Images Of Love

by Anne Mather

‘Right, I’ll leave you to get dressed, then,’ Mark said now, without making any attempt to touch her. ‘I should warn you, Mother’s in no fit state herself this morning, so don’t do anything to annoy her, will you?’

  ‘Oh!’ Tobie’s stomach plunged. Surely Robert’s mother hadn’t observed her son’s visit to their guest’s rooms last night. Surely that wasn’t the reason for her indisposition.

  ‘I guess it’s Rob, as usual,’ Mark added, unknowingly answering her question. ‘He and Cilla leaving for Miami like that, without even saying goodbye.’

  Tobie’s shoulders sagged. Of course! How could she have been so stupid? Robert and Cilla were leaving for Miami this morning. For a few moments she had forgotten it. For a few moments she had been anticipating meeting him again. But now it all swam into perspective. Last night’s visit could not have been better planned. Robert’s departure this morning ensured that she should not have the opportunity of taxing him with his duplicity, and by the time he returned, she and Mark would be getting ready to leave. If indeed she could wait that long before escaping from this impossible situation …

  ‘They—they’ve gone?’ she asked now, unnecessarily, aware of Mark’s speculative gaze, and he nodded.

  ‘Early,’ he agreed. ‘Jim Matheson picked them up. Mother is furious. But like I told her, Rob never would respond to coercion.’

  ‘Coercion?’ Tobie echoed faintly, and Mark nodded again.

  ‘Last night, after you’d gone to bed. After Cilla and her father had gone home. Mother put it to him that he was doing no good, encouraging Cilla, that he had no right to let her think he might marry her. Rob’s not going to marry anybody. Like I told you, he’s not a well man. He needs peace and tranquillity to work, something to sustain his interest. Not the trials and tribulations of a relationship that could never be more than platonic.’

  Tobie almost choked, but she managed to change it into a cough before saying: ‘How—how do you know that? Why do you say—Robert’s impotent? How can you be so sure?’

  Mark shrugged. ‘It’s the paralysis,’ he explained, half impatiently. ‘By now, if there was going to be any marked improvement, it would have been evident. He should have been on his feet, walking; but you’ve seen him. He can barely drag himself across the floor on those two sticks. God knows how he manages to dress and undress himself. It must be a constant battle. But he won’t let anyone help him. He insists he can manage. Only his physician knows the whole truth, of course, but having spoken to him, I’m not optimistic.’

  Tobie shook her head. She could have told him that Robert could walk. She could have told him that the improvement he had looked for was there. But for some reason she didn’t. Just as she had never betrayed Robert’s early morning swim in the pool, or his independence of the sticks she had first noticed at his studio that day. She didn’t know why she felt this need to respect his confidence. Certainly it was not through any respect he had for her. But, in spite of everything, she knew he had his reasons for keeping his real condition to himself, and having denied him so much, she could not take that away from him.

  ‘Anyway,’ Mark went on now, ‘there’s no point in wishing things were different. Rob’s disabled. That’s all there is to it. And it’s to be hoped he comes to his senses before submitting Cilla to the kind of life she would be forced to lead with him.’

  Tobie licked her dry lips. ‘Perhaps Cilla wouldn’t mind,’ she ventured, but Mark only snorted.

  ‘Cilla’s a woman, like other women,’ he declared. ‘She may think otherwise now, but sooner or later she’ll want more. She’ll want children, a real family. And that’s something Rob can’t give her.’

  Tobie hesitated, and then she said deliberately: ‘They could adopt a child—’only to break off in shocked surprise when Mark uncharacteristically swore at her.

  ‘Adopt a child!’ He went on angrily. ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid! They can’t adopt a child! My mother wouldn’t want some snotty-nosed kid who wasn’t even her grandchild running about Soledad! There are valuable things here—china, porcelain, paintings! Why, the house is a veritable goldmine! Do you think we would stand for somebody else’s bastard inheriting Emerald Cay? You must be out of your mind!’ And with a gesture of frustration he stormed out of the room.

