The Smouldering Flame Read online

  ‘I see.’ Matthew nodded understandingly. ‘No wonder Lawson looked so furious. I think I’d have felt the same in the circumstances.’

  Joanna half smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  Matthew’s colour deepened. For all he had been married, he was still rather a shy man, and she had found she could embarrass him quite easily. While Shannon was still in the house, she had used him deliberately in an effort to make Shannon jealous, and now she realised how selfish she had been to try such a thing, for all their sakes. He was an attractive man, too, above medium height with pleasant, even features and brown hair. He was the kind of man she knew instinctively would never hurt her, a man she could rely on. Perhaps she ought to consider marrying someone like him, she thought bitterly. She could, at least, be sure that he would make no demands on her she was not prepared to fulfil.

  Or would he? Dejection overwhelmed her. What was the point of pretending? Matthew was nice, he was kind, he would make a good husband—but he was a man. He would want a wife in every sense of the word, and that was something she could not contemplate with any man but Shannon. In that little time they had had together, she had learned what it was to want a man, to desire and need him, until she had ached with longings that had not been assuaged. How could she even consider such intimacies with anyone else, when even thinking about Shannon turned her limbs to water?

  ‘Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?’

  Matthew’s solicitude was a soothing balm, and she looked up at him with warm gratitude. ‘No, I’m all right,’ she reassured him quickly. ‘And I should apologise for Philip, too. He’s not usually so—so boorish.’

  ‘There’s no need to apologise, really,’ he exclaimed, a smile lightening his rather serious expression. ‘I’m just glad I was around to give my assistance.’

  ‘Oh, so am I!’ Joanna was fervent in her agreement. ‘Er—won’t you sit down for a while? You did come in here for that purpose, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘If you’re sure I’m not intruding …’

  ‘Heavens, no.’ Joanna would be glad of his company. ‘We can have the television on, if you like.’ She indicated the set in the corner. ‘Do you watch much television, Matt?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ he admitted. ‘I usually read.’

  ‘What do you like reading?’

  Joanna assumed an interest, and when her mother looked into the room about half an hour later, she looked pleased to see they were getting along so well.

  ‘Was that Philip who slammed out a little while ago?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows at her daughter.

  ‘Yes,’ Joanna nodded. ‘I told him.’

  She had already informed her mother that the wedding was off, but Catherine had not really taken her seriously. Now, however, she showed her surprise.

  ‘You really went through with it!’ She shook her head. ‘Philip won’t like that, Joanna. You can’t turn him off and on like a tap, you know.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ replied Joanna calmly. ‘You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.’

  Her mother shook her head a trifle bewilderedly, and withdrew. Joanna guessed she would go and discuss the matter with her father. Thank goodness she had already told him. That was one hurdle she would not have liked to have to face again.

  During the next few weeks, life resumed a certain pattern for Joanna. Now that she did not have her coming marriage to Philip to plan for, she had time to consider her future, and with a determination she had learned from Shannon, she decided to find an occupation for herself.

  But it was not so easy as she had at first imagined. Her academic qualifications had been good when she left school six years ago, but convincing a would-be employer why she had never used them to any effect was another matter. Besides, there were girls, younger than she was, with just as good qualifications, attending the labour exchange every week to collect their Social Security.

  But it did give her something to do, something to think about, and in her spare time, Matthew was always around to provide companionship. Maxwell was having one of the empty cottages on the estate modernised for the new manager’s use, and as the evenings got lighter, Joanna often walked down to it with Matthew to see how the work was progressing. With new beams, and a modern kitchen, and central heating to keep out the draughts, the cottage was turning into a charming dwelling, and Matthew, she knew, was looking forward to having his own home again.

  Then one evening in April, when the weather had been particularly mild, and Joanna had been helping Matthew to unpack some of his books into the fitted shelves at the cottage, they were interrupted by the arrival of Jessie Duxbury. She had obviously run all the way from the Hall, and her face was streaked with perspiration, her lips soft and trembling. She burst into the cottage without knocking, which was an unknown thing for her to do, and Joanna sprang to her feet, staring at her with anxious eyes. But she knew—before Jessie opened her mouth, she knew—and without waiting for explanations, she ran out of the cottage, and across the fields to the house.

