The Smouldering Flame Read online

  ‘Then I suggest we leave the day after tomorrow,’ said Shannon thoughtfully. ‘That gives me the rest of today and all tomorrow to get things organised here.’

  Joanna could feel her facial muscles stiffening. So no matter how concerned he had been about her, he was still determined that she should leave as soon as possible. She despised herself for feeling so desolated by the knowledge. This place wasn’t good for her. Perhaps it was as well she was being given no choice in the matter.

  Taking a deep breath, she exclaimed: ‘There’s no need for you to organise anything. Apart from the fact that you’ve scarcely recovered from that illness, I’ve already made the trip twice on my own. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t reach the airport without mishap. I can take a taxi from the station, if that will ease your mind. Just leave me to make my own arrangements.’

  ‘No.’ Shannon’s denial brooked no argument.

  ‘Why? Why?’ Joanna was trembling, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Are—are you afraid I might overstay my welcome if the decision is left to me?’ she choked.

  ‘You should know you couldn’t do that!’ he told her grimly, taking a step forward and then checking himself as she swayed towards him. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘No, Joanna.’ He turned away, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from going to him and pressing her face against his back. ‘But,’ he added slowly, as though the words were drawn from him against his will, ‘if I’m coming to England, and I must be crazy even to consider it, I have to make certain arrangements.’

  Joanna’s heart was pounding so loudly, she thought it must be audible even to him. ‘You—you’re coming to—England?’ she echoed disbelievingly.

  ‘That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’ He was looking at her out of the corners of his eyes.

  ‘Oh, I—well, yes. Yes. You know it is, but——’

  ‘Don’t get carried away. I’m coming to speak to your father, that’s all,’ he said flatly. ‘I’ve realised I don’t have the kind of conscience that permits me to dismiss the request of a dying man out of hand. But don’t expect me to stay, Joanna. Don’t expect that!’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE powerful Boeing made its scheduled landing at Nairobi in the late afternoon. Passengers were politely informed that they might leave the aircraft, but not the airport, and be prepared for their flight to be recalled in one hour. Joanna had her first taste of the milder Kenyan climate as she descended the two flights of steps from the aircraft to the tarmac, and after the humidity of Kwyana, Nairobi’s eighty degrees struck her as comparatively cool, particularly as there was a refreshing breeze blowing down from the mountains.

  As they walked towards the airport buildings, Joanna stole a glance at Shannon. In a navy denim suit, the jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder, his cream silk shirt accentuating his tan, he had attracted a number of interested stares from the other female passengers. Joanna guessed there was some speculation about their relationship, and as she was wearing a ring, they probably thought she was his fiancée. She wondered at the pang this thought aroused in her.

  The airport itself was much the same as any other international airport, and after clearing passport control, Shannon guided her towards the airport bar. At this late hour of the afternoon, most of the other passengers had the same idea, and there was quite a press of people waiting for service. But Shannon managed to get two lagers and brought them over to the corner table where Joanna had secured two stools. The lager was cold and sharp and caught the back of her throat, and she choked on the first mouthful so that Shannon had to thump her on the back to help her regain her breath.

  ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ she accused him through watering eyes, when she had regained her breath. ‘You didn’t have to hit me so hard!’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Shannon offered a reluctant apology, but amusement lurked around his mouth.

  ‘I don’t believe you are,’ she retorted, aware that they had attracted the attention of two American girls who were travelling on the same flight, and who had been giving Shannon an intent appraisal. ‘I think I’d rather have choked!’

  Shannon shook his head patiently. ‘Now I don’t believe that,’ he told her, his eyes on hers. ‘What would—Philip? That was his name, wasn’t it? Yes. What would Philip have to say if I allowed his fiancée to expire in a glass of lager at Nairobi airport?’

  Joanna looked down into her glass. She knew he was only teasing her, that since leaving Kwyana he had made a definite effort to behave towards her as he would towards a younger sister, but she didn’t want to talk about Philip now. Her time alone with Shannon was rapidly dwindling away, and she knew that once they reached her father’s house it would be almost impossible for them to have a private conversation.

