Born Out of Love

by Anne Mather

  Charlotte was on her feet almost before he had finished speaking. ‘He doesn’t know any such thing!’ she cried. ‘And don’t ever let me hear you use that word again! You are not a—a—–’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth, biting hard. ‘Robert, you were born after Matthew and I were married. To all intents and purposes, you are our son.’

  ‘But I’m not, am I?’

  Charlotte sank down into her chair again, aware that she was trembling. ‘Robert, eat your lunch,’ she begged.

  He picked up his fork again, but his enthusiasm had gone. ‘He said my—my father was a student.’

  ‘He was.’ That at least was true.

  ‘Why didn’t you marry him?’

  Charlotte drew an unsteady breath, realising that for all his brave talk, Robert was still very much a child. ‘It was all a long time ago,’ she said inadequately.

  ‘Did you know who he was?’

  She gasped, remembering Matthew’s accusations. ‘Of course I knew.’

  ‘Then—–’

  Closing her eyes, she strove for an acceptable reason. Only one came to her: ‘He—he was already married,’ she told him reluctantly, opening her eyes apprehensively, half afraid of his censure.

  But Robert seemed almost relieved. ‘Was that all?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘All?’ she echoed faintly.

  ‘Yes. Some of the boys at school—their mothers had boy-friends. Harvo Pearson said he had so many courtesy uncles, his family tree must read like a monkey puzzle.’

  Charlotte didn’t know whether to feel shocked or relieved. That boys should discuss these things among themselves was an indication of the way things had changed since she was a child, but their understanding was both precocious and disquieting.

  ‘I don’t think I want to talk about it any more,’ she said now, pushing her scarcely-touched meal aside. ‘When—when you’re older, perhaps—–’

  ‘That’s all right, Mum,’ said Robert airily, tackling his meal once more with renewed appetite. ‘You don’t have to say anything else.’ He smiled at her. ‘Gosh, this is good! It reminds me of that chicken suprěme we used to have back—back in England. You’re a jolly good cook, considering …’

  Now Charlotte wanted him to continue. ‘Considering what?’

  ‘Well …’ Robert moved his shoulders awkwardly. ‘I mean, you weren’t used to cooking and looking after things when you came here, were you?’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘I used to help Mrs Parrish, Robert. And I helped run the play group when you were just a toddler.’

  ‘Yes, but you had it pretty easy, didn’t you?’

  Charlotte felt uneasy. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Well …’ Robert looked discomfited now.

  ‘Robert!’

  ‘Oh, it was just something Carlos said.’

  ‘Carlos?’

  ‘Yes. He said you weren’t used to hard work.’

  ‘Oh, did he?’ Charlotte’s spine prickled with resentment. ‘And what else has Carlos said about me?’

  ‘Nothing, Mum. Honestly.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’ Robert pushed back his hair with that familiar gesture. ‘Er—can I have some more chicken, please?’

  After Robert had gone for a swim later that afternoon, Charlotte was still brooding over what she had learned. Was Robert telling her the truth, or had Carlos said more than her son had admitted? And what kind of an opinion did Logan’s assistant have of her anyway? How much did he really know about that early relationship? How long would it be before he alerted Robert to the knowledge that his mother had known his employer some time before her marriage to Matthew Derby? The trouble was, Robert knew too much, and she had Matthew to thank for that. But at least she and Robert had talked, and perhaps that would ease the situation.

  She returned to the Fabergés’ towards teatime as she usually did, and was giving Isabelle her tea on the verandah when she heard Logan’s deep voice inside the bungalow. She had not seen the car earlier, so he must just have got back, and her nerves tightened painfully at the awareness of his proximity. Lisette had apparently spent the whole afternoon preparing herself for his return, and Charlotte thought the other girl had never looked more attractive. In a becoming shirt-styled cotton, her curly hair washed and shining, she had greeted Charlotte with unusual amicability, apparently delighted that Logan was coming back.

  But trying not to listen to their exchange now, Charlotte couldn’t help but be aware of the resentment in Lisette’s tones, and she wondered if she had been mistaken in assuming the other girl’s attentions had been for him. Lisette’s voice was rising, and quite clearly she heard her angry words: ‘You can’t expect me to agree, Logan! I will not have that man living in this house! If you must invite more guests than you can cater for, then you’ll have to make other arrangements!’

  ‘Lisette!’

  Logan sounded impatient, but she was adamant, and a moment later Charlotte heard her bedroom door slam.