  She was breathless when she climbed the gate into the stableyard, and Bess, who had been chasing some chickens, gave up the game to impede her progress.

  Joanna brushed the dog aside, running towards the house, and as she did so, she glimpsed the gleaming bonnet of a sleek Mercedes parked to one side of the building. But she had no time to ponder its presence, bursting into the kitchen, and through it into the hall.

  It was there she encounted her mother, and Catherine Carne’s face confirmed her worst fears.

  ‘You’re too late, Joanna,’ she said bitterly. ‘He’s gone, he’s gone! Your father’s dead!’

  Joanna looked towards the open door of the library, and as she did so a man appeared in the aperture, a tall, dark man who for a heart-stopping moment she thought was Shannon. But as he moved nearer she realised that this man was much older, greyer, yet perceptibly some relation. His father …?

  She dragged her gaze away from him and looked instead at her mother. Catherine gathered herself with difficulty, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, and gesturing towards the stranger.

  ‘This—this is Mr Steinbeck, Joanna. Er—’ She looked at the man. ‘This is my daughter, Joanna.’

  ‘Hello, Joanna.’

  The man was an American, and his accent was deep and attractive. Joanna allowed him to shake her hand, and then looked at her mother again.

  ‘Mummy—what happened?’

  ‘It’s my fault, I’m afraid,’ said the American quietly. ‘I didn’t know—Jacqueline never told me——’ He broke off, and looked to Catherine for confirmation, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘I just wanted to see my son, Joanna. Your—brother, Shannon?’

  Joanna gulped, and her mother shook her head disbelievingly ‘This—this man is Shannon’s father,’ she said chokingly. ‘And—and I never knew. Max never told me.’

  Joanna hugged her mother closely, feeling suddenly protective. ‘Why have you come here, Mr Steinbeck?’

  The American sighed. ‘I just wanted to see my son,’ he said again. ‘Can nobody understand that?’

  The sound of a siren coming up the drive to the house brought Catherine erect. ‘That will be the ambulance,’ she said, through trembling lips. ‘I phoned—but it’s too late.’

  Joanna hesitated only a moment before going to meet the ambulance men, explaining the circumstances in an undertone. The men were very kind. They accompanied her into the library, and she saw her father for the first time since his second attack. Strangely, he had a vulnerability in death he had never had in life, and the tears which until now had remained dormant stirred irresistibly.

  The men examined him, and then confirmed what her mother had said. ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ said one of them quietly. ‘Would you like us to take him upstairs—put him on a bed?’

  Joanna compressed her lips. ‘His room is down here. You could put him there, if you would.’

  They carried Ma
xwell Carne on a stretcher into his bedroom, and deposited him on the bed. Then they left, and Joanna emerged from the room feeling suddenly faint. The man called Steinbeck saw the whitening of her features, and moving quickly was there to catch her when she fell.

  When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the couch in the sitting room, and Matthew was standing talking to the American just inside the door. However, when they saw she was conscious, they both moved towards the couch.

  ‘Mummy——’ she began jerkily, but Matthew calmed her with a movement of his hand.

  ‘Your mother’s making some tea—with Jessie. She’s all right. It’s you we’ve been concerned about.’

  Joanna struggled to get up, feeling quite a fraud. ‘I—I must have fainted,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You had quite a shock,’ said the American, sighing. ‘What can I say? I feel this is all my doing.’

  Joanna looked up at him intently. ‘You’re really Shannon’s father?’

  ‘Do you doubt it?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘You’re very like him.’ She looked at Matthew. ‘Do you—I mean——’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Matthew nodded. ‘Jessie told me. Don’t worry, I shan’t say anything.’

  ‘I never thought you would.’ Joanna flashed him a faint smile. Then she looked again at the American. ‘Tell me—why did you suddenly want to see the son you hadn’t acknowledged for thirty-two years?’

