the settlement an air of permanence. There was a stubby lawn at the back of the bungalow, and beyond this the rugged sides of the valley rose in rocky formation. It was a bare, desolate landscape, and she thought she preferred the row of bungalows, ugly though they appeared.

  A dust-smeared Chrysler station wagon, a big comfortable vehicle stood to one side of the building on a stretch of concrete laid for the purpose. Jacob patted the car with obvious pride, jumping on to the fender to demonstrate its easy suspension. Then he opened all the doors and windows, squealing when his hands encountered red-hot metal.

  ‘You like?’ he asked, and smiling ruefully she nodded.

  ‘It’s huge, isn’t it?’ she commented, looking inside at the leather interior. ‘How many gallons does it do to the mile?’

  Jacob’s brows came together as he puzzled this. ‘How many gallons …’ he echoed confusedly, and she shook her head.

  ‘I was only joking,’ she apologised. ‘No, really, it’s very impressive—er—’ this as Jacob looked perplexed again, ‘—I mean, it’s a beautiful car.’

  This satisfied him, and feeling the sun beating down mercilessly on her bare head, Joanna made for the coolness of the passage. She would pack her belongings and be ready to leave right after lunch.

  Jacob had dismantled the mosquito netting and stripped the sheets off the camper, but the bed had not been folded away, and she made a mental note to ask him to leave it where it was. Her few belongings took no packing, and she was endeavouring to swallow some of the tinned pork and beans Jacob had prepared for her lunch when Camilla arrived. Joanna’s appetite seemed to have dwindled alarmingly since coming to Kwyana, and the nurse’s presence did not stimulate it.

  Camilla offered an indifferent greeting and then summoned Jacob to accompany her. No doubt they were going to see the patient, but Joanna could feel herself stiffening so long as that woman was in the house. She had to steel herself to remain seated at the table, and when Jacob came back alone, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Has—has she gone?’ she queried, in what she hoped was a casual tone, and Jacob nodded solemnly.

  ‘Yes’m.’

  ‘Er—what did she say?’

  He shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘Nothing much. She come back later.’

  Joanna frowned. Did she imagine it, or was there a trace of Jacob’s ea
rlier hostility in his behaviour? She couldn’t be absolutely sure, but Camilla was not one to waste her opportunities, and she must have noticed how amicably Joanna and the houseboy were getting on together.

  She finished eating and pushed her plate aside. ‘That was very nice, Jacob, but I’m honestly not hungry. I’ll just have some coffee, if I may?’

  ‘Yes’m.’

  Jacob attended to the percolator and Joanna watched him frustratedly. She had not been mistaken. Jacob was being abrupt, and a feeling of helplessness swept over her. She was leaving in an hour, leaving the field free for Camilla to corrupt the boy’s mind in whatever way she chose, and there was nothing she, Joanna, could do about it. She had hoped to leave here in a spirit of friendship, but obviously that was not going to be possible now.

  Leaving Jacob to do the dishes, she went to say goodbye to Shannon. She intended telling him what she planned to do, and if he raised objections she would just ignore them.

  But when she entered his bedroom, she found he was sound asleep, his breathing deep and stertorous. She hesitated waking him, but needs must, and bending over him, she said: ‘Shannon! Shannon! Wake up! I have to talk to you.’

  He did not stir, and with a sigh she touched the smooth skin of his shoulder, shaking him gently. Still he did not move, and the first twinges of alarm feathered along her spine.

  ‘Shannon!’ she said, more loudly now. ‘Shannon, wake up! I’m leaving!’

  His immobility frightened her, and she rushed out of the room and along to the kitchen, shouting for Jacob. She almost cannoned into him as he came to meet her, and she exclaimed breathlessly: ‘Jacob, something’s wrong with Mr Carne. I can’t wake him!’

  For once there was no sign of concern in Jacob’s dark eyes. ‘Miss Camilla, she say he need rest,’ he said, shrugging.