  The silence which followed was unnerving. It was all Charlotte could do, to go on feeding Isabelle as if nothing untoward had occurred, to prevent herself from speculating on who Logan had brought back with him, and who he had asked Lisette to accommodate.

  The screen door squeaked, and she glanced round apprehensively, instantly aware of her disadvantageous position, kneeling on the boards of the verandah by Isabelle’s chair. Logan emerged to stand looking down at her moodily, his dark features ominously compressed. He was more formally dressed than she had seen him, in a beige silk suit and a bronze shirt, the matching tie pulled a couple of inches down from his loosened collar.

  Isabelle gurgled and held out a hand to him, but for once he seemed immune to the appeal of the child. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Derby,’ he greeted Charlotte politely. ‘I trust you are well.’

  Isabelle’s dish was almost empty, so leaving her to scrape up the last shreds of fruit with her spoon, Charlotte got to her feet. It was the first time she had seen him since that night on the beach, but the space between had helped to restore her composure, and she could answer him equally calmly: ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ even if she did avoid looking directly into his eyes.

  ‘Good.’ He spoke almost absently, as if he wasn’t really listening to her. Then: ‘You heard my argument with Lisette, I suppose.’

  ‘I could hardly help—–’

  ‘I am not criticising you, Charlotte,’ he snapped, and she was taken aback by the harshness of his tone. ‘It would have been impossible not to hear such—–’ He broke off abruptly. ‘You’ll know then that I have brought guests with me?’

  Charlotte bit her lip. ‘Carlos told Robert—–’ Then she, too, broke off as Logan’s eyes narrowed speculatively.

  ‘Carlos told Robert what?’ he prompted. ‘Since when are Robert and Carlos on such friendly terms?’

  Charlotte was embarrassed now, and angry too, at the way he could so easily upset her. Taking a deep breath, she went on rather desperately: ‘Carlos has very kindly spent some time with Robert while you’ve been away, and when he heard you were coming back, he said you might be bringing a—a Senhor Mendoza with you.’

  ‘I see.’ Logan inclined his head. ‘But that was not quite what I asked. However, we will leave that for the moment. My immediate concern is to find accommodation for Carlos.’

  ‘Accommodation for Carlos?’ Charlotte echoed his words uncertainly. ‘Oh—so that Senhor Mendoza can have his bedroom?’

  ‘No.’ Logan spoke evenly. ‘So that Senhorita Mendoza can have his bedroom.’

  Charlotte’s mouth went dry. ‘Senhorita …?’ She rescued Isabelle’s dish in an effort to divert Logan’s attention. Senhorita Mendoza, she said to herself in confusion. Who was Senhorita Mendoza?

  ‘Yes, Senhorita Mendoza,’ repeated Logan patiently. ‘Manoel’s daughter, Elaine.’

  ‘His daughter?’ Charlotte realised she was making a mess of this. ‘I’m sorry.’ She straightened, the d
ish in her hand much to Isabelle’s vociferous annoyance. ‘Carlos didn’t—that is, I didn’t realise you were expecting two guests.’

  ‘It was a sudden decision,’ stated Logan flatly. ‘Elaine wanted to come with her father. She’s never been to Avocado Cay before, and this was the ideal opportunity.’

  ‘With her father?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you can’t accommodate her?’

  ‘On the contrary, I can’t accommodate Carlos.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Charlotte, Manoel can share my room, and Elaine will be very comfortable in Carlos’s bed. Naturally, I can’t ask her to sleep elsewhere.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Logan gave her a narrow look. ‘Are you being sarcastic?’

  Isabelle’s protests were becoming intrusive, and bending, Charlotte lifted the little girl into her arms. Then she looked at Logan again. ‘No,’ she answered him steadily. ‘Of course not.’ But she was—or at the least cynical, and he knew it. But who was this Elaine Mendoza? What was she to Logan? Another woman in his life? Why would she come to Avocado Cay unless …

  Her speculations went no further. It was no business of hers, and the sooner she stopped behaving as if it was, the easier it would be.

  Logan seemed to come to a decision. In two strides he had crossed the verandah and was descending the steps to the beach. Across the dunes, she could see Carlos unloading cases from the station wagon and carrying them into the beach house. No doubt Logan thought he had neglected his guests long enough, and irritation made her offer what common decency would not.

  ‘Tell Lisette. I’ll see her later,’ he threw over his shoulder, but she called him back: ‘Logan—wait!’

  ‘Yes?’ He halted halfway down the steps, wary eyes on a level with hers.