  Steinbeck closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I didn’t know I had a son, Joanna. Not until about six months ago.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s true. Jacqueline—that’s—that’s Shannon’s mother—she’s very ill, dying, in fact.’ He paused. ‘She wrote me. I guess she wanted to unburden herself before she died.’

  Joanna listened in amazement. ‘You mean you’re not the man she’s been living with?’

  ‘Hell, no. Jacqueline and I—well, it was a wartime thing. I’m not proud of it, but it went on all the time. Sure as hell though, I didn’t know she was pregnant when I went back to the States.’

  Curiously enough, Joanna believed him. Jacqueline had never sounded the kind of woman to be self-sacrificing, and if she had suspected she was expecting a baby, she would have told him.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘after the war, a group of guys from my unit came back over here, looking up old places, you know the sort of thing. One of them, Bill Webster, met Jacqueline around here somewhere. He remembered her, of course. She was always a good-looking woman. By then, I guess, she was bored with being the usual housewife and mother. She wanted some excitement, and she thought Bill could give it to her. He was certainly crazy about her. She got a divorce and they came back to the States. The rest I guess you know. Except that of course I eventually met up with her again, married to Bill by this time, but just as wilful. Bill’s dead now. He was killed in a plane crash a couple of years ago. Jacqueline lives alone, and maybe she’s got maudlin in her old age. In any event, she wrote me, and your father, telling him what she planned to do.’

  Joanna gasped. ‘She wrote to Daddy? When?’

  ‘I don’t know. The end of last year, I guess. Around the same time that she wrote me.’

  Joanna lay back weakly, her cheeks paling once more, and Matthew started forward. ‘Joanna—what is it?’

  She shook her head silently for a moment, and then she said. ‘Daddy’s stroke. That was towards the end of last year.’

  ‘You don’t mean——’ Steinbeck uttered an oath. ‘You think that’s what caused your father’s attack?’

  ‘It might well have done so,’ replied Joanna, putting up a hand to her throat. ‘He was so afraid—so afraid …’

  ‘Afraid?’ Steinbeck didn’t understand. ‘Afraid of what?’

  ‘Afraid that this might get out,’ she explained wearily. ‘Jacqueline told him, you see. That was how she got her divorce.’

  Steinbeck frowned. ‘You mean—you knew that Shannon was not your brother?’

  She nodded. ‘Shannon told me.’

  ‘Shannon told you? You mean—he knew?’

  Joanna sighed. ‘It’s a long story, Mr Steinbeck. But yes, Shannon knew. My father could be a—violent man.’

  ‘I believe that.’ Steinbeck moved his shoulders in a bewildered gesture. ‘So everyone knew but me.’

  ‘My mother didn’t.’

  ‘No, I gathered that. It was a terrible shock to her.’ He paused. ‘Even so, why all the panic? What did your father expect me to do?’

  Joanna looked puzzled now. ‘You mean—here—and now?’

  ‘What harm could I do him? I only wanted to see my son, I knew I had no hold on him.’

  ‘Did you?’ Joanna could feel the tears at the backs of her eyes. She was beginning to understand so much. Shannon was more like his father than he realised. She tried to explain. ‘My—my father was a possessive man, Mr Steinbeck. A jealous man, too. I don’t think he could ever forget that—that Jacqueline had cheated him. So he—used Shannon as a whipping boy.’

  ‘I see. But Shannon’s not here, is he? Your mother told me he was in Lushasa, or some such place. In Africa!’

  ‘That’s right. He is. He and—and my father split up ten years ago. He was here—quite recently. After my father had his stroke, he sent for him. Shannon didn’t know why. Daddy—Daddy decided he wanted him to have the estate. But Shannon refused to take it.’

  ‘Your father did that? Offered him this estate?’

  ‘Yes. I think I know why now. He was afraid, as I’ve said. Afraid of you, Mr Steinbeck. He judged everybody by his own standards, I’m afraid. He would never believe that you could come here and meet Shannon without—without making your relationship known.’ She stifled a slightly hysterical giggle. ‘He must have been horrified when he saw you. You look so like Shannon.’