  Tobie remained where she was several minutes after the door had banged behind him. It was incredible, but until then she had not known Mark had a temper. She supposed it was unnatural to think that he might not have one, particularly as his mother and brother exhibited theirs so freely, but Mark had always seemed so meek, somehow, so biddable, and to find herself facing an implacable force seemed totally alien to her.

  Nevertheless, nothing could alter the fact that so far as Mark and his mother were concerned, Emerald Cay was their home, and they obviously intended to keep it that way. She wondered for the first time if they really cared about Robert at all, except as a provider. Could it possibly be true that his words to her, which had seemed so cynical at the time, had some basis in fact? Had his mother only effected a reconciliation after the accident because she suspected he was going to die? It was ghoulish, but after listening to Mark she had to consider it. Was his mother’s only reason for living here a way of ensuring her younger son an inheritance? Did she really care so little for Robert?

  Tobie felt shaken as she got out of bed. What a tangled coil it was, she thought sickly, and she had contributed to it by coming here. If only she could leave now, today, before anything else happened. And yet, deep inside her, she knew an almost pathological desire to stay and witness their astonishment when Robert revealed the truth.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ROBERT and Cilla returned three days later.

  Tobie was sunbathing beside the pool when she saw the Cessna circling the island prior to landing, and her skin prickled uneasily at the prospect of their eventual encounter. She didn’t know what to expect of him, how he intended to treat her. And only stubbornness, and determination, and a kind of wilful masochism, kept her from making for the comparative sanctuary of Mark’s presence.

  Mark was indoors, helping his mother with her correspondence. During the past couple of days he had spent a lot of time with his mother, and his embarrassment at neglecting Tobie was painfully evident. Yet, for all that, he seemed incapable of refusing his mother anything, and Tobie thought how fortunate it was that she was not desperately in love with Mark. She doubted the situation would have been any different, and with uncharacteristic cynicism she acknowledged that even love would have faltered under such duress.

  In the circumstances, it had proved providential. The last thing she wanted now was Mark making some concerted assault on her emotions. Much better if they could complete their holiday without any distressing scene, and back in London it would be easier to make the break. It was strange how living with someone day to day revealed traits in their make-up one had hitherto not observed. Living with Robert had been like that, too, but whereas Mark had displayed a weakness in his character she had not suspected, Robert had proved stronger than both of them.

  Living with Robert …

  Resting back on her elbows, Tobie allowed her thoughts to drift. She remembered how shocked Laura had been when she had told her sister what she intended to do. Laura’s world only encompassed engagements and marriage, diamond rings and orange blossom—she could not understand her younger sister’s determination to share an apartment with a man who had not even mentioned a permanent commitment.

  She had tried to dissuade her. Her husband Dave, Tobie’s brother-in-law, had even gone to see Robert, much to Tobie’s mortification, and demanded to know what his game was. Somehow Robert had convinced him he was not the lecherous brute they imagined. Indeed, on occasion Laura and Dave had had dinner with them at the apartment, but once Tobie knew she was pregnant, things had started to go wrong.

  She sighed now, rolling on to her stomach, exposing the honey-tanned skin of her back to the sun. Had she been so naïve? Why had she forced the is
sue like that? She should have known Robert was not someone one could force into anything. What had Mark said? He didn’t respond to coercion? That was true. And she supposed her clumsy efforts to make her feelings known had sounded like coercion to him.

  She circled her lips with her tongue. What might have happened if Robert hadn’t had his accident? Would things have been different? If she had not had to suffer the humiliation of being turned away from the hospital. If she had known he had suffered amnesia …

  She cupped her chin on one hand. Who had been responsible for denying her access to his presence? she wondered. Who had announced that he didn’t want to see her? Who had made that cruel statement, which had aroused such desperation inside her that she had lost the baby? It couldn’t have been Robert, she realised, with sudden insight, not if he had been as broken up as he said. So who had driven her away from the hospital, and into Mark’s professional hands?

  The sound of a car engine in the courtyard below precluded her speculation, and presently she heard the whisper of Robert’s chair wheels being propelled up the slope to the patio. With sudden nervousness she sat up, crossing her legs half defensively, belatedly aware of the scant protection offered by the dark brown bikini.

  Cilla was wheeling his chair, her small face flushed and vivacious, as if she was well pleased with life. For once she was wearing a skirt instead of shorts, and her lime green shirt was made of the same ribbed cotton.

  Robert, as usual, wore denim, his shirt open at the neck to expose the tanned column of his throat. He, too, appeared in the best of spirits, although there were lines of weariness around his eyes, as if, Tobie thought jealously, he had been burning the candle at both ends.

  Avoiding his eyes, she looked first at Cilla’s hands, or more particularly at the third finger of her left hand, and her relief when she saw no ring there was almost palpable. At least Robert had not taken the opportunity to get engaged while he was in Miami, though it was possible he had bought a ring and was waiting to ask Harvey’s permission.

  ‘Tobie.’

  He was acknowledging her now, and with an effort she forced herself to respond. ‘Wel-welcome home,’ she got out jerkily, the words almost choking her, and she saw the sardonic compression of his mouth.

  She hoped Cilla would not notice how quickly she was breathing, or how difficult it was to control the colour in her face. But nothing could prevent her awareness of the last time Robert had seen her, and the memory of his cruelty was impossible to erase. How could she love someone who continually hurt her, she wondered, while her eyes searched his face for some sign of compassion. And why should he assume her complicity, when she knew now she had nothing to lose?

  ‘We’ve had a marvellous time!’ Cilla chose that moment to make her own contribution. ‘We haven’t had a free minute, Tobie, honestly. It’s been really tremendous!’

  ‘I’m so pleased.’ Tobie’s words sounded stiff, even to her ears, but with Robert’s eyes upon her, assessing her every move, it was impossible to relax. With an unknowingly graceful movement she got to her feet, reaching for the protection of a towel and adding: ‘Would you like me to order you some tea?’

  ‘Not for me.’ Robert’s refusal was abrupt. ‘What I want most is a shower and a change of clothes. If you’ll both excuse me …’

  Tobie stood aside obediently as he propelled his chair towards the open windows, and then, aware that Cilla was looking at her, she turned to the girl, forcing a smile.

  ‘How about you?’ she suggested, moving her shoulders enquiringly. ‘Or are you in a hurry to get home?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Cilla lounged casually on to the swing couch. ‘Robert’s eating with us tonight, so I’ll just wait for him. But if you want some tea, I’ll share it with you.’

  It was not what Tobie wanted at all. She felt a curious resentment that Robert should choose to dine with the Jennings on his first night home, and her antagonism towards the other girl made her feel quite sick. She knew the craziest impulse to tell Cilla about her and Robert, to wipe that smug expression from her face once and for all. But instead she nodded politely, summoned Monique, and sustained her composure until Mark appeared.

  ‘Hey, you’re back!’ he exclaimed, greeting Cilla with evident pleasure. ‘I thought I heard the plane. Where’s Rob?’

  ‘He’s gone to change,’ replied Cilla easily, making room for him to join her on the couch. ‘Tobie’s ordered some tea. Why don’t you join us?’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Mark’s enthusiasm began to irritate Tobie. ‘What could be nicer than sharing afternoon tea with two beautiful girls? I’d better make the most of it before Rob comes back.’

  Cilla laughed, and Tobie turned to stare broodingly down towards the harbour. She felt tense and disorientated, and fleetingly wondered whether she might not be suffering from a mild sunstroke. It would be nice to think she could find physical reasons for her physical and emotional condition, but somehow she doubted it.

  ‘Did you have a good time, then?’ Mark was asking now, and Tobie thought, rather spitefully, that Cilla had only been waiting for such an opportunity.

  ‘Oh, we had a wonderful time!’ she assured him eagerly. ‘We stayed in this fantastic hotel at Bal Harbour, and we ate in a different restaurant every night. We went to a casino one evening, and do you know, I won over two hundred dollars! Isn’t that incredible? I spent it all the next day on the most beautiful evening gown you’ve ever seen. I’ve bought heaps of things, clothes, and souvenirs. I bought Daddy a new pipe and some tobacco, and Robert insisted on adding a bottle of his favourite cognac.’

  The arrival of Monique with the tray of tea concluded this monologue, much to Tobie’s relief. She had the maid set the tray on a low table beside her own chair, and took charge of its distribution with real enthusiasm. Even Mrs Newman’s appearance did not interrupt her concentration, even when the older woman looked askance at her informal attire.

  ‘So you’re home, Cilla,’ Mrs Newman remarked, in somewhat cool tones. ‘I didn’t hear Henri leave with the car.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ said Cilla, a little uncomfortably now. ‘We used the Mini.’

  ‘Ah, yes. As you did the morning you left,’ Mark’s mother observed acidly. ‘I’m surprised at you, Cilla. You didn’t even say goodbye.’

  Cilla licked her lips. ‘We left very early, Mrs Newman,’ she averred defensively. ‘Robert didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘I’m well aware of my son’s propensity for discourtesy—however, I had thought better of you, Cilla,’ the older woman persisted coldly, and to her surprise, Tobie’s sympathies were with the girl now.

  ‘I expect Cilla was too excited at the prospect of the trip,’ she interposed lightly, earning a grateful smile. ‘Why don’t you ask her whether she enjoyed herself? As they’re home safely, it doesn’t really matter how they left, does it?’

  ‘When I want your opinion, Tobie, I shall ask for it,’ Mrs Newman declared sharply, switching her attention to her. ‘And just as a point of interest, one doesn’t normally serve tea in a bikini.’

  ‘Why? Because it runs through the holes?’ enquired a dry voice behind them, and Cilla giggled uncontrollably in a release of tension.

  ‘Of course, I would expect a remark like that from you, Robert,’ his mother commented bleakly, as her son wheeled his chair into their midst. ‘Do I take it you endorse Miss Kennedy’s appearance? I’m not sure Cilla would appreciate that any more than I do.’

  Tobie’s face burned, Mark looked uncomfortable, and Cilla assumed an embarrassed silence. It was only in the aftermath that Tobie realised how cleverly Mrs Newman had manipulated the situation. By drawing everyone’s attention to Robert’s apparent approval of Tobie’s provocative appearance, she had successfully alienated all of them, and created an atmosphere charged with emotion.

  ‘Any man worth the name would appreciate Tobie’s appearance.’ Robert responded now without reticence. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Mark?’

  ‘What? Oh—yes.�
�� Mark shifted awkwardly in his seat, more susceptible to his mother’s censorious gaze. ‘Of course.’ He made an apologetic gesture, although to whom Tobie could not be quite sure. ‘Eh—Tobie knows how I feel,’ he finished ambiguously.

  Tobie said nothing. Instead, she concentrated on the fragile china cup in her hands, unwilling to get any further involved in family conflict, and Cilla, recovering from her embarrassment, said:

  ‘I think Tobie looks jolly nice. I wish I looked as good in a bikini.’

  ‘Oh, well—obviously I’m old-fashioned.’ With tightened lips Mrs Newman endeavoured to retire unscathed, but Robert had other ideas.

  ‘I don’t agree, Mother,’ he remarked, helping himself to a sandwich from the tray. ‘Old-fashioned—that evokes an image of old-world charm and humour, of integrity and loyalty, and faithfulness; marriage vows, silly little things that used to mean something. Oh, no—’ He paused, and Tobie saw the condemnation in his eyes and was chilled by it. ‘I wouldn’t call you old-fashioned, Mother. You had no time for such trivia in your youth, as we all know.’

  ‘Rob, honestly!’

  ‘Robert!’

  Mark’s indignant ejaculation just preceded the cry that issued from Cilla’s lips, and Mrs Newman’s face froze. Only Tobie was not truly shocked by what he had said. On the contrary, remembering the antagonism between them, she was surprised it had not flared up before this. And while she could sympathise with his mother’s humiliation, she could not deny that Mrs Newman had brought this upon herself.

  Mark had sprung to his feet to go to his mother’s side, however, and now he turned on his brother angrily. ‘Can’t you let that old history remain dead and buried, Rob?’ he demanded, putting a reassuring arm about his mother’s shoulders. ‘My God! You didn’t suffer by it. You were too young. And Mother saw that you were well cared for. Why don’t you just forget it?’

  ‘Forget my father’s death, you mean?’ asked Robert, with deceptive mildness, and Mark’s chin jutted, accentuating the differences between them.