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 eyes, and a wide sensuous mouth, her dark hair confined with madonna-like severity at the nape of her neck, she was unlike any nurse Joanna had ever seen, and her presence in this room emphasised the gulf which had opened between Shannon and his family more surely than the distance of miles could have done.
‘You—are Shannon’s sister?’ The woman shook her head now. Then: ‘What are you doing here—Miss Carne? Your brother is ill, as you can see. Please wait outside and I will speak with you after I have attended to my patient.’
The way she said those words made them an order, not a request, and the curtness of her tone caught Joanna on the raw. She had travelled thousands of miles to find her brother, and he was her brother, after all. How dared this woman, this stranger, nurse or otherwise, order her out of his bedroom?
‘There was no one about when I arrived,’ she stated, annoyed to hear the defensive note in her voice. ‘I let myself in, and when I heard—groaning, I came to see if there was anything I could do.’
‘Well, there is not.’ The nurse’s eyes were coolly appraising as she held up her hand to reveal the syringe she was holding. ‘As I have already suggested, if you will wait outside …’
‘What is that?’ Joanna looked anxious.
The nurse sighed, displaying the tolerance she might have shown to a child. ‘It is quinine, Miss Carne. Nothing more alarming than that. Now, if you don’t mind …’
Joanna almost protested, but one look at Shannon still tossing on the bed silenced her. Arguing with this woman was only delaying his treatment, and she had the feeling she would be wasting her time anyway. With a shrug of her shoulders, she walked towards the door, and as she reached it she looked back and saw the woman drawing down the sheet and taking Shannon’s right arm between her fingers. Joanna watched for a moment longer, and then, as the woman turned impatient eyes in her direction, she pressed her lips together and left the room.
JOANNA paced up and down the living room, her cork-soled sandals squeaking on the rubber-tiled floor. But she was too disturbed to sit and wait patiently for the nurse to come and speak to her, and with every minute that passed she grew more and more frustrated. How much longer was she to be kept waiting? What was going on in Shannon’s bedroom? Surely it didn’t take this long to give someone an injection.
There was the sound of footsteps behind her, and she swung round in relief, only to find a black youth in white shirt and shorts staring at her from the open doorway. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him, but like the nurse he obviously considered he had the prior authority here.
‘You waiting to see Mr Carne, missus?’ he asked frowning. ‘You can’t. He sick. He not seeing anyone.’
Joanna sighed. ‘I know he’s sick, but I have seen him.’ Then as his dark eyes mirrored his alarm, she hastened on: ‘I’m Mr Carne’s sister. From England.’ She waited until this was absorbed, and then added a question of her own. ‘Who are you?’
The youth looked taken aback. ‘Jacob, missus,’ he answered reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder. ‘You seen Miss Camilla?’
‘Miss Camilla?’ Joanna folded her arms, supporting her chin with the knuckles of one hand. ‘Would that be—the nurse?’
Jacob nodded. ‘Miss Camilla looking after Mr Carne.’
Joanna inclined her head. ‘Yes, I’ve seen her.’ She paused in front of him. ‘Do you work for Mr Carne?’
Jacob shifted under her scrutiny. ‘I Mr Carne’s houseboy,’ he admitted, his chin jutting proudly. ‘Jacob best houseboy in Kwyana.’
