The Smouldering Flame. Anne Mather

was living accommodation for over three hundred men, Lorenz volunteered, pointing out laboratories, ventilation and processing plants, the pumping station and mine hospital, as well as the enormous plant which powered the whole complex.

      ‘Impressive, is it not?’ Lorenz commented dryly. ‘Over three hundred men, and not a woman—a white woman, at least, within a hundred miles. Except yourself, Miss Carne.’

      Joanna did not answer this, but her nerves tightened at his words. If that were so, she ought not to have come here, and she had the feeling that Shannon would not appreciate her having done so. If only they had told her in Menawi how remote the mine was! But then she had not told them that she intended making the journey here herself.

      At this hour of the afternoon there were few men about, but those there were stared with unconcealed amazement at Lorenz’s companion in the cab of the lorry. Joanna could feel the hot colour in her cheeks adding to the general discomfort of her body, and she did not like the amusement Lorenz made no effort to hide.

      The layout of the site reminded her of an industrial estate back home, only here two-storied dwellings mingled with steel-ribbed girders and the intricate maze of a chemical processing plant. Had it not been for the heat which, even though the sun was slowly losing its power, was still intense here in the valley, they could have been in any industrial complex anywhere in the world.

      Looking about her, Joanna finally had to ask: ‘Which of these blocks does my brother occupy?’

      ‘None of them,’ replied Lorenz laconically, startling her for a minute until he added: ‘Managers don’t live in blocks. They have houses. It’s not much further. Have patience, Miss Carne.’

      The sarcasm was back and Joanna clenched her lips. They had turned off the main thoroughfare on to a narrow track leading between the living blocks which were interspersed here and there with stretches of scorched grass. Occasionally she caught glimpses of men playing football behind the buildings, but mostly her attention was fixed on the corrugated-roofed bungalows she could see ahead of them. There were several, set at intervals between scrub hedges, all alike with stuccoed walls painted in pastel shades, and overhanging eaves. Lorenz brought the heavy vehicle to a halt before one of them. The place looked deserted, the blinds were drawn and there was no apparent sign of life.

      ‘That’s it,’ he announced derisively. ‘I hope you don’t find it disappointing.’

      Joanna was sure he hoped she did, but she thrust open her door and climbed down quickly before he could offer his assistance. He handed her out her suitcase, and she had perforce to thank him.

      ‘I don’t know how I’d have managed without you,’ she admitted.

      ‘Nor do I,’ he agreed, and let out his clutch; the lorry trundled noisily away.

      After he had gone, it seemed incredibly quiet. The tiring journey on the train, the uproar at the station, and the trip in the lorry had all taken their toll of her nerves, and even the low throbbing sound which was all she could hear was welcome. Even so, she half thought her arrival would have disturbed someone, but no one appeared to have noticed.

      Stifling the awful feeling of panic which was welling up inside her, Joanna picked up her suitcase and walked determinedly up the path to a meshed door. An outer door stood wide, but the meshed door had a self-closing hinge.

      Feeling rather like an interloper, she knocked at the wood which surrounded the mesh and mentally composed how she was going to introduce herself. What if Shannon didn’t recognise her? She was sure she would recognise him. His image was printed indelibly on her mind.

      No one answered her knock, and with a sigh she knocked harder. Still there was no response, and she shaded her eyes with one hand and looked hopefully up and down the road. What if Lorenz had brought her to the wrong bungalow? He might have done so deliberately. If only there was someone she could ask.

      But the empty road mocked her, and the drawn blinds on the adjoining bungalows did not encourage intruders. When no one replied to her third attempt to attract attention, she tentatively opened the meshed door and went in.

      She found herself in a narrow hall covered by some rubber flooring, but otherwise bare. The hall appeared to run from front to back of the building, with several doors opening from it. On impulse, Joanna opened one of these doors and peeped into the room beyond. She saw what appeared to be a study with a desk strewn with papers, a chair, a filing cabinet, and two telephones. A second door revealed a living room—armchairs, dining chairs and table, bookshelves, and a drinks cabinet.

      Joanna closed this second door and stood, undecided. If this was not Shannon’s house she was taking dreadful liberties, and even if it was, she had no way of knowing what his reaction to her presence there might be. Perhaps she should go outside again and wait until someone did appear. Surely—she consulted the slim masculine watch on her wrist—surely the day’s work must almost be over. The men who lived in the other bungalows might be returning to them.

      She was moving away towards the door when a low groan reached her ears. Immediately she stiffened, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest. The sound was coming from a room further along the hall, and with comprehension came the realisation that Lorenz had not been lying when he had told her that Shannon was ill.

      Putting down her case again, she went stealthily along the hall and pressed her ear to the panels of the door. There was no further sound from within, but her hand had found the handle and she could not resist turning it.

      The room beyond was darkened, but blessedly cool. Whatever else these bungalows lacked, they had air-conditioning, and for a moment it was heaven for Joanna to feel the cool air against her over-heated skin. But then her eyes adjusted themselves to the dimness and she could make out the figure of a man tossing and turning on a narrow bed. Her nails digging into her palms, she moved forward, and then drew back again as she realised the man was naked. He had kicked the thin cotton sheet aside, and although his body was streamed with sweat, she could see he was shivering.

      Joanna hesitated only a moment longer, and then moved forward once more, gathering the sheet from the foot of the bed and drawing it up over his shuddering limbs. Mosquito netting hung suspended over the bed, but when she brushed it aside she could see his face, and a curious weakness assailed her. Shannon’s eyes were glazed and unseeing, but they were the same tawny eyes she remembered, the same heavy lids and long curling lashes. He had changed a little; after all, he was ten years older and therefore more mature. Nevertheless, the lean intelligent features were not so different, and from what she had seen of his muscled body, he still hadn’t an ounce of spare flesh on him. His dark brown hair was longer than it had been, but it was just as thick and virile, and her fingers trembled as she touched it now, smoothing a heavy swathe back from his damp forehead. Her fingers lingered against his burning skin, needing that physical contact, but as he fought her attempts to keep the sheet over him, she looked round desperately, wondering what she could do. She felt angry as she wondered how long he had been lying here like this without anyone to care for him. Why wasn’t he in the hospital Lorenz had shown her receiving proper attention?

      ‘Shannon,’ she ventured at last, sitting down on the side of the bed. ‘Shannon—it’s me, Joanna! Do you remember me?’

      Her softly spoken words seemed to penetrate his delirium, and for a few seconds there was a look of faint recognition in the eyes he turned in her direction. But then it disappeared, and he began twisting restlessly again, licking his lips as if he was parched.

      ‘Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?’

      The cold angry words brought Joanna almost guiltily to her feet and she turned to find a woman entering the room. In a white uniform, she was probably a nurse, Joanna decided, and she made an involuntary gesture of apology.

      ‘I—I’m Joanna Carne,’ she explained awkwardly. ‘Shannon’s—sister.’

      The woman’s dark brows drew together uncomprehendingly, and as she drew nearer Joanna could see that like the man Lorenz, she was of mixed blood. But the combination was quite startlingly beautiful. Smooth olive features, lustrous dark