  ‘And the estate?’

  ‘A bribe—nothing more. A carrot, dangled before the donkey’s nose to induce it to enter the tunnel. If Shannon had accepted Mallowsdale, my father would have felt—secure.’

  ‘But that’s crazy!’ Steinbeck was breathing heavily. ‘Surely he knew that!’

  ‘Perhaps. There—there was one thing more.’ She looked reluctantly up at Matthew, and taking the hint he nodded. ‘I’ll leave you alone,’ he said, and left the room.

  ‘Go on.’ Steinbeck came down on the couch beside her.

  Joanna bent her head, and the curtain of her hair hid her face. ‘Shannon—loves me,’ she murmured softly.

  Steinbeck made a comprehending sound. ‘Not as—his sister, I gather.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, yes.’

  He put out a hand and looped the nearest wing of her hair back behind her ear so that he could see her face. ‘And that was bad?’

  ‘My father was totally opposed to any kind of relationship between us. I think—I think the fact that Shannon was Jacqueline’s son …’

  Her voice trailed away, and the man beside her sighed. ‘What a waste,’ he muttered heavily. Then: ‘Your father knew that you were aware of Shannon’s parentage?’

  ‘Oh, no. No.’ Joanna shook her head.

  ‘Another reason for putting Shannon into his debt.’ Steinbeck had soon abcorbed the situation. ‘So—what now?’

  ‘Now?’ Joanna could hardly think coherently.

  ‘Of course.’ Steinbeck studied her pale complexion. ‘Joanna, the biggest obstacle to your happiness has been removed, hasn’t it?’

  Joanna stared at him through troubled eyes. ‘Well, I—I——’ She swallowed convulsively. ‘Has it?’

  ‘Well, if it helps at all, I’m prepared to state openly that Shannon is my son.’

  Joanna caught her breath. ‘Could you? Could you?’

  ‘Why not? The truth is bound to come out sooner or later. No doubt a doctor——’

  ‘A doctor! Doctor Stewart!’ Joanna could feel a slow excitement stirring inside her. ‘Is it possible?’
r />   Steinbeck put his hand over hers as they lay in her lap, and she remembered the time Shannon had done that. Steinbeck’s hands were even like Shannon’s, brown and long-fingered, not at all like Maxwell Carne’s stubby square fingers.

  ‘You have the funeral to face first,’ he said. ‘Your mother needs your support. Afterwards … Well, I’ll stick around. I may be able to help.’

  ‘You’ll stay?’ She looked up at him eagerly.

  ‘If you want me to.’

  ‘Oh, I do.’ Just touching him like this brought Shannon that much nearer somehow. ‘But—your wife? Your family?’

  ‘My family are all grown up and married with families of their own,’ he told her quietly. ‘All except my eldest son.’ He half smiled.

  ‘And your wife?’

  ‘My wife died last year. Just a week before I got Jacqueline’s letter.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SHANNON did not come home to see Maxwell Carne buried.

  Joanna could not believe it when the day of the funeral dawned, and there had still been no word from Lushasa. He must know her father was dead, she told herself bitterly, as she waited with her mother and Henry, Matthew and Shannon’s father, Andrew Steinbeck, for the hearse to arrive to take the coffin to the church in Mallowsdale. Even if he had not intended making the journey home for the funeral, he could have written or cabled, she thought despairingly, his absence making her painfully aware that so far as Shannon was concerned, her father’s death altered nothing.

  Andrew Steinbeck was a tower of strength, and Joanna had found herself turning more and more to him during these days of uncertainty. Her mother had become amazingly competent since the initial shock of her husband’s death had subsided, and Joanna had realised with a pang that her father had been responsible for Catherine’s lack of confidence. Now that she was her own woman, free to make her own decisions, she had assumed the running of the estate with an ability that shocked all of them. Except Matthew. He had become her mother’s right hand, and she consulted him before making any major decisions.

  Henry Barnes was leaving after the funeral. He, too, had been very kind, and his quiet personality, which for so long had been eclipsed by his employer’s belligerence, had emerged during these past days.