  ‘Shannon,’ she ventured huskily, ‘Shannon, what will you do?’

  But Shannon didn’t answer her. Indeed, she doubted if he had even heard her above the constant buzz of conversation all around them. One of the American girls had leant across to speak to him on some pretext of asking the time, and was not wasting the opportunity. She offered Shannon one of her long American cigarettes, and although Shannon rarely smoked, he accepted one, steadying her hand as she held out the flame of her lighter.

  The feeling which swept over Joanna as she watched them rocked her to the core of her being, and her nails curled painfully into her palms. The realisation that she was jealous made her reach unsteadily for the lager, downing the lot in an effort to ease the sudden constriction in her throat.

  ‘Are you trying to out-drink me?’

  Shannon’s lazy mockery was more than she could bear. With a mumbled apology she got to her feet, and ignoring his puzzled stare, walked quickly away to the ladies’ room.

  There was a queue, the same as at the bar, but Joanna joined it, not really needing the loo, but glad of any excuse to avoid listening to Shannon laughing with the American girl.

  ‘Say, is this the end of the line?’

  For a moment Joanna thought the girl had followed her, but when she turned she found it was the second American who was standing right behind her.

  ‘I—I think so,’ she answered shortly, and swung round again, but the American was not prepared to be dismissed so easily.

  ‘You have to line up for everything these days, don’t you?’ she went on easily. ‘I guess we’re turning into a conveyor belt society, all waiting in line for something.’ She laughed, when Joanna didn’t, and then said: ‘Have you been on holiday in Menawi?’

  Joanna sighed, but it was not in her nature to be rude, and she couldn’t go on ignoring the other girl. ‘I—sort of,’ she conceded, hoping that would satisfy her. ‘Have you?’

  ‘Actually, my friend and I are doing cultural studies,’ the girl explained confidentially. ‘We’ve been visiting various parts of Africa studying life styles and customs. It’s surprising how fascinating we found it all.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yes. I mean, Africans are amazingly artistic people. Well, look at their music! But one doesn’t always associate their culture with beauty, and yet some of their weapons and utensils have been compared to the Romanesque period of European history.’ She paused. ‘Of course, some of their customs are not so appealing, but overall we were impressed, I can tell you.’

  ‘How interesting.’

  Joanna took another step forward in the queue, wondering how much longer they were going to have to wait. Distracting as the American girl’s narrative might be, she was finding herself growing perversely impatient to get back to Shannon again.

  ‘For instance …’ Joanna closed her eyes as the girl began again: ‘Some tribes can actually justify cannibalism as an excuse for not starving. Naturally, they don’t just eat their next-door neighbour, or anything like that, but the warriors killed in tribal battles provide food for their tables. Oh, well,’ she laughed, ‘I don’t suppose they actually have tables, but you know what I mean.’

  Joanna forced a smile.

&nbs
p; ‘There are some customs common to most of the tribes—like the bride price, for example. I expect you’ve heard of that. After all, it was common enough in England once, wasn’t it? I mean—girls had to have dowries, that sort of thing?’ She waited for Joanna’s silent acknowledgement. ‘Fortunately, we modern girls don’t have to cope with that! How terrible to wonder if a man was only marrying you for what you could give him!’

  ‘I imagine it still happens,’ remarked Joanna dryly, and aroused a titter of derision from her companion.

  ‘Do you think so?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But I don’t suppose your fiancé chose you for those reasons, did he?’ She pulled her lower lip between her teeth. ‘You—er—you don’t have to mind Lou Ellen, by the way. She can’t resist an attractive male, and your fiancé’s certainly that!’

  ‘He’s not my fiancé!’ stated Joanna flatly. How could she pretend that he was, attractive though that idea might be, when Shannon was most likely explaining their relationship to this girl’s friend?

  ‘He’s not?’ There was obvious surprise now.

  ‘No. He—he’s my half-brother.’

  ‘Half-brother!’ echoed the girl. ‘Well! For brother and sister you sure look different, him so dark and you so fair.’

