by Anne Mather
At the beginning of the following week Tracy had to return to her own job in Carlisle, and coming downstairs one morning a couple of days later, Joanna was amazed at the relief she felt, knowing the girl was no longer in the house.
Mrs Carne was in the kitchen, reading the morning paper. Jessie had not yet arrived, and Joanna plugged in the toaster, going to the larder to cut herself some bread.
‘Has it been snowing again?’ she asked, frowning, as she waited for the toaster to eject its contents.
Her mother dragged herself away from the article she was reading with obvious reluctance. ‘What? Oh, yes, I think so.’ Catherine looked towards the windows with resigned eyes. ‘I was going into Carlisle today, to do some shopping, but the roads are so bad, and Shannon doesn’t have time to take me.’
‘Shall I?’ suggested Joanna, starting as the bread popped out of the machine behind her. ‘I don’t mind.’
‘No, thank you, dear. You know I don’t like being driven by another woman.’ Catherine folded her paper. ‘No, I shall just stay at home and do some baking instead. The freezer needs re-stocking with pies and pastries.’
Joanna buttered the toast, and spooned marmalade into the centre. ‘As you like.’
Catherine put the paper aside and got to her feet. ‘Joanna,’ she paused, ‘Joanna, has Shannon said anything more to you? About leaving, I mean?’
Joanna concentrated on the toast. ‘No. But then he hasn’t said anything to me at all. I hardly ever see him. Why? Has he spoken to you?’
‘No. That’s just the point. I’m afraid your father is beginning to depend on him. I think he really believes that when it comes to the crunch, Shannon will stay.’
Joanna chewed determinedly at the toast, but it might as well have been sawdust in her mouth for she hardly tasted it. ‘I shouldn’t bank on that, Mummy, if I were you,’ she mumbled, licking crumbs from her lips. ‘There’s been a lot to catch up on, that’s all. As soon as everything’s in order …’
‘You think he’ll go?’
Joanna shrugged. ‘That’s what he said.’
‘But he can’t!’ Catherine paced desperately around the kitchen, wringing her hands. ‘Oh, Joanna, if he does, what’s going to become of us?’
Joanna had lost her appetite. She pushed the toast aside, reaching instead for the coffee pot standing by her mother’s plate. Its still warm contents were a mild stimulant. ‘Mummy!’ she exclaimed. ‘We’ve already been into all this.’
‘But don’t you see, Joanna? Something has to be done. Shannon’s already been here ten days. How long do you suppose he’s prepared to remain?’
‘I don’t know, Mummy. Why don’t you ask him?’
Catherine sighed. ‘I’ve asked your father, and he won’t even listen to me. He just tells me to mind my own business.’
Joanna lay back wearily in her chair. ‘Ask Shannon, then.’
Catherine shook her head, staring unseeingly through the kitchen window. ‘I can’t. I’m afraid—I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll precipitate some action on his part, and if your father ever found out …’
Joanna pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘Well, we’ll all just have to wait, then, won’t we?’
Catherine turned. ‘You could ask him, Joanna? Just—just casually, you know. He might take it from you.’
‘Oh, Mummy!’ Joanna could not reassure her. ‘Just leave it, hmm? We’ll know soon enough.’
Jessie’s arrival gave her the opportunity to escape, and she stood in the hall for a few moments, breathing deeply, not quite knowing what she was going to do. Then, on impulse, she crossed to the study door and tapped lightly on the panels.
There was no sound from within, so she opened the door. She had not expected Shannon to be there. At this hour of the morning he would still be down at the milking sheds, and closing the door behind her, she approached her father’s desk.
The untidy mixture of letters and bills had gone. Most of the letters had been answered and filed, but those that still required attention reposed in the metal trays provided. The account books were stacked in a neat pile, and even the blotter contained a fresh sheet of paper.
Sighing, she walked round the desk and seated herself in her father’s shabby leather chair. When she was younger, she had been allowed to come in here to do her homework, and she had enjoyed the feeling of importance it had given her. But now she just felt a sense of poignancy that her father would never be able to sit here again. And his only son was rejecting the position.
She pulled open one of the drawers beside her. There was her father’s fountain pen—he abhorred ballpoints—several pencils, sharpened to a fine point, a box of paper clips and a stapling machine. Simple, impersonal things, and yet they signified so much. There was a dictionary, too. Spelling was not one of her father’s strong points, and he always liked to check on any word he was doubtful about. She flicked it open, idly thumbing through the pages, and almost involuntarily found herself looking for one particular word. Yes, there it was—Sibling: two or more children, with one or both parents in common …
The opening of the door startled her, and she was annoyed at the guilty flush which spread up her cheeks at Shannon’s entrance. Annoyed, too, at the angry expression he assumed when he saw her there.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded harshly, and indignation imprisoned her in her seat when her instincts had been to leave.
‘I don’t think I have to explain my actions to you,’ she retorted, dropping the dictionary back into the drawer and closing it, suppressing the impulse to slam it, hard.
Shannon closed the door and leaned back against it. ‘Have you been checking up on me?’
Joanna’s flush deepened. ‘No. No, of course not. Besides …’ She had to be honest. ‘I wouldn’t know how.’
‘Your father should have ensured you had a working knowledge of the estate,’ he said, straightening. ‘You obviously have little else to do.’
Joanna’s eyes widened. ‘Are you criticising me?’
Shannon shrugged, hooking his thumbs into the low belt of his black jeans. ‘Most girls have an occupation of some sort. What do you do?’
‘Nothing. As you’ve pointed out.’ Joanna hunched her shoulders.
‘Why not? As I recall, you were doing reasonably well with your school work when I left home.’
‘Thanks very much.’ Joanna was sarcastic.
‘Well?’
‘I left school when I was eighteen with seven “O” levels and two “A” levels,’ she stated defiantly, holding up her head. ‘I wanted to be a journalist, but Daddy wouldn’t allow it. So I got a job as a shop assistant in Carlisle.’
‘A shop assistant?’
‘Yes.’ Joanna pursed her lips. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but jobs aren’t too thick on the ground around here. Anyway, as I say, I got a job as a shop assistant, but—well, I got fired.’
‘Why?’
Joanna shrugged. ‘This and that.’
‘People can’t get fired that easily.’
‘Oh, all right. The manager became too friendly, and his wife arranged for me to be replaced. Does that satisfy you?’
Shannon’s expression had hardened. ‘And after?’
‘Daddy said he needed me around here, to answer the telephone and take messages and so on. You know what he’s like. He didn’t like me working. Perhaps he was afraid I might do what you’d done.’
Shannon advanced towards the desk. ‘But he didn’t teach you agricultural practice.’
‘No. He saved that for you.’ Joanna lifted her shoulders in a dismissing gesture. ‘Oh, I’ve got no excuse. I was over age. I could have done what I wanted, but——’
‘Your father bullied you as he tries to bully everyone else,’ stated Shannon flatly, resting his palms on the desk in front of her. ‘I know. It’s easier to give in.’
‘Maybe I’m just basically lazy,’ said Joanna, supremely aware of the fact that if she leant forward her face would be only
inches from his.
‘You don’t really believe that,’ retorted Shannon, long lashes veiling the expression in his eyes. ‘So what are you really doing in here?’
Joanna bent her head. ‘I thought that—that now—that girl’s gone, you might need some assistance.’
‘You mean Tracy, of course.’
‘Who else?’
‘Exactly. So why not come out and say so, instead of that girl? She was very useful to me.’
‘I’ll bet she was.’
‘Joanna!’ His voice had roughened, and a shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. ‘Don’t be a fool!’ He straightened away from the desk, walking towards the window, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his pants. After a few moments he went on: ‘Most of what had to be done is done. But I’m going to arrange for Percy Lacey, your father’s accountant, to come and take a look at things.’
Joanna looked at the broad back he had turned to her, the way his hair grew low on his neck, overlapping the collar of his black denim shirt, the width of his shoulders, the tapering towards his waist, the lean, muscular hips. The desire to touch him was suddenly almost a physical pain, but she remained where she was, fighting the insanity she was contemplating. Then he turned, and she saw how much paler he had become, but she kept her head down so that he should not see what was in her eyes.
‘So?’ he said expressionlessly. ‘What are you planning to do today?’
‘I don’t know.’ Joanna glanced up at him. ‘You look tired, Shannon. You should rest more. You’re driving yourself too much. You forget—you’ve been ill.’
‘I don’t—forget anything,’ he retorted briefly. Then: ‘I want to go over to Penrith this morning. Do you want to come?’
Joanna’s hands clung together. ‘I—aren’t the road very bad for travelling?’
‘You don’t have to come,’ he replied steadily. ‘It’s up to you.’
Joanna’s heart was beating that much faster, and her breathing had quickened automatically. ‘Do—do you want me to come?’
A look of resignation crossed his face. ‘Stop it, Joanna,’ he advised with some asperity. ‘I merely thought you might enjoy the opportunity to do some shopping. You haven’t been out much since you got home.’
Joanna rested her elbow on the desk, supporting her head with her upturned hand. ‘I—Mummy said you didn’t have time to take her into Carlisle.’
‘I don’t. But I want to go to the bank in Penrith. Your mother wants to go shopping. I told her she was welcome to come along, but she refused. Obviously the shops in Penrith are not good enough for her.’
Treacherously, Joanna was glad. She didn’t want to have to share these precious minutes of his time with anyone.
‘Well, I—I’d like to come,’ she murmured, tracing a pattern on the blotter with her finger nail. She looked up. ‘When are we leaving?’
‘As soon as you’re ready,’ he replied, folding his arms. ‘I shouldn’t bother changing. The town is bound to be thick with slush, and it’s filthy walking.’
Joanna straightened and got to her feet. ‘All right.’ Her eyes sought his. ‘You—I mean—you’re not regretting asking me, are you?’
Shannon brushed past her as she walked towards the door, swinging it open for her. ‘It’ll be no Sunday school treat, Joanna. Just something to pass a couple of hours for you.’
Joanna was offended by his tone. ‘I don’t need indulging!’ she asserted hotly, and felt angry when his mouth twisted sardonically.
‘Don’t you? Then why do you indulge yourself?’
She gasped, ‘I don’t!’
‘I think you do,’ he retorted. ‘Oh, get your coat, Joanna, and stop playing silly games. You’d better tell your mother where you’re going, and she can tell your father.’
‘You could do that,’ she exclaimed, nodding towards the library door. ‘While I get my coat.’
‘Just tell your mother,’ advised Shannon briefly, and although she would have stood and argued, common sense warned her that if she did so, he would simply go without her. And whatever happened, she could not risk that. So, taking a deep breath, she marched away towards the kitchen, aware that he went back into the study and closed the door.
It was only a little over twelve miles to Penrith, but although the snow ploughs had been out since early morning, in places the road was reduced to a single lane. Consequently, their progress was delayed, and it was after eleven when they came down through Skelton into the narrow one-way streets of the small market town. Despite the weather, it being market day, Penrith was crowded, but pedestrians clung to the footpaths, avoiding the spray of melting snow thrown up by passing vehicles. Shannon had to slow the Range Rover to a crawl as they drove up and down Brunswick Road and Middlegate looking for somewhere to park, eventually squeezing into the space left by a departing station wagon near the railway station. Then he turned to his passenger.
‘What are you going to do, Joanna? I want to go to the bank first, but we could meet for coffee afterwards, if you like.’
Joanna hid her disappointment. ‘I—well, will you be long in the bank?’
‘I hope not.’
‘Then couldn’t I come with you?’
‘Don’t you want to do any shopping?
Joanna sighed. ‘Not specially.’
Shannon looked as though he was going to say something, and then changed his mind. But she knew what he was thinking. He had been about to ask her why she had come in that case, but had guessed what her answer would be and avoided it.
‘I think it would be better if we arranged to meet in—say, half an hour?’ he suggested at last, consulting the plain gold watch on his wrist. ‘I have to see the bank manager, and you’d only be bored. Go buy yourself a book, or something. Some perfume. Where could we meet for coffee?’
Joanna looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. ‘Well, there’s a place called Look Inn,’ she volunteered reluctantly. ‘In King Street.’
‘Fine. I think I know where that is. In any case, I’ll find it. The old place doesn’t change that much, and I do remember most of it.’
Joanna gave him brief directions, and he nodded, then thrust open his door and climbed out. Joanna did likewise, and waited while he locked the vehicle.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll walk back to the market place with you. Then we’ll go our separate ways until what?—a quarter to twelve? Is that suitable to you?’
Joanna shrugged. ‘Whatever you say.’
The suppressed oath Shannon uttered under his breath warned Joanna she had said enough. They walked back along Castlegate in silence, and after a brief word of farewell he left her.
For a few moments she felt lost, looking about her through eyes stinging with ridiculous unshed tears. But the coldness got to her eventually, and as she had no desire to stand about listening to the market vendors extolling their wares at the tops of their voices, she skirted the canvas-covered stalls and turned into the nearest store. She didn’t expect to see anyone she knew, and she wandered aimlessly through the various departments, merely filling in time until she was due to go and meet Shannon.
She was admiring a swathe of printed silk draped becomingly about a plaster model when a familiar voice caused her heart to sink rather alarmingly to the bottom of her stomach. Just beyond the model was a stand displaying several different types of cloth, and Philip’s mother was lingering beside it, discussing the merits of a length of jersey with the sales assistant.
Joanna’s immediate instinct was to turn her back and walk quickly away, hoping Mrs Lawson would not notice her, but before she could formulate a decision, one way or the other, the woman had looked up and seen her, eyes stretching delightedly.
‘Joanna!’ she called, excusing herself from the sales girl, and coming towards her. ‘I didn’t know you were coming to Penrith today.’
Joanna forced a smile. ‘I didn’t know myself, actually. But Shannon had to come in, and he asked if I’d like to come along.’
<
br /> Mrs Lawson’s lips thinned. ‘Oh, you’re with him.’ She glanced round. ‘Where is he?’
Joanna shook her head. ‘He had some business to attend to, so I’m just shopping around on my own.’
‘Oh, I see.’ The older woman brightened again. ‘Well, what an opportunity this is.’
‘An opportunity? An opportunity for what?’ Joanna didn’t understand.
Mrs Lawson spread her hand. ‘Here—in this department. All this material. Joanna, come over here. I’m sure this satin damask——’
‘Oh, really, Mrs Lawson,’ Joanna could feel that awful sense of panic again, ‘I really think my mother should be present when I choose the material for my wedding dress.’
Mrs Lawson sighed irritably. ‘You’ve shown her the pattern, haven’t you?’
‘Well—yes.’
‘So what did she say?’
‘I think she liked it.’ Joanna moved uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘But honestly, Mrs Lawson, until something’s settled about the estate, I don’t think she’s got a lot of interest in anything.’
‘But it could be months before something’s settled about that estate!’
‘I don’t think so.’ Joanna wished she did not have to say the actual words. ‘Shannon—Shannon will have to decide soon what he’s going to do. He—he has his job in Lushasa to consider.’
Mrs Lawson sounded unconvinced. ‘Well, if he’s going back there, who’s going to run Mallowsdale?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Joanna tightly. ‘That’s why—that’s why my mother is so—so unsettled.’
‘Huh.’ Mrs Lawson squared her ample shoulders. She was very like Philip to look at, sturdy and uncompromising. ‘Well, I think your father’s being very silly, making an enemy of Philip. One day he’ll have to eat his words, you mark what I say.’