  Joanna tried to interpret what he meant. ‘You mean Miss Camilla’s given him something to make him sleep?’ she exclaimed in dismay.

  ‘Yes’m.’ Jacob mimed a needle going into his arm. ‘Miss Camilla good nurse. She know best thing for Mr Carne.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ Joanna stared impotently at him, feeling tears of frustration pricking at her eyes. ‘And I suppose Miss Camilla didn’t know I was leaving,’ she muttered bitterly.

  ‘Yes’m, she knew. I told her myself.’

  Joanna’s shoulders sagged. ‘But you knew I would want to speak to him before I left. How could you let her do such a thing?’

  Jacob’s mouth curved sulkily. ‘I not doctor. Miss Camilla don’t ask me. You best speak with her.’

  ‘I don’t have time now.’ Joanna clenched her fists. ‘Oh, look—I’ll write him a note. And you’d better see he gets it the minute he wakes up, right?’

  Jacob turned away into the kitchen. ‘I finish dishes. You leave note beside bed.’

  Joanna pressed her lips together, and then sighed. Perhaps he was right. If she left the note beside Shannon’s bed he would be sure to get it. Just now, Jacob wasn’t really responsible for his actions.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT was late in the evening when the train pulled into Menawi station, and Joanna felt stiff and weary. But at least it was cooler in the capital, and there were taxis to take her to her hotel. Neon signs flashed from all the larger hotels and office buildings, and car horns honked endlessly. The streets they drove through were thronged with people out enjoying themselves, and the sound of western music mingled with the throbbing rhythm of the drums from nightclubs glittering along the main thoroughfares. It was all totally different from the remote mining settlement, and the aromas of spices and curries drifting through the open windows of the cab made Joanna realise how hungry she was.

  She encountered Mr Krishna, the hotel’s Asian manager, in the lobby when she went to collect her key, and he greeted her warmly.

  ‘You have had a good trip to Kwyana, Miss Carne?’ he inquired, with a polite smile. ‘Myself I do not enjoy the trips up country.’

  ‘It was—enlightening,’ replied Joanna, with a slight smile. ‘By the way, I shall be leaving again in the morning, Mr Krishna. My brother is living at Kwyana, and I intend to spend a few days with him before returning to England.’

  Mr Krishna’s narrow Asiatic features drew into a frown. ‘You expect to return to Kwyana tomorrow, Miss Carne?’

  ‘Why, yes.’ Joanna looked troubled. ‘Is something wrong? Oh—my belongings haven’t been stolen or anything, have they?’

  Mr Krishna looked wounded. ‘This is a respectable hotel, Miss Carne. I cannot recall that anyone’s luggage has been stolen from here.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Joanna mentally kicked herself for allowing Lorenz’s malicious gossip to influence her. ‘Well, what is it, then?’

  ‘There are no trains to Kwyana tomorrow, Miss Carne. It’s Sunday!’

  ‘Sunday!’ Joanna was aghast, but she knew with a sinking feeling that he was telling the truth. No wonder the streets of Menawi were filled with people! It was Saturday night, and that was the same the world over. ‘I—I didn’t think.’

  If only she had!

  ‘So you will be staying until Monday?’ Mr Krishna prompted, his good humour partially restored.

  ‘I—well, yes, I suppose I shall have to.’ Joanna was trying to think, but it was difficult when her brain seemed to have stopped functioning. She took her key from the waiting receptionist and tucked it absent-mindedly into the pocket of her jeans. ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost all count of the days.’

  ‘It happens,’ Mr Krishna assured her. ‘And personally, I am delighted we are to have the pleasure of your company for an extra day.’ He smiled again. ‘Now, I am sure you must be tired and hungry. Can I order you something from the restaurant—to be sent up to your room, of course?’

  Joanna watched as he summoned a boy to take up her case, and then made a helpless gesture. ‘Perhaps—a sandwich?’ she suggested. ‘And some coffee.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Mr Krishna was disappointed. ‘Can I not tempt you with the chicken which was on the menu this evening?’