  ‘We had different mothers,’ explained Joanna shortly.

  ‘Oh, I see. And they were a blonde and a brunette.’

  ‘No. That is—I don’t know.’ Joanna felt a frown crease her brow. All the pictures she had seen of Shannon’s mother had shown her to be a woman as fair as, if not fairer than Joanna’s own mother. And their father’s grey hair had once been auburn. Shannon must be a throwback to his grandparents, she thought impatiently, and she had no idea what colouring they had been.

  To her relief, she was next in line, and when she emerged from the cubicle the other girl was not around. She rinsed her face and hands, ran a comb through her hair, and left the cloakroom before she appeared.

  Shannon wasn’t at their table when she got back, however, and she was looking round in alarm when the girl called Lou Ellen said: ‘He’s at the bar, honey. He won’t be long.’

  Joanna smiled her thanks, and seated herself with some reluctance. If Lou Ellen was as adept at conducting a conversation as her friend, she would rather face the heat outside. But apparently Lou Ellen’s charms were reserved for the opposite sex, and apart from exchanging a sympathetic look now and then, she didn’t say anything.

  The heat in the bar was quite intense, in spite of the air-conditioning. The smoke from cigarettes and cigars thickened the air, and Joanna was glad she had chosen to travel in a halter-necked shirt and a plain denim skirt which left her midriff bare. Even so, the back of her neck was damp, and her thighs stuck to the chair where they touched.

  Shannon came back carrying a tray on which resided four frosted glasses, each decorated with slices of citrus fruit and sprigs of mint. Joanna didn’t need to be a mind-reader to guess who the two other glasses were for, and she didn’t respond to the smile Shannon cast inquiringly in her direction as he took his seat.

  ‘You took your time,’ he observed in an undertone, after Lou Ellen had thanked him for the highball she was tasting.

  ‘There was a queue,’ retorted Joanna, with some asperity. Then: ‘Why on earth did you get me this? I prefer lager.’

  Shannon removed the offending glass from her fingers with controlled violence, and set it down beside his own. Then before she could stop him, he was on his way to the bar again. Lou Ellen quirked a mocking eyebrow, but as she must have heard what Joanna had said, she made no comment.

  Shannon returned a few minutes later with the lager Joanna had requested, and she accepted it from him rather ungracefully, saying: ‘Thanks,’ in a small voice.

  The stewardess’s voice over the tannoy system distracted Shannon’s attention, and Joanna stiffened when she heard the number of their flight. Unfortunately, it appeared that the 747 had developed a fault after landing, and it was expected that take-off would be delayed for a further two hours. The airline suggested that passengers should take dinner in the restaurant at their expense, and a further delay was not anticipated.

  ‘Well, at least I don’t have to swallow these in five minutes,’ remarked Shannon, smiling at Lou Ellen, and she laughingly conceded his point.

  ‘You’d probably take off without the plane,’ she joked, and Joanna felt completely superfluous.

  The other American girl chose that moment to return from the ladies’ room, looking anxious until she saw her friend. ‘Was that our flight I heard called?’

  ‘No such luck, Susie,’ responded Lou Ellen, shaking her head. ‘Here,’ she pushed the other highball towards her, ‘Shannon bought that for you.’

  Shannon! Joanna’s fists clenched in her lap. That hadn’t taken long.

  ‘What’s going on?’ The girl Lou Ellen had addressed as Susie sat down and looked questioningly from one to another of them. She raised her glass to Shannon. ‘I could have sworn I heard the number of our flight.’

  ‘You did,’ said Shannon, joining her in raising his glass. ‘The plane’s developed a fault. Two hours’ delay.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Susie’s eyes rolled heavenward.

  ‘It could be worse,’ remarked Lou Ellen practically. ‘We might have taken off before the fault was discovered.’

  ‘Say, that’s right.’ Susie nodded her agreement, and Lou Ellen went on:

  ‘Besides, it’s not so bad here. And the company’s good.’ Her eyes twinkled at Shannon.

