The Smouldering Flame

Joanna tried to gather her thoughts, but this was all so strange to her, not least the way this man could switch from smiling urbanity to obviously crude abuse in seconds.

Forcing herself to ignore their faintly hostile audience, she said: ‘Could you direct me to the mine, please?’

‘The mine, mademoiselle?’

‘You are from the gold mine, aren’t you?’ Joanna made an involuntary movement towards the lettering on the cab of the lorry.

He looked in that direction himself, and then swung his head curiously back to her. ‘You want to go to the mine, mademoiselle?’

Joanna tried not to feel impatient. ‘Obviously.’

He shrugged, tipping his head to one side. ‘The mine is over there, mademoiselle.’ He indicated the distant mountains.

Joanna stared in dismay towards the purple-shrouded range. ‘But that must be—five or ten miles away!’

‘Seven, to be exact,’ her companion informed her, thrusting his hands into the hip pockets of his shorts.

‘Seven miles!’ Joanna’s echo of his words was anguished.

‘Why do you wish to go to the mine, mademoiselle?’ the man asked softly.

Discarding prevarication, Joanna sighed. ‘I’ve come to find my brother. I believe he works for the mining company. Shannon Carne?’

The man beside her looked surprised. ‘Mr Carne is your brother?’

‘My half-brother, yes.’

‘Half-brother?’ He frowned. ‘What is this?’

Joanna felt like telling him it was none of his business, but so far as she knew he might present her only chance of reaching the mine.

‘It means we had the same father—different mothers,’ she explained shortly. ‘He is there, then? You do know him?’

‘Yes, mademoiselle.’ The man bowed his head. ‘I know Mr Carne. But——’ His eyes flickered over her for a moment. ‘I did not know he had a—sister.’

There was something offensive in his appraisal, and Joanna felt her flesh crawl. But short of alienating the only person who might offer her a lift to the mine, there was nothing she could do. Perhaps he thought she was only masquerading as Shannon’s sister. Perhaps wives or girl-friends were not allowed at the mine, and he thought she was only pretending a relationship. It was her own fault. She should not have come here so precipitately. She should have cabled ahead that she was in Lushasa, waited at the hotel in Menawi, trusted that after having come so far, Shannon would at least have the decency to come and see her.

If only he had replied to her father’s letters, but of course, they had gone to Johannesburg, and he had left no forwarding address. He could have advised them that he had left South Africa. That awful row between him and his father had been all of ten years ago now. Had he never wondered about them in all that time? Never cared to know how they were? Little wonder if this man had doubts about their relationship. Since coming to Africa, Shannon had had no contact with his family whatsoever.

That was why Joanna had impulsively boarded the train and come to Kwyana. She could not have borne for Shannon to ignore her, and by coming here she had eliminated any excuses he might make. Besides, she was eager to see him again. He had always been her hero, someone she had looked up to and admired. He had appeared to accept the fact of his parents’ divorce when he was six years old without question, and when his father had married again and subsequently produced Joanna, he had shown no jealousy. Eight years her senior, he had taught her to swim and play games as well as any boy of her age, and she had idolised him. He had never talked about his mother or her rejection of him, even though they had known she was alive and well and living in America at that time, and that was why Joanna had found his rejection of the family so hard to take when it happened. She only knew that the row he had had with his father had something to do with his mother, and he had walked out of the house and never come back. For a while her father had been terribly bitter about the whole thing, but later on he had employed a private detective to find him. The man had traced Shannon to Witwatersrand, but although they had written, he had never replied to any of their letters. And now her father was sick, slowly dying in fact, and in spite of everything insistent that Shannon should inherit the estate.

Now Joanna squared her shoulders, and said: ‘Well, I can assure you, I am Joanna Carne. And I do need to see my brother.’

The man considered her for a few moments longer, and then he said: ‘Does—Mr Carne expect you?’

Joanna sighed. ‘No.’ She paused. ‘He doesn’t even know I’m in Africa. Does it matter?’ She controlled a momentary irritation. ‘Is there any vehicle I can hire to get to the mine?’

‘There are no taxis here, mademoiselle.’ The man’s lips twisted derisively. ‘But …’ His appraisal abruptly ceased as he slapped at an insect crawling across his cheek. ‘Perhaps I could take you there myself.’

Joanna expelled her breath with some relief. ‘Oh, would you? I’d be very grateful, Mr—er—Mr——’

‘Just call me Lorenz,’ replied the man, turning away to shout more abuse at the flagging porters. Then: ‘Is this all your luggage?’

‘Yes.’ Joanna felt obliged to explain: ‘I left the rest at the hotel in Menawi.’

