by Anne Mather
‘Oh, Mrs Lawson, Daddy’s not making an enemy of anyone, at least, not intentionally.’
‘That’s not what I think. Anyway, if you’re not interested in making plans for the wedding, perhaps you ought to tell Philip.’
Joanna tugged impatiently at a strand of silky hair. ‘It’s not that I’m not interested, Mrs Lawson …’
‘Isn’t it?’ Mrs Lawson shook her head. ‘I don’t know what it is, Joanna. I can’t just put my finger on it. But you’ve been a different person since that brother of yours came home. It seems to me he’s been poisoning your mind against us, and I think that’s most unfair.’
‘But he hasn’t!’ exclaimed Joanna desperately. ‘But—well, didn’t you have any doubts, Mrs Lawson, before you got married?’
‘You’re having doubts, are you?’ Mrs Lawson’s back was really up now. ‘Well, I don’t know. After the way our Philip’s run around after you—made an idol of you, he has, and how do you repay him? By having doubts!’
Joanna looked round, feeling more uncomfortable than ever when she realised the number of speculative glances being cast in their direction.
‘I didn’t mean—that is, you don’t understand, Mrs Lawson.’
‘You’re right, I don’t. And I haven’t got the time to stand here arguing with you all day either. I’ve got a home to run, and a family to feed. Perhaps if you had a bit more to do you’d have less time to think about yourself!’
And with that, she walked away, ample hips swinging with righteous indignation.
Joanna expelled her breath on a low whistle, and colouring as she found sympathetic eyes still upon her, she moved out of sight behind a rack of haberdashery, making a concentrated examination of a packet of safety pins as though her life depended on it.
By the time she had made her way out of the store, it was time to go and meet Shannon, and she walked quickly along the slushy street, her cheeks still burning. He was already there when she reached the coffee bar, waiting outside, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his parka. But at least he seemed to have shed his earlier impatience, and they went inside to squeeze their way through the press of people to the bar.
‘You look flushed,’ he commented, fishing some change out of his pocket as the waitress pushed beakers of steaming coffee across the counter towards them.
‘It’s the cold air,’ said Joanna, wrapping her hands round the hot glass encased in its metal holder.
‘Is it?’ Shannon sounded sceptical, but he didn’t argue, merely raised his coffee to his lips in a brief salute. ‘I can’t say I like this place. It’s too crowded. Do you fancy drinking this and then calling in somewhere for a bar lunch on our way home?’
‘That sounds nice,’ Joanna nodded, trying to put all thoughts of Philip’s mother out of her mind and not really succeeding. ‘Did—er—did you have a successful visit to the bank?’
‘If by that you mean did I get what I wanted, then yes, I suppose I did,’ replied Shannon quietly. ‘What did you do?’
‘Oh, nothing much.’ Joanna bent her head, glad of the curtain of her hair to hide her face. ‘I went into Bell and Palmers, actually. Just window shopping.’
‘Did you see anyone you know?’
Shannon was too astute, and Joanna couldn’t lie to him. ‘As—as a matter of fact, I met Philip’s mother,’ she said.
‘Did you?’
Shannon’s eyes narrowed, but she was relieved when he made no further comment. Instead, he concentrated on finishing his coffee, and she did the same.
It was a pleasure to get outside again, even if it was much colder. It was not a long walk back to the Range Rover, but Joanna was relieved when they were safely inside, and Shannon was reversing out of the narrow parking area.
They were accelerating up the long climb out of the town when Shannon disconcerted her by asking: ‘So what did Mrs Lawson say to make you look so flustered?’
Joanna bit her lip hard before replying. Then she said honestly: ‘I—she—we were discussing the material for my—my wedding dress.’
‘I see.’ Shannon swung out to pass a slow-moving lorry. ‘When are you getting married? Has the date been set?’
‘Not—not exactly. It’s June, but we haven’t actually decided which day.’
Shannon slowed as they negotiated a roundabout, and then added: ‘So why should that upset you?’
‘It didn’t upset me,’ she protested.
‘Oh, don’t give me that. I know you too well, Joanna. Something else was said. Was it to do with me?’
Joanna resented his tone. ‘Why should it be to do with you? You’re not the only topic of conversation around here! Mr Lawson’s right. You are—arrogant!’
‘Is that what he said?’
Joanna flushed. ‘Not today. I haven’t seen Mr Lawson today.’
‘From that I can take it that I’ve been the topic of conversation on other occasions,’ remarked Shannon dryly, and she gave him a resentful look.
‘You’re so clever, aren’t you?’ She pursed her lips. ‘All right, as a matter of fact, your name was mentioned today.’
‘Surprise, surprise.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic!’ Joanna bent her head. ‘Mrs Lawson thinks I’m wasting too much time. That I should be making more effort towards arranging the wedding. I told her that Mummy was too worried right now to show much interest in that sort of thing, and she asked what we would do when you left.’
‘And what did you tell her?’
‘What could I tell her? I said I didn’t know what we were going to do yet. It’s the truth. I don’t.’
‘You could have told her to mind her own business,’ he said, using the windscreen washers as dirt was thrown up from a passing car.
Joanna was horrified. ‘I couldn’t do that! The Lawsons have been very good to us since Daddy had his stroke. Besides,’ she paused, ‘she already thinks I’ve changed since you came home. That would really settle the issue.’
Shannon frowned. ‘Perhaps that would be as well.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not sure you should marry Philip Lawson.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I mean it.’
Joanna’s heart pounded. ‘You mean—you mean——’
She turned towards him in her seat. ‘You—don’t want me to marry Philip?’
Shannon shook his head, his expression discouraging. ‘I don’t like him,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want any—relative of mine to marry him.’
‘Oh, Shannon!’ Joanna swung round in her seat, her lips working silently. ‘You really like to hurt me, don’t you?’
‘I’m being honest with you,’ he stated uncompromisingly. ‘I can’t say more than that. Besides, your father will never allow Mallowsdale to fall into Lawson’s hands. If you were marrying someone else, it might be different.’
‘Mallowsdale’s yours, Shannon! No one else’s.’
‘And I don’t want it,’ retorted Shannon coldly. ‘Get that through your head, Joanna. Because I meant it when I left Kwyana, and I still mean it now.’
Tears welled up into Joanna’s eyes. ‘But—but what will we do?’
Shannon’s hands tightened on the wheel, white knuckles showing through his tan. ‘I’ve already advertised for a manager in the Carlisle Gazette,’ he replied, and all hope seemed to leave her at that moment. ‘I should be getting some replies in a few days. As soon as I find someone suitable, someone I can brief in a couple of weeks, I’ll be returning to Africa.’
CHAPTER TEN
THEY stopped for lunch at the Green Man in Little Bows-dale. A watery sun was forcing its way through the clouds as if in defiance of Joanna’s misery, and the small bar lounge was bright and cosy with its blazing log fire. A fox’s head was mounted on the wall, and antlers were stretched above the mantel, horse brasses shining where the rays of sun caught them.
There was a choice of menu—sandwiches, pies, or chicken in a basket. Joanna chose a cheese sandwich, unc
aring what she ate, and Shannon carried a pork pie back to their table near a low banquette in the corner. There were not many people in the bar at this hour of the afternoon, and those there were were engrossed in their own affairs.
‘This is one thing I miss in Kwyana,’ remarked Shannon, indicating the pie. ‘Meat is usually served fresh. It’s the safest way.’
Joanna chewed a mouthful of her sandwich, helping it down with gulps of the lager he had provided her with. ‘You must like Africa very much,’ she mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
‘I like the people I work with,’ he conceded. ‘They’re a fine bunch of men. Completely fearless, most of them. They have to be.’
‘What you mean is—the risks are great,’ she told him, her lips trembling.
‘No greater than in other forms of mining.’
‘I don’t believe that. I can remember there being a disaster at a gold mine in South Africa——’
‘There are disasters everywhere,’ he retorted forcefully. ‘It was a disaster when there was an earthquake in Turkey, when that airliner came down in Peru—disasters are not confined to the mining industry.’
‘The incidence of them is greater.’
‘I disagree. Joanna, if it’s decreed that I’ll die in a mining accident, then so be it. You can’t escape your fate.’
‘I didn’t know you were a fatalist.’
‘I didn’t used to be. But experience changes things.’
‘So why did you say your men need to be fearless?’
Shannon shook his head. ‘You’re talking about death, Joanna. I’m talking about life. Some of my men work at depths of up to almost ten thousand feet. A man needs nerves of steel to do that.’
‘Or no imagination.’
‘If you like.’
Joanna’s sandwich had become distasteful to her. ‘And does this new belief you have show no compassion for the people who care about you?’ she choked.
‘We each have our own lives to live, Joanna. Don’t try to tell me how to live mine.’
It was freezing when they came out of the pub, their breath vapourising in the sharp air. The Green Man stood on the outskirts of the village, and all around them was that special cloak of silence that snow seems to bring. Expanses of white spread on all sides, and a snow-smudged sign indicating the footpath leading to a circle of stones pointed aimlessly.
However, when Joanna would have gone and climbed into the Range Rover again, Shannon paused, indicating the signpost reminiscently. ‘Keld Beacon!’ he exclaimed. ‘God, it’s years since I’ve thought of that.’ He smiled. ‘Do you remember when I took you camping there, that summer when your father wouldn’t allow you to go to Belgium with the school?’
Joanna pushed her hands into her pockets. ‘Yes, I remember,’ she nodded, without enthusiasm.
Shannon sighed. ‘Let’s go up there. Just for old times’ sake. We could do it in less than twenty minutes.’
‘So you can say farewell?’ asked Joanna bitterly.
‘If that’s the way you want it—yes.’
Joanna shrugged indifferently. ‘All right, I’ve got no objections. But you told Mummy you had no time to waste.’
Shannon regarded her with resignation. ‘Stop being awkward, Joanna. If you don’t want to go, we can go back right now.’
Joanna hunched her shoulders. ‘I—I want to go.’
‘Good.’
In silence they negotiated the stile, and set off up the track which ran for some distance beside snow-banked hedges. It was exhausting walking, but exhilarating in the keen air, and Joanna’s hands and feet were soon tingling with warmth, her cheeks rosy red.
At the top of the rise, they looked down on a shallow hollow where more than a dozen relics of Celtic occupation formed a ragged circle. The wind whistled eerily between these ancient monoliths, and as they approached Joanna wondered, as she had done on many occasions, how those early settlers had succeeded in erecting them. The tallest of the group was almost twenty feet in height, and yet they stood through all the seasons of the year, immune to the elements, a relic of times before Christ walked the earth.
Shannon took off his driving gloves, thrusting them into his pocket, and took hold of the frost-encrusted stone with his bare hands. ‘This should convince you of man’s mortality,’ he said, turning to look at Joanna. ‘We are but grains of sand, isn’t that what the Bible says? And how many grains have shifted since these stones were first laid?’
Joanna bent her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Shannon shrugged, walking to the middle of the circle. ‘I wonder what this place was really used for? Nobody really knows. Oh, historians have their theories, but we all know how biased one man’s opinion can be. Perhaps it was a place of worship, of sacrifice—or more prosaically, a giant time-keeper.’
‘Does it matter?’ Joanna shifted restlessly. ‘I don’t want a lecture on ancient history.’
‘What do you want, I wonder?’ he murmured, and then, shedding the brooding tension which had come between them, he bent and lifted a handful of snow, shaping it into a ball and throwing it at her. It hit her sleeve, spilling over the brown material of her parka, and she looked down at it in surprise.
Then, determinedly, taking her mood from him, she took off her own mitts, stuffing them into her pockets, before gathering up some snow and returning his attack.
The battle was fast and furious. The stones made ideal hiding places, and Joanna crouched protectively behind them while she gathered her ammunition, making successful forays into the field to deliver her offensive. Shannon’s aim was more effective than hers. Occasionally he caught her squarely in the chest and that hurt. But mostly he tempered his ability to match hers, until she collapsed into helpless giggles when one particularly accurate missile hit his cheek and sprayed snow down the neck of his parka.
‘I’ll get you for that!’ he shouted in threatening tones, and she squealed in alarm as he began to advance steadily towards her.
Turning, she ran off through the snow, not really caring where she was going, laughing and stumbling as he came after her. She trod carelessly as she ran, twisting her ankles heedlessly, intent only on escape. He threw one snowball after her, and it hit her bruisingly in the small of her back. She could hear him overtaking her, the sound of his quickened breathing coming inevitably closer, and taking too big a stride she lost her balance, and tumbled ignominiously into the snow at his feet. It was frozen, and crunched beneath her weight, and she lay there helplessly, laughingly covering her face when he came to stand over her.
He didn’t speak, and after a moment she slowly took her hands away, her breath catching at the expression on his face.
‘Get up, Joanna,’ he muttered harshly, but for once she did not obey him.
‘Help me,’ she said, her voice very low, holding out her hands.
He bent to pull her up, but she resisted, and the jerk she gave on his wrists overbalanced him, so that he fell beside her, his body half covering hers. His weight was a sensuous pleasure, the stirring hardness of his body a betrayal she had long awaited. He looked down into her face, now only inches away from his, and his eyes lingered on the parted softness of her mouth.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ he demanded thickly, one hand curving about her neck, his thumb probing the hollows below her jawline.
Joanna’s breathing was quick and shallow. ‘Does it matter?’ she cried desperately, unable to control the demands within her.
‘Yes, it matters,’ he told her, a pulse jerking near his temple. ‘God, Joanna, you don’t know—you can’t know, and yet——’ He broke off, shaking his head vigorously. ‘Oh, God, you make it so difficult for me!’
‘I love you, Shannon,’ she breathed impulsively. ‘I do. I know I do. I think I always have. I know you’re going to tell me it’s no use—that we’re related——’
‘We’re not related!’ he told her savagely. ‘My God, you don’t suppose I’d allow myself—that I’d allow yo
u——’
But Joanna interrupted him, her speech barely coherent as a surging rush of agony and ecstasy engulfed her. ‘Wh-what?’ she gulped. ‘What did you—say? Shannon, what—what was it? What did you mean? We—we’re not—not related?’
‘Calm down, calm down,’ he muttered, dragging himself away from her, getting to his feet as she struggled up, shaking the snow from his clothes. ‘Joanna, I—I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘But you did, you did. You did say it,’ she cried, facing him, her eyes wide and anxious. ‘Shannon—Shannon, please. Tell me what you meant? You must tell me!’
‘Must I?’
She was chilled by the look in his eyes as he stared down at her for a long, disturbing moment. Then, turning, he strode away towards the circle of stones, stamping the snow from his legs as he went. Joanna stared after him, her lips forming his name soundlessly, then she too stumbled after him, trying to catch up with his exhausting strides.
When he reached the circle of stones he halted, looking up towards the lowering skies through narrowed eyes, his expression hard and brooding, as if he despised the weakness he had shown. Joanna watched him helplessly, moving her shoulders in a gesture almost of defeat, and he turned his head to look at her.
His back was against one of the broader boulders, his feet slightly apart as he rested there, his dark hair made unruly by the wind. Joanna’s hood had fallen back in their struggles, and long strands of honey-blonde hair framed her face with a silken curtain. Long slender legs, encased to the knee in warm boots, were visible below the hem of the thick parka, which concealed the curving contours of her body, and as she stood there she was conscious of his intent gaze taking in every detail of her appearance. Her hands moved almost defensively to smooth her hair behind her ears, but were arrested by him saying: ‘Come here.’
On trembling legs she approached him, moving slowly and uncertainly, painfully aware of the power he had to hurt her. As she neared him, he put up his hand and unzipped his heavy jacket, drawing her attention to the lean strength of his body. When she halted in front of him, her breathing was hard and laboured, as if she had been running a strenuous race instead of crossing a few yards of snow-covered turf.