LITMIR.BIZ

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fingers through its length, too tired to get out her brush and do it properly. She ached with weariness and even the narrow bed looked inviting. Before putting out the light, she folded back the netting and pulled down the sheet. The enormous cockroach which had been imprisoned by the cover ran wildly across the bed to escape her, and Joanna had to stifle the scream that rose in her throat.

      Picking up a sandal, she knocked the revolting creature to the floor, and then quickly ground the sandal into it. The awful crunching sound it made caused a sickly bile to enter her mouth, but nothing would have induced her to call for assistance. Even so, the idea of getting between sheets where the beetle had lain filled her with distaste, and only the awareness of Camilla Langley’s presence prevented her from asking Jacob for fresh bedding. Nevertheless, she examined every inch of the bed before extinguishing the light, and even after she was lying between the sheets, her thoughts constantly summoned images of giant beetles and spiders invading this ground floor room, crawling over her as she slept. She thought with longing of her room back home, a large comfortable room, with a sloping roof and a window set beneath the eaves. It was similar to the room she and Philip would share at his home after they were married in June. His parents were due for retirement, and when she and Philip returned from their honeymoon, they intended to move into a comfortable bungalow they had bought near Keswick, leaving Philip to run the farm. Thinking of Philip was reassuring somehow. She had not thought a lot about him since coming to Africa, and not at all since her arrival in Kwyana. She wondered what Shannon would think of Philip, or indeed what Philip would think of her half-brother. They had never met. The Lawsons had bought their farm after Shannon had left home. And if he continued to refuse to come to England, they might never meet.

      Eventually Joanna slept, exhaustion temporarily erasing her anxieties about her surroundings, and not even the rain which came drumming on the corrugated roof in the early morning aroused her.

      When she did awaken it was broad daylight. Someone had unkindly opened the blinds, and the sunlight slatting across her eyes was distracting. She rolled over drowsily, and saw a man’s legs encased in close-fitting denims only inches away from her face.

      Her eyes widened and travelled slowly upward over muscular thighs, a low buckled belt, to a denim shirt open almost to the waist, and finally reached Shannon’s darkly tanned features. His eyes were narrowed as he looked down at her, but he looked better this morning. His face was still pale beneath his tan, but some of the strain had disappeared from around his eyes. His scrutiny made Joanna aware that the sheet had worked its way down to her waist, and the upper part of her body was only thinly concealed beneath the cotton nightgown. She grasped the sheet and dragged it over her, and he moved away from the bed, walking indolently towards the windows.

      ‘Did you sleep well?’ he inquired, with controlled politeness, and Joanna rolled on to her back and nodded.

      ‘Eventually. Did you?’ She propped herself up on one elbow. ‘Ought you to be out of bed?’

      Shannon leant against the window sill. ‘Are you aware of the time?’ he countered.

      Joanna shook her head and reached for her watch. The hands indicated twenty minutes to ten and she gasped. ‘Is it really so late?’

      ‘Really,’ he acknowledged sardonically. ‘We rise early around here. I’m normally at the mine by seven.’

      ‘But you were ill,’ she protested, frowning. ‘Did—did Nurse Langley give you permission to get up?’

      ‘I don’t need permission,’ he retorted, straightening. ‘Now, do you want some breakfast? Jacob’s scrambled eggs are not unpalatable, and he makes a decent cup of coffee.’

      ‘I know. I had some last night.’ Joanna sat upright, holding the sheet firmly under her chin. ‘Shannon,’ she began, as the reasons for her being here began to assert themselves again. ‘Shannon, you didn’t mean——’

      ‘I’ll tell Jacob you’ll be ready to eat in twenty minutes,’ Shannon interrupted her, walking towards the door. ‘There’s a train leaving for Menawi at three o’clock this afternoon, and I expect you to be on it.’

      The door slammed behind him, and Joanna hunched her shoulders dejectedly. He couldn’t mean it, she told herself vehemently, but she remained unconvinced.

      Wrapping the sheet around her, she carried her clothes to the bathroom, and showered and cleaned her teeth before getting dressed. Then she went back to the living room, pushed her nightdress and the clothes Jacob had washed for her into her overnight case, and brushed her hair. It hung thick and straight about her shoulders, and she left it that way, even though it was really too heavy to wear loose in this climate.

      Jacob was in the kitchen when she appeared, and he greeted her cheerfully as he set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of her. It was not what she was used to, but she hadn’t the heart to disillusion him, and made a gallant effort to enjoy it. The coffee helped it down, and she drank several cups.

      ‘Jacob go and clear away bed,’ he announced, once he was sure she had everything she needed, but Joanna stopped him.

      ‘Not yet, Jacob,’ she said, putting down her fork. ‘By the way, there—there was a bug in my bed last night.’

      Jacob’s horror was not pretended, she was sure of it. ‘There no bugs in those sheets when Mr Steiner’s boy and me make bed!’ he insisted indignantly. ‘Why you not call Jacob and have him change sheets?’

      Joanna shook her head. ‘I didn’t want to—bother anyone last night. But if I happen to stay tonight, do you think I could have some fresh bedding?’

      ‘You won’t be staying tonight,’ retorted Shannon’s deep voice from the doorway, and she turned to stare resentfully at him.

      ‘You can’t force me to leave today!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why should I? I’ve only just got here. Why shouldn’t I stay and see something of the place?’

      ‘Kwyana is not a holiday resort!’ replied Shannon cuttingly. His eyes lifted to the houseboy. ‘You can strip down the camper, Jacob, and take it back to Mr Steiner’s boy. We won’t be needing it again.’

      Joanna’s breath caught in the back of her throat, and she pushed back her chair and got unsteadily to her feet. ‘You—you pig!’ she burst out tremulously. ‘You won’t even consider what I told you, will you?’

      Jacob was listening to their exchange with wide troubled eyes, but Shannon snapped his fingers angrily at him. ‘What are you hanging about for?’ he demanded, and mumbling an apology the boy left them alone.

      Joanna pushed her plate aside, the eggs barely half eaten, staring down at the table through a mist of tears. So that was that. Shannon was forcing her to leave, and she felt more devastated now than she had when she had first learned of her father’s stroke. But why should she care? she asked herself angrily. Her father would be disappointed, but it was not the end of the world. So why did she feel so shattered by it all?

      Shannon uttered an oath suddenly, and came to stand wearily at the other side of the table, supporting himself with his palms against its cool surface, staring at her half angrily. ‘God, Joanna, it’s no use you staying here, hoping I’ll change my mind!’

      Joanna stole a look at him. His brow was beaded with sweat even though the room was comparatively cool, and she realised with an anxious pang that he was still suffering the after-effects of his illness.

      ‘It—it doesn’t occur to you that I might like being here, that I might like being with you, does it?’ she asked quietly.

      Shannon straightened, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. ‘No.’

      ‘Why not? Shannon, we haven’t seen one another for ten years! I—I’ve missed you. I missed you terribly when you first went away, and then never hearing from you—never really knowing what you were doing. Surely it’s not unreasonable that I should want to talk to you, should want to hear what’s been happening to you?’ She traced the pattern of the formica with a fingernail. ‘I can’t believe

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