  ‘Robert—I know Robert wouldn’t mind if Carlos shared his room,’ she said quickly. ‘So as not to inconvenience your guests!’

  A savage expression crossed his lean face. For a moment she thought he was going to refuse her offer, and then he tugged angrily at his tie, pulling it off in one violent gesture. ‘Thank you,’ he said, through tight lips. ‘I’ll tell him what you’ve said.’

  Charlotte watched him stride away across the sand, taking off his jacket as he went and throwing it over one shoulder. If she could only remember the painful things, she thought despairingly, instead of torturing herself with the bitter-sweet memories of love …

  Lisette appeared as soon as Logan had gone which made Charlotte suspicious that the other girl had been listening to their conversation. Her face was streaked with mascara, however, and it was obvious that she had been crying.

  ‘Well,’ she said, glaring at Charlotte. ‘So now we know, don’t we?’

  ‘Know what?’ Charlotte was bewildered.

  ‘Who our friends are!’ retorted Lisette, sniffing. ‘I suppose you thought offering Carlos a bed was a clever device, didn’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Don’t give me that.’ Lisette fumbled for her cigarettes. ‘Logan didn’t ask you to interfere, did he? You offered.’

  ‘Well, why not?’ Charlotte stared at her helplessly. ‘Where else could he go?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Here? But you—–’

  ‘You heard Logan say he was coming back later, didn’t you? He knew I didn’t really mean it. Only I was so mad about—about—–’ She lit the cigarette with trembling ineptitude, throwing the match to the floor as it burned her fingers. ‘Well, anyway, you needn’t get any ideas in that direction. Dear Elaine’s got it all nicely tied up.’

  Isabelle was getting heavy, and Charlotte had intended to take her for a walk before it was time for her bath. But much against her better judgment, Lisette’s conversation was becoming infinitely more appealing.

  ‘You—know Elaine Mendoza?’ she ventured reluctantly.

  ‘Yes.’ Lisette drew deeply on her cigarette. ‘I know Elaine Mendoza.’

  ‘What—what is she like?’

  Lisette’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?’

  Charlotte went scarlet. ‘I—well, I was interested …’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure.’ Lisette settled her ample curves into a lounger. ‘Well, why not?’ She looked up at her through a veil of smoke. ‘Elaine is one of those luscious Portuguese women—all almond eyes and olive skin. And fortunately for her, her mother is dead, and her father lets her have anything she wants.’

  ‘I see.’ Charlotte wasn’t sure she wanted to hear any more, but Lisette wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘I met her in Rio about a year ago. You can imagine what I looked like then—six months pregnant, and about two stones overweight! Pierre …’ Her voice faltered for the first time when she used her husband’s name. ‘Pierre was with me, of course, and Logan, too. Elaine was just back from two years at a European finishing school, and believe me, no one was more “finished” than she was. Even Pierre positively melted beneath those liquid Latin eyes.’

  ‘You make her sound quite formidable,’ Charlotte remarked, attempting a carelessness that didn’t quite come off.

  ‘She knows what she wants,’ said Lisette dryly. ‘And right now Senhorita Mendoza is planning to be Senhora Kennedy.’

  Charlotte had guessed, of course. Why else would a young woman with Elaine Mendoza’s advantages want to come to Avocado Cay? There was nothing here, no theatres or nightclubs, not even an hotel. And the pleasure of sea and sand could be enjoyed just as well in St Thomas.

  ‘Does that upset you?’ Lisette asked now, and Charlotte quickly composed her features.

  ‘Why should it upset me?’ she countered.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Lisette frowned. ‘I don’t get the relationship between you and Logan, but it’s there, I know it.’

  ‘You’re imagining things.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Lisette was very positive. ‘Anyway, I just thought I’d let you know you’re wasting your time.’

  Charlotte turned away. ‘I’m taking Isabelle for a walk. I’ll collect Philippe from the Stevens’, shall I?’

  Lisette shrugged moodily. ‘If you like.’ Then she kicked off her sandals, saying maliciously: ‘It doesn’t work, you know. Ignoring the obvious. Don’t think I haven’t tried?’

  Charlotte put Isabelle into the canvas pram, and after fastening the straps over her chubby shoulders, pushed her up the track towards the village. Was she so transparent? she thought anxiously. If Lisette could see how Logan’s presence disturbed her, could he see it, too?

  It was almost a relief to talk to the Stevens. Michael Stevens had left a lucrative practice in South London five years before, to come and live on San Cristobal. His wife, