The Smouldering Flame

by Anne Mather

  Shannon shook her off, concentrating his attention on Philip’s father. ‘You spill one word of this to anyone, and I’ll make sure you end up in a prison cell! Do you understand me? That is—if I don’t spill you myself!’

  ‘Get your hands off him!’ Mrs Lawson looked round desperately and saw Joanna kneeling on Shannon’s seat. ‘What are you thinking of, you stupid girl! Stop him! Stop him! He’s killing him!’

  Joanna thrust open the door and scrambled out, but Shannon had let Lawson go by now, and he was standing rubbing defensive hands over the bruised skin of his neck. Joanna halted hesitantly, and Philip’s father turned burning eyes on her.

  ‘You—you——’ he began, but a look from Shannon silenced him.

  Mrs Lawson was beside her husband, taking his arm anxiously, looking up into his blotchy face. ‘Are you all right, Ben?’

  Shannon pushed Joanna towards the Range Rover, and after a moment’s hesitation she climbed back inside. But Mrs Lawson wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘Selfish little bitch!’ she muttered. Then: ‘You needn’t think you’ve got away with this, Shannon Carne. Attacking an innocent man for no reason. We only stopped because we thought someone had got into difficulties.’

  ‘And instead you got into them yourselves,’ retorted Shannon laconically. ‘And your husband is no innocent, Mrs Lawson. Believe me, he knows exactly what I’m talking about.’

  ‘You—you can’t threaten decent people, Carne,’ growled her husband, regaining a little of his courage with her approval. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this.’

  ‘I hope I have,’ said Shannon, his eyes narrowed, and Joanna thought if he ever looked at her like that she would die. ‘I really hope I have. I meant what I said, Lawson. I may have more to lose than you, but if you speak one word of what you think you’ve seen, I’ll be looking for you.’

  Lawson tried to square his shoulders and stick out his chin, but it was a hollow gesture and they both knew it. Without another word, he turned and staggered to the Land-Rover, Mrs Lawson scolding him as they went, unaware of the real reasons behind the confrontation she had just witnessed.

  Joanna was shaking like a leaf when Shannon got back behind the wheel, slamming the door behind him with suppressed violence. Then he expelled his breath on a long sigh, and bent forward to rest his forehead against the coldness of the steering wheel.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Joanna didn’t know what else to say, and she had to say something. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why?’ he demanded in a muffled voice. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘How can you say that? Ben Lawson——’

  ‘—will say nothing.’

  ‘You can’t be sure of that. I don’t like that man, I never have. Why did you threaten him? What do you know that I don’t?’

  Shannon lifted his head and flicked back his cuff. ‘Do you realise it’s after four? Your parents will be wondering what I’m doing with you.’

  ‘Shannon! You didn’t answer me.’

  He sighed. ‘Let’s just say—the yield from the herd was—less than usual during the weeks at High Stoop.’

  ‘But everyone knows that cattle yield less milk at this time of the year!’

  ‘Yes,’ Shannon nodded. ‘You could be right.’

  He reached for the ignition, but her fingers stayed him. ‘You don’t believe that, do you?’

  Shannon released himself and started the engine. ‘Let’s just say there’s room for doubt.’

  ‘Was that why Daddy wanted the herd back again?’

  ‘Your mother was responsible for allowing Lawson to take them. Your father would never have let them go. He didn’t trust Lawson, and nor do I.’

  Joanna looked at his profile with a sense of desperation. ‘Oh, Shannon, what am I going to do?’

  ‘You’re going to do exactly what you would have done before. Go on living in Mallowsdale, while I go back to Kwyana.’

  ‘I can’t …’

  ‘You must.’ He stretched out a hand and covered both of hers where they lay in her lap. ‘Don’t make it any harder for either of us, Joanna. We’ve had today. Let’s just remember it as a day out of time.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JOANNA knelt on the window seat in the library, watching anxiously for the Range Rever as darkness closed about the Hall. Shannon should have been home by now. He had left for Carlisle before nine o’clock that morning, and it was already after five. He had never been so late. Where was he? What could he be doing?

  She rubbed away the condensation on the glass caused by her own breath, and as she did so, she saw the circle of whiteness on her finger left by Philip’s engagement ring. She had given up wearing the ring, but as yet she had not been able to bring herself to tell him that she was not going to marry him. Since Shannon’s confrontation with his father, he had been especially nice to her, had even made an effort to be polite to Shannon himself, and Joanna had been unable to find it in her heart to shatter his confidence. But she would have to tell him. That much she knew. And the longer she put it off, the harder it would get.

  It was three weeks since that day she and Shannon had gone to Penrith, and since then Shannon had taken good care never to be alone with her. She guessed he must know how he was hurting her—hurting them both—but he was succeeding in convincing her that there could be no future for them.

  Joanna’s health had suffered in consequence, and perhaps that was why Philip had been so gentle with her, that and the arrival of the new manager. Matthew Price was a man in his late thirties, widowed and not unattractive, towards whom Maxwell Carne had taken an immediate liking. His presence at the Hall—Joanna’s mother had suggested he should stay with them until one of the cottages on the estate could be made habitable for him—had probably made Philip and his parents realise that he and Joanna were not married yet. That plans could go astray. And Joanna was cynical enough to appreciate that whatever she was, whatever she had done, in the Lawsons’ eyes, she was still Maxwell Carne’s daughter.

  ‘Close the curtains, Joanna.’

  Her father’s voice behind her made her realise that her vigil had not gone unobserved, and although she wanted to refuse, she stepped obediently down from the seat and drew the heavy velvet curtains against the darkness outside. Then she walked restlessly across the room, stopping beside her father’s wheelchair to say:

  ‘Is there anything you want before I go and see if Mummy wants any help?’

  Maxwell Carne looked up at her steadily. ‘He’s not coming back, Joanna,’ he said heavily, and while a wave of cold sickness swept over her she guessed what it had cost him to say that. Even so, she could not accept it.

  ‘Not yet,’ she agreed quickly, moving towards the door, but he stopped her.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ he insisted. ‘Shannon’s not coming back to Mallowsdale. Not tonight. Not ever.’

  Joanna had to grasp a chair to support herself. ‘I—I don’t understand …’

  ‘I think you do, Joanna. Shannon’s gone. Back to Kwyana.’ His eyes moved to the clock on the mantel. ‘His flight was due to leave Heathrow an hour ago.’

  Joanna closed her eyes against the actual agony which engulfed her. He was gone! Shannon was gone! Without even saying goodbye. And her father had known …

  Not trusting herself to speak, she made her way on trembling legs to the door, only stopping when her father swung his chair round and said: ‘Pull yourself together, girl! I wouldn’t indulge myself as you do. He’s gone. You knew he would be going, sooner or later, and Price has proved to be a perfectly satisfactory substitute.’

  Joanna opened her mouth, but for a moment no words would come. Then she swallowed convulsively, and said chokingly: ‘That’s all you care about, isn’t it? So long as the estate doesn’t suffer!’

  ‘What else is there for me to care about?’ demanded her father harshly. His eyes narrowed. ‘And what’s it to you anyway? You’re getting married in three months. You’ll have your own life to live. What ha
ppens here won’t concern you.’

  Joanna moved her head from side to side with slow persistence. ‘No. No. I—shan’t be getting married——’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Maxwell’s heavy brows ascended.

  ‘Just—what I say. I’m—not going to marry Philip.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She was tempted to tell him, she was so tempted. That he could have remained silent all day, knowing Shannon was not coming back, not giving her the chance to telephone him at the airport even, to hear his voice just one more time …

  But that must have been Shannon’s decision, she reasoned, with reluctant honesty. It was exactly the sort of thing he would do. He knew better than she how devastating farewells could be. Tears stung the back of her eyes. It had been bad enough before, knowing he was soon leaving, never being given the opportunity to be alone with him. But nothing could compare to the desolation that filled her now.

  Forcing back the tears, she said unevenly: ‘I—don’t love him.’

  Maxwell looked suspicious. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I—no.’ Joanna looked down at her hand, knuckles white as it gripped the handle of the door. ‘I—I’ve realised for some time that—that it was no good—between us.’

  Maxwell’s wheelchair came irrevocably across the floor towards her. It was electrically operated, and only the whisper of its wheels heralded its progress. Joanna didn’t look at her father, but his good hand came out and gripped her wrist, hard and painfully.

  ‘Is this anything to do with Shannon?’ he demanded between his teeth, his face contorted by some emotion Joanna didn’t care to identify.

  The pain of her wrist gave her a reason for her tears, but she tore her hand away and exclaimed: ‘How—how could it be?’

  Maxwell’s whole body sagged, and the features of his face relaxed abruptly. ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered, but with relief she knew he had accepted what she said. He turned his chair about and returned to his former position on the hearth. ‘That boy’s been nothing but trouble to me!’ he continued, in low resentful tones.

  Joanna could not listen to that. Dear God, that he could actually convince himself of what he was saying when——

  She swung open the door, supporting herself against the jamb. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she got out jerkily, and somehow she was outside and the door was closed behind her.

  She stumbled across the hall to the stairs as body-shaking sobs rose helplessly into her throat, and sank down weakly on to the lower treads. She couldn’t move, she was racked with misery, and eventually her mother found her there and had to fetch Henry Barnes to help her get the girl upstairs.

  For three days Joana didn’t leave her bed, and the incidence of a mild cold gave her mother an excuse to call the doctor and have him examine her without arousing comment.

  ‘Well, young lady,’ Doctor Stewart said cajolingly, folding his stethoscope back into his case, ‘this is no way to treat yourself. Lying here, indulging in futile emotion.’ Her mother had left them alone, and he seated himself on the side of her bed and looked down at her curiously. ‘Can’t you be thankful you’re healthy? There are dozens of young people forced to spend their days in bed. They’d give anything to have your opportunities.’

  Joanna nodded uncomfortably. ‘I—I’m all right.’

  ‘No, you’re not. Or I wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Mummy thinks my cold isn’t getting better.’

  ‘Does she?’ The elderly doctor regarded her doubtfully. He had been present at her birth in this very house, and he did not need his medical training to see that there was more than a cold troubling her. ‘What is it, Joanna? Having trouble with that boy-friend of yours?’

  ‘No!’ Joanna turned her face away from him. ‘I’ve told you—I’m fine. Mummy wasted your time bringing you here.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ He paused. ‘Shannon’s gone back to Africa, I hear.’ Joanna nodded, her lips tightening, and he went on: ‘Nice boy, Shannon. I always liked him.’

  Almost reluctantly, Joanna found her eyes turning back to him. ‘Did—did you know—his mother?’

  Doctor Stewart hesitated. Then he nodded. ‘Yes, of course I knew her.’

  Joanna’s lips parted. Showing more animation than she had shown for days, she propped herself up on her elbows, staring at him intently. ‘Were—were you here when—Shannon was born?’

  The doctor sighed. ‘Yes. But what——’

  Joanna shook her head, sinking back against the pillows, her brow furrowed. ‘I—I was curious, that’s all,’ she said.

  Doctor Stewart got up from the bed. ‘Well, I must be going. I have other patients to attend to.’

  Joanna watched him anxiously. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.’

  ‘You’ll only have wasted my time if you don’t show some improvement,’ he told her shortly. ‘Get out of that bed! Get dressed! Start living again. How do you think Shannon would feel if he knew what you were doing to yourself?’

  Joanna gasped. ‘Shannon?’

  ‘I’m not completely without perception, Joanna,’ Doctor Stewart replied, walking towards the door. ‘I’ll leave a prescription for some capsules with your mother,’ and opening the door he left her.

  Although Doctor Stewart’s visit had done little enough for her, it did serve to break through Joanna’s apathy, and within a couple of days she was up and about again. The capsules he had prescribed ensured her a decent night’s sleep at least, and during the day she had to cope with her shredded emotions.

  Philip came over to the house one evening towards the end of the week and found her looking almost recovered, pale and ethereal-looking in a long soft woollen gown of palest blue, her hair loose about her shoulders. He thought she had never looked more beautiful, and he was absolutely stunned when after a few brief words of greeting, she handed him back his ring.

  ‘I’m sorry, Philip,’ she said, lifting her slim shoulders in a helpless gesture of dismissal, ‘but I don’t love you. I thought I did—but I was mistaken.’

  Philip sank down weakly on to a low couch set before the log fire that burned here in the small sitting room at the Hall. For a few minutes he was too shocked to say anything, but gradually, as her words sank in, a feeling of angry indignation gripped him.

  ‘But you can’t do this to me!’ he blustered. ‘Everything’s arranged! Mum and Dad are moving out in June, and we’re taking over!’

  Joanna sighed. She had known it would not be easy. ‘I’m sorry, Philip,’ she said again. ‘I know I’m letting you down badly, but better now than later.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I—we might have got married, and afterwards …’

  ‘That’s nonsense!’ Philip wasn’t having that. ‘Once we were married, you’d be too busy taking care of me and the farm to even think about anyone else, if that’s what you’re implying. Besides, there’d be babies …’

  ‘Well—perhaps,’ she conceded quietly. ‘But anyway, this way is better. I know now it would never have worked. You and me. I just—I didn’t know. I didn’t have any experience. I had nothing to judge our relationship against.’

  ‘And now you have?’ he demanded offensively.

  Joanna flushed. ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘Damn you, is it? By God, you’re a cool one,’ he muttered angrily. ‘The chap’s only been in the district three weeks, but your father’s already been able to persuade you that he’s a better proposition!’

  ‘I don’t know——’

  ‘Don’t give me that. What’s your father told you? That now that Shannon’s thrown in his hand, he’s prepared to make the estate over to you, providing you marry the man of his choice?’

  ‘Philip!’

  ‘Oh, I’ve seen it coming. Ever since that smarmy-mouthed individual set foot in Mallowsdale. Damned scrounger.

  Managing this estate, and acting like he owned the b——’

  ‘Philip! If you’re talking about Matt——’


  ‘Oh, Matt, is it?’ Philip snorted furiously. ‘And you think you can throw me over for him? Some mealy-mouthed Southerner!’

  ‘Philip, please …’

  But even as she said the words, Joanna felt a sense of relief. Why not let Philip think there was something between her and Matthew Price? He’d soon be proved wrong, but at least it would take the emphasis away from Shannon.

  ‘Well, I won’t let you do this, Joanna!’ he told her savagely, getting up from the couch and taking her by the shoulders. ‘You’re my fiancée, and you’re staying that way. I won’t let you go.’ And his soft lips fastened themselves to hers, revolting her utterly when all she wanted to remember was the urgent pressure of Shannon’s hard mouth.

  She struggled to free herself, beating at him with her small fists, but he would not let her go, and she made desperate sounds of fury as he continued to kiss her. Then the door behind them opened, and a quiet, cultivated voice said: ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought this room was empty.’

  Philip lifted his head at the interruption, and Joanna seized on the momentary respite to cry: ‘Matt! Matt! Don’t go!’ in hoarse, appealing tones.

  ‘Joanna?’ Ignoring Philip’s rude demand that he should leave them, Matthew Price came further into the room. ‘Do you want me, Joanna?’

  She nodded vigorously, and at last her pressure on Philip’s chest had some effect, and he let her go. She put the width of the couch between them, and putting up a trembling hand to her tumbled hair, looked gratefully at Matthew.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I—Philip was just leaving, weren’t you, Philip?’

  There was an awful moment when she thought Philip intended making a fight of it. But he was more like his father than she had thought. Muttering bitterly to himself, he marched across the room, and a few moments later they heard the front door slam behind him. Only then did Joanna sink down wearily on to the arm of a chair, putting both hands to her throat.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Matt,’ she apologised, glancing up at the new manager, standing regarding her with some concern. ‘I—we—I’ve just broken my engagement.’