  As before at Kwyana, Joanna’s hunger had deserted her, and she shook her head apologetically. All she could think of was that Jacob must have known that there were no trains on Sundays, but he had not chosen to tell her. And Shannon … Well, Shannon didn’t want her to go back.

  ‘Perhaps a chicken sandwich,’ she agreed, to please the manager. ‘But that’s all.’

  ‘Very well, Miss Carne. I’ll attend to it at once.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The manager had turned away, when a thought occurred to her. ‘Mr Krishna!’ He turned back at once, his brows lifted expectedly. ‘Mr Krishna, is there any way I could send a message to Kwyana?’

  ‘I assume you mean before Monday?’ he queried.

  ‘Yes.’

  Mr Krishna shook his head. ‘Then no. The train carries all supplies, including the mail.’

  ‘Are there no planes?’

  ‘I believe the mining company owns a helicopter, Miss Carne, but there is nowhere for an aeroplane to land at Kwyana.’

  ‘Oh!’ Joanna nodded. ‘Well, thank you.’

  Her room was blessedly cool and dark, and after tipping the boy who had carried her case, she closed the door and flopped down wearily on to the bed. At least this bed had springs, she thought tiredly, kicking off her sandals and stretching her legs. Then her eyes alighted on the cream telephone beside the bed, her tiredness forgotten, she rolled on to her stomach and reached eagerly for the receiver.

  The hotel operator was coolly polite. She was sorry, she said, but there were no lines to Kwyana. The telephones Joanna had seen there must have been internal communications. Joanna slammed down her receiver again, and buried her face in the silk coverlet.

  Surprisingly, she slept quite well. But she had been very tired and the bed was more relaxing than the camper had been the night before. She awakened in the morning feeling infinitely brighter, and refused to worry about Shannon when for the next twenty-four hours there was nothing she could do a
bout it.

  She bathed and dressed in a lime green halter-necked dress, and went downstairs to take breakfast in the hotel dining room. Potted plants and creeper-covered trellises divided the tables, and two talkative parrots with gorgeously coloured plumage kept the waiters informed of new arrivals from their perches by the door. Joanna smiled at their squawking, but she could quite see that someone with a hangover might not appreciate their exuberance.

  As she waited for her coffee and rolls to be served, she looked through the windows to the tropical informality of the hotel gardens. Palms and eucalyptus trees formed a backcloth for more exotic plants, like the orange and purple bougainvillea which grew in such profusion over the stone arches of the cloister-like terrace which surrounded the hotel. Scarlet hibiscus and fragrant frangipani dripped between the polished leaves of a rubber plant, their life span measured in hours in this intense climate. Everything seemed more intense here, somehow; life, death, emotion …

  ‘Miss Carne? Joanna? It is you, isn’t it? I was sure I wasn’t mistaken.’

  Joanna’s reverie was interrupted by the drawling American voice, and she swung round in surprise to find Brad Steiner, tall and bulky in a white tropical lounge suit, standing by her table.

  Her lips parted involuntarily, and she forced a smile. ‘Why, Mr Steiner! What are you doing here?’ Then, as an awful thought struck her: ‘Shannon’s not worse, is he?’

  Brad Steiner grinned ruefully. ‘Not to my knowledge. He seemed okay when I left yesterday morning.’

  ‘You left—yesterday morning?’ Joanna tried to absorb what he was saying.

  ‘Sure. I had a couple of days’ leave, so I decided to take a trip down here. What about you?’

  ‘I left—yesterday afternoon.’ Joanna could see the waiter approaching with her tray. ‘Well, it’s been very nice meeting you again, Mr Steiner.’

  ‘Hey now, is that a dismissal?’ Brad moved aside as the waiter set the tray down on the table. ‘There was I, about to suggest we took breakfast together, and you say a thing like that!’