by Anne Mather
Joanna busied herself with the tea, noticing there were two cups and pouring some for her mother. Catherine took the cup, seated herself on the side of the bed, and looked despairingly at her daughter.
‘What is going to become of us?’ she exclaimed.
Joanna heaved a sigh. ‘Don’t be silly, Mummy. What do you mean? What do you think is going to become of us?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t honestly know.’ Catherine sipped her tea and shook her head. ‘He’s not staying, you know. Shannon says he’s not staying.’
Joanna turned away and looked out of the window. ‘I know.’
‘So what are we going to do? Your father can’t manage alone. Everything will have to be sold—the herd, the land, this house, everything!’
‘Oh, stop it, Mummy! Of course everything won’t have to be sold. Nothing’s settled yet. Besides, Shannon’s promised to stay until everything is sorted out.’
‘How can it be sorted out? If he won’t stay, what’s the point? There’s no one else but you, and your father won’t let the estate go to the Lawsons. Oh, if only your father had listened to me. He should never have let Shannon go away. But what did he do? Practically forced the boy out of the house. And why? Because of his stupid, overbearing pride!’
Joanna’s hands were trembling as she replaced her cup on the tray. ‘I expect he—thought it was for the best,’ she ventured, wondering how much her mother knew about Shannon’s reasons for leaving.
Her mother looked up at her bitterly. ‘That’s what I’ve just said. Your father always thought he knew how to handle people. Well, he hasn’t made much of a success at it, has he?’
‘Oh, Mummy!’
Catherine finished her tea and rose to her feet. ‘I’ve always been a disappointment to your father, I’ve known that. Producing a girl, instead of the boy he wanted. Never having another child. I should have suspected there might be some excuse for Jacqueline’s behaviour. Your father was never the easiest man to live with—to live up to. Poor Shannon! He’s certainly been made to pay for his mother’s indiscretions.’
Joanna had never heard her mother mention Shannon’s mother’s name in quite that way before, and she had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from probing further. But now was not the time. She would be taking advantage of a distraught woman, worse—her own mother.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to finish dressing,’ said Catherine, walking wearily towards the door. ‘Will you be wanting any breakfast?’
‘Perhaps—some toast. But don’t you bother, I can get it.’ Joanna sighed. ‘Where—where’s Shannon?’
‘I’m not sure. He went out about an hour ago. I believe he’s gone to see Charlie Simmons. I suppose he wants to assess the situation for himself before he reports back to your father.’
Joanna absorbed this. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Catherine halted in the open doorway. ‘Oh, Joanna, can’t you do something?’ she appealed suddenly. ‘Shannon always cared about you. Couldn’t you influence him? Couldn’t you persuade him that he’ll kill your father if he goes back to Africa?’
Joanna was aghast. ‘I—if Daddy can’t convince him——’
‘Your father goes at it like a bull at a gate. He has no patience, no time to use tact—and diplomacy. Joanna, you’ll be married soon and away from here. How am I going to manage if Shannon abandons us?’
Joanna bent her head, her breathing quickening as panic enveloped her. ‘Mummy, you can’t believe that Shannon would listen to me!
‘Why not? You got him to come back here, didn’t you? I never thought you’d succeed. But your father appears to know Shannon better than I do.’
‘He should do,’ protested Joanna tremulously. ‘He is his father, after all!’
Catherine’s expression hardened slightly. ‘Shannon is Jacqueline’s son, Joanna, and your father didn’t know her very well, did he?’
Joanna shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘No, of course not. You were too young. But take my word for it. Why else——’ She broke off suddenly, and when she spoke again, she was calmer. ‘You must try, Joanna.’
‘Do you think I haven’t?’ Joanna spread her hands. ‘Honestly, it’s no use. He doesn’t listen to me.’
Catherine turned away. ‘I see. Then we must all pray that something happens to change his mind, mustn’t we?’ she said tightly, and left her.