  Joanna turned her head and stared determinedly out of the windows. The short sub-tropical twilight was beginning to cast shadows that had not been there half an hour ago, and soon it would be dark. She wondered with a tightening of her lips whether Shannon would invite the two American girls to join them for dinner. It was not unlikely, and she wished she did not feel this intense antipathy towards them. Why couldn’t she talk to them as Shannon was doing, be friendly—behave as Shannon’s sister ought to behave?

  Shannon had finished his first highball and had started on his second when she looked back at the others. She encountered his scornful gaze and immediately wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Why had she behaved so childishly over the drinks, just because he was making casual conversation with a fellow traveller? She deserved his contempt.

  ‘When you’ve finished that, can we go and have something to eat?’ she suggested in a low voice.

  Shannon set down his glass. ‘If you’re hungry,’ he conceded.

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  Joanna sighed: ‘Perhaps—perhaps Lou Ellen and Susie might like to join us,’ she ventured, and Shannon’s eyes narrowed impatiently.

  ‘Do you want me to ask them?’ he inquired, with cold detachment, and Joanna made an uncertain movement of her shoulders.

  ‘That’s up to you.’

  ‘How about us all having dinner together?’

  Lou Ellen’s drawling tones interrupted them, and Shannon’s lips twisted wryly before he turned to the American and said: ‘Why not? It will help to pass the time.’

  ‘That’s some line you’ve got there,’ remarked Lou Ellen, assuming a wounded air. ‘You really know how to make a girl feel wanted.’

  The restaurant was over-worked, but they eventually were shown to a table and a reasonable meal was served. During the meal, Susie began asking Shannon about his work, and Joanna learned more about gold and gold mining in those few minutes than she had learned in the time she was in Kwyana.

  ‘Do they hand out samples?’ Lou Ellen laughed, after Shannon had astonished them all by telling them that a single grain of gold could be beaten to cover an area of seventy-five square inches. ‘I expect it’s a terrible temptation to the men.’

  ‘You’d need a truck to steal enough gold to make it even half worthwhile,’ he answered. ‘Lode gold, that’s the kind we’re mining, is part of solid rock, in our case quartz. We mine tons of the stuff, and the gol
d is usually found in small veins scattered through the rock. The real difficulty is separating the gold from the quartz.’

  ‘But isn’t it dangerous working below ground?’ exclaimed Susie.

  ‘All mining involves an element of danger,’ Shannon agreed, leaning back in his chair. ‘My job is to ensure that that element is kept to the minimum.’

  ‘Do you go underground?’ asked Lou Ellen.

  ‘If there’s trouble, it’s my job to locate it, and formulate the best method of dealing with it. The underground manager——’

  ‘So you only go underground when it’s most dangerous to do so?’ cried Joanna, in dismay, and then coloured when they all turned to look at her.

  ‘The safety of the men is my concern,’ stated Shannon levelly. ‘It’s my job. If we get a pressure burst, if there’s flooding or fire, it’s up to me to see that the men get out alive.’

  Joanna couldn’t eat any more. Pushing back her chair, she got to her feet and walked quickly out of the restaurant. She didn’t care that she hadn’t excused herself, that this was twice she had walked out on him; she simply couldn’t bear to sit there any longer and listen to Lou Ellen and Susie applauding his courage. She felt physically sick, and not even the knowledge that he was coming to England could shift the devastating realisation that so long as Shannon was employed by the Lushasan Mining Authority he ran the risk of losing his life in some dark cavern thousands of feet below the earth.

  Shannon eventually found her in the dimly-lit departure lounge, huddled in solitary isolation in one corner. The lounge was noisy with the sounds of frustrated children, babies crying, and transistor radios blaring out the latest pop tunes. Delayed passengers sprawled beside their hand luggage, reading newspapers or grumbling about the lack of amenities. He came strolling towards her, stepping over legs and handbags, children’s improvised games, his jacket hanging from one hand, the other pushed lazily into his pocket. He hesitated a moment, but when she refused to give him more than a cursory glance, he came down on the seat beside her, his wine-scented breath fanning her neck.