‘You did?’ The man called Lorenz raised dark eyebrows. ‘Then let us hope it is still there when you get back, eh?’

This was one worry Joanna refused to consider. ‘I’m sure it will be,’ she said equably, and allowed him to take her overnight case from her sticky fingers.

Her handbag swinging from her shoulder, Joanna stood waiting nervously for the unloading and loading to be through. The sun was burning the top of her head, and although she had piled up the honey blonde hair for coolness, damp strands were tumbling about her ears. She hoped her hair would be thick enough to withstand the heat of the sun, but she somehow doubted it. She felt as though every inch of clothing was sticking to her, and she thought longingly of pools of cool water, or the stinging spray of the shower back in the hotel. The water there had not been really cold, but it had been refreshing, and she longed to feel her skin tingling with cleanliness again after that interminable train journey. She was hot and grubby, and only the knowledge that Shannon was only seven miles away stopped her from climbing back aboard the train to Menawi.

‘Perhaps you would prefer to wait in the cabin, Miss Carne?’

Lorenz was back, indicating the driving cabin of the lorry, and after a moment’s hesitation Joanna nodded her thanks. She was glad she was wearing trousers as he helped her up. There was nothing ladylike about scrambling up iron footholds on to a seat that scorched like a hot tin roof. But she managed to smile down at her rescuer, and after a few moments of discomfort she could relax.

Flies buzzed in and out of the open doors, the noise outside had not abated, and her mouth felt dry and sandy. She had had nothing to eat or drink since breakfast in the hotel that morning, and as it was now afternoon, she was beginning to feel decidedly empty. An opened can of beer rested on the floor of the cabin, but the flies invading the twist-off lid made her feel sick.

After what seemed like hours, but which was in reality only about twenty minutes, Lorenz appeared below her. ‘Almost finished now, Miss Carne. Soon we will be on our way.’

Joanna forced a smile. ‘Oh, good.’ She shifted a little under that irritating scrutiny. ‘Will it take long? To get to the mine, I mean?’

Lorenz shrugged. ‘Twenty-five—thirty minutes, no more.’

‘So long?’ Joanna couldn’t prevent the exclamation.

Lorenz’s expression hardened. ‘Is not a good road, Miss Carne. You want I should break an axle?’

‘Oh, no, of course not.’ Joanna was quick to apologise. ‘You must forgive me. I—I’ve never been in Africa before.’

Lorenz shrugged and turned away, and Joanna looked frustratedly down at her hands. She didn’t want to antagonise the man, but thirty minutes to do seven miles seemed an exaggeratedly long time. She half wished there was some other way she could get there. She didn’t like Lorenz’s attitude towards her. She was convinced he did not believe that she was related to Shannon, and in his eyes, if she was not, what did that make her?

At last, a creaking and a heavy thud heralded the end of the delay. The lorry was loaded up, and Lorenz came to swing himself behind the wheel of the vehicle. The rank smell of sweat from his body as he levered himself into the cabin beside her made Joanna hold her breath for a moment, and his language when he accidentally kicked over the can of beer and sent a stream of brown liquid across his canvas-clad feet shocked and revolted her.

The engine of the vehicle started without trouble, and soon they were bumping over the siding, passing the shacks where groups of women watched them curiously, sounding the horn as almost naked children ran carelessly in their path. Then even those few signs of habitation were left behind, and they rolled heavily along a road split by the constant rays of the sun.

Joanna soon appreciated the wisdom of not travelling at speed. The lorry was built for carrying anything but passengers, and the end of her spine was soon numb from the buffeting it was receiving. From the somewhat sardonic glances Lorenz kept making in her direction, she guessed he knew exactly how she was feeling, and she determinedly put a brave face on it.

The sight of a herd of zebra some distance away across the plain brought a gasp of delight to her lips, and for a while she was diverted from her thoughts. Coming up from Menawi, she had seen little of the game for which West Africa was famous, and now she turned to Lorenz and asked him whether there were elephants and lions in this part of the country.

‘There is a national safari park, Miss Carne. You can see plenty of game there. Here—well, occasionally I have seen a family of lions, and once we had a rogue elephant causing trouble at the mine, but man brings death to the animals, so they stay away.’

Joanna shook her head. ‘That’s awful, isn’t it?’

‘Wealth, too, has its price, Miss Carne. Once the game was the gold of Africa, but no more.’

‘Are you—were you born in Lushasa, Mr—er—Lorenz?’

He looked her way. ‘No. I was born in the Cape, Miss Carne. That is, South Africa. But I found the—climate here more to my liking.’