When she was alone, Joanna sank down weakly on to the side of her bed. Her mother didn’t know what she was asking, she thought bitterly, or she would never have suggested such a thing. Obviously she knew nothing of the real reasons for Shannon leaving Mallowsdale. She felt helpless. What could she do? Things had never seemed more desperate.
By the time she went downstairs she had herself in control again, and was even able to exchange a friendly word with Jessie, vacuuming in the sitting room.
‘Your father’s been asking for you, Joanna,’ the daily said, switching off the cleaner as she spoke. ‘I told him you weren’t up yet, and he said to tell you to come in when you did come down.’
Unaccountably, Joanna’s heart sank, and a wave of self-recrimination swept over her. Until her departure for Africa she had shared a good relationship with her father, and although he shouted at her as he did at everyone, she knew he had a real and deep affection for her. Now, with her prohibitive knowledge, she felt a craven desire to avoid any confrontation alone with him.
But with Jessie smiling at her, obviously waiting for her to go into the library and see her father, she had no choice but to nod and say: ‘Thanks, Jessie,’ before crossing the hall and tapping at her father’s door.
Henry Barnes let her in. He was obviously on his way out, Bess, her father’s collie, on a lead in his hand. Joanna had not seen the dog the night before, but now she welcomed the momentary respite, smiling at Henry before bending to fondle the animal.
‘Is that you, Joanna?’
Her father’s petulant summons tightened the nerves throughout her body, and she exchanged an understanding grimace with Henry before straightening and pushing the door wider.
‘Yes, it’s me, Father,’ she answered, with forced lightness. ‘How are you this morning?’
Her father’s lips tightened. ‘Come in, come in, and close that door,’ he ordered, and taking a deep breath, Joanna did as he asked.
‘It’s been snowing,’ she said, unnecessarily, and her father snorted impatiently.
‘I had noticed. I’m not blind, you know. Well? I’ve been waiting to speak to you alone. What happened?’
‘What—happened?’ Joanna didn’t quite understand.
‘Between you and Shannon. How did you get him to come back here? What did you tell him? More to the point, what did he say?’
Joanna swallowed hard. Oh, God, she thought sickly, what did he mean? Did he suspect that Shannon …? She licked her dry lips, and endeavoured to behave naturally.
‘I—I don’t know what you mean. He’s here, isn’t he? What could he say to me?’
Maxwell had been studying her closely as she spoke, and after a few moments’ unnerving examination he seemed to be satisfied that nothing untoward had happened, because he left that subject and attacked another.
‘I want those beasts down from High Stoop,’ he stated with determination. ‘You can tell Lawson I’m grateful for what he’s done, but now that Shannon’s home——’
‘Father, don’t you think you ought to wait and hear what Shannon has to say?’ she exclaimed in dismay. ‘I mean, there’s not much point——’
‘There’s not much point in paying for equipment that’s going to waste!’ retorted her father shortly. ‘We have all the facilities here, we’re far more mechanised than Lawson. I want the herd back today, tomorrow at the latest.’
‘Daddy, you can’t make decisions like that!’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, because—because Shannon may not be prepared to take charge.’
‘Rubbish! Dowsett could have
managed on his own if your mother hadn’t panicked and gone running to the Lawsons for assistance. Useless creature!’
‘Daddy, Dowsett couldn’t manage everything. You know that’s not true. He’s an old man, like—like——’
‘Like me!’ her father finished for her, and she coloured uncomfortably. ‘I know, I know. The Lawsons have the right idea, handing the farm over to Philip. But who have I to hand Mallowsdale on to? You answer me that. Unless Shannon stays.’
Joanna moved restlessly to the windows, looking out on the sweep of drive at the front of the house. Wheel-tracks had churned up the snow here, and the interlacing of footprints of man and beast indicated that Henry Barnes had taken Bess out this way. The tall poplars and elms which lined the drive were bare now, their branches softened by the weight of snow that had lodged upon them, and even the barren hedges displayed a tracery in white.
‘Where is he?’ Her father was speaking again, and Joanna swung round reluctantly.
‘Shannon? He’s gone over to the farm to see Charlie Simmons.’
‘Huh.’ Maxwell, sounded irritated. ‘Did he say when he’d be back?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him this morning. Mummy told me. I’m afraid I overslept.’
Maxwell made the jerky movement of his head which signified assent. ‘So how was the trip?’ he asked, but she had the feeling he was not really interested.
Sighing, she shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘It was fine. An education. I enjoyed it.’
Maxwell grimaced. ‘It was fine—an education—I enjoyed it!’ he mimicked cruelly. ‘Is that any way to describe Africa, I ask you?’
Joanna bent her head, pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. ‘It was very hot most of the time, but the hotels were very good. The climate in Johannesburg is quite pleasant, but it was much hotter in Lushasa.’
Her father uttered an oath. ‘I don’t want to hear about the weather, girl. I can read the forecast any time. I want to hear your impressions of Africa! The dark continent!’
Joanna pursed her lips. ‘All right, all right. I didn’t like it,’ she burst out hotly. ‘Not Kwyana, anyway. It’s a wild and savage place. Oh, Menawi’s all right, I suppose. There are shops and hotels there, but once you leave the city behind you’re out in the bush! The roads are terrible. There’s no sign of sanitation or civilisation, and people have to struggle just to stay alive! The heat is enervating. It saps your strength. And the insects …’ She shivered, and Maxwell looked well pleased with the results of his probing.
‘So you don’t consider Africa has more to offer?’ he suggested dryly.
‘Not for me,’ she agreed moodily, half regretting her outburst as her father nodded again. No doubt this was yet another argument which would be used against Shannon.
‘So—what are you planning to do today?’ he asked, and she tried to gather her thoughts.
‘I—I haven’t made any plans.’
‘But you will be seeing young Lawson?’
‘I expect so. His mother wants me to go over there. She’s found a pattern for my—my wedding dress.’
Her father was listening, but, she sensed, absently. His unparalysed fingers tapped a tattoo against the wooden arm of his wheelchair, and she guessed he was impatient for Shannon to return. It was strange how determined he was that Shannon should have the estate. Did he regret sending his son away, whatever the reason? Would things fall into perspective once she was married and gone from here? Would Shannon stay that long? She doubted it.
She heard the sound of the Range Rover long before her father did, and when it swept up the drive to the house, she said: ‘I think Shannon’s back. I expect he’ll be coming to see you. I’ll go and get some breakfast.’
Maxwell signified his agreement, and she walked quickly across to the door. She had hoped to get away before Shannon appeared, but that proved to be impossible. As she came out of the library, he was coming in the outer door, kicking snow from his boots, unzipping the heavy, fur-lined navy parka he was wearing. She recognised the coat as one belonging to her father, and felt the poignancy of the situation in knowing he would never wear it again. Shannon looked up as she stood hesitantly just outside the library door, and they exchanged a long, unsmiling look. Then he hooked the parka on his thumb, and slinging it over his shoulder, walked towards her.
Joanna stiffened, but remained where she was, even though her strongest instincts were to run. She must not weaken, she told herself fiercely. She must not allow him to see how easily he could disturb her. They were in England now. Those moments in Africa should never have been. For her father’s sake, she had to make him see that his place was here, that she was unimportant in the scheme of things.
‘Daddy’s waiting to see you,’ she said, and even to her ears, her voice sounded high and unnatural. ‘Is it as cold out as it looks? I didn’t feel like getting out of bed this morning. After two weeks in the sun, you really feel the cold, don’t you? I suppose it’s even worse for you.’
‘You look pale,’ he said, ignoring her chatter, and she felt that awful feeling of futility in everything she did. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, of course, I slept well,’ she replied vehemently, pursuing her course. ‘I always sleep well in my own bed. I think everybody does, don’t you? I mean, it’s what you’re used to, isn’t it? Did you? Sleep well, I mean?’
Shannon’s lips twisted. ‘By your criterion, I wouldn’t, would I?’ he remarked mockingly, and with a brief nod he opened the library door and went inside, closing it firmly behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
PHILIP arrived after lunch. Shannon had taken his meal in the library, with Maxwell, and Joanna and her mother were still seated at the kitchen table, lingering over their coffee, when he knocked at the back door.
Joanna sprang up and opened the door to him, reaching automatically to return his kiss. But it was obvious that Philip was not in a good humour, and his embrace was purely perfunctory. As soon as he was able, he transferred his attention to her mother, advancing to the table and demanding bluntly:
‘What’s all this about Shannon wanting the herd back here? At once?’
Catherine exchanged a look of bewilderment with her daughter. ‘The herd, Philip?’ she echoed in confusion. ‘I—we don’t know anything about it. Do we, Joanna?’
Joanna closed the back door and leaned back against it. ‘Well, my father did say something about it this morning,’ she admitted awkwardly.
Philip snorted. ‘Did he? Do I take it that Shannon intends to stay after all?’
‘No.’ Joanna sighed. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, Philip. You’d better speak to Daddy.’
‘I intend to.’ Philip shed his sheepskin jacket, and raked a hand through his unruly fair hair. ‘We’ve done what we could for you, Dad and I. We’ve been neighbours for a few years now, and if neighbours can’t help one another in times of trouble, well … Anyway, if a virtual stranger thinks he can mess us around like this, he’s mistaken.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t Shannon’s intention to mess you around, Philip,’ exclaimed Catherine placatingly, getting to her feet. ‘Sit down, and have some coffee. It’s still hot.’
‘I can’t stay long, thanks, Mrs Carne.’ Philip was looking at Joanna as he spoke, and she guessed he was waiting for her to make some comment in his defence. ‘I’ve got to go out with old Tom. He reckons we’ve lost seven ewes.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Catherine shook her head. ‘And the snow looks so pretty, too.’
Philip’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Yes—well, if I could just have a few words with your husband, Mrs Carne …’
Catherine nodded. ‘I’ll go and tell him you’re here. Joanna, give Philip a cup of coffee. He can drink it while he’s waiting.’
The door closed behind her mother, and Joanna moved obediently towards the coffee pot, but Philip stayed her, his fingers closing round her upper arm.
‘Never mind about coffee!’ he said impat
iently. ‘Are you coming back with me?’
Joanna shrugged her shoulders. ‘I should help Mummy,’ she ventured uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. Even to herself she could not admit that the idea of discussing her wedding dress with his mother filled her with a sense of panic.
‘Your mother can manage,’ insisted Philip stolidly. ‘Come on, I want to talk to you myself.’
Joanna looked up at him then. ‘I thought you said your mother wanted to see me, to discuss sewing patterns?’
‘And that’s what bothered you?’ Philip was too astute. But he didn’t press her. Instead he went on: ‘That was yesterday. Right now, she’s too busy caring for the lambs to bother with sewing patterns. No, I thought you might come out with Tom and me. If you get wrapped up. It’s cold, but it’s bracing. And like your mother says, it is—pretty.’
Joanna hesitated only a moment. It would be nice to get away from the house for a while. She was too close to everything here. She couldn’t get things in perspective.
‘All right,’ she said, a smile lifting her lips. ‘I’d like to.’
‘Good.’ Philip let her go. ‘Get some boots on, and a thicker sweater. You’ll need it.’
Joanna heard Philip’s voice as she was coming downstairs again. She could hardly have done otherwise in the circumstances. He was standing in the hall below, practically shouting at Shannon, who was standing facing him, feet slightly apart, his arms folded imperturbably across his chest. From time to time Shannon made some quiet comment, but mostly it was Philip’s angry protestations she could hear.
‘I’m telling you this, Carne, if you bring the herd back here, I shall wash my hands of the whole damn business!’ he was asserting loudly. ‘We have enough to do at High Stoop without playing silly beggars with someone who doesn’t know when he’s well off!’
‘That’s your prerogative, of course,’ Shannon replied mildly. ‘As I’ve told you, Mr Carne makes the decisions around here, not me.’
‘I don’t believe that. I’m not a fool, you know.’ Philip was angry. ‘He was happy enough with the arrangements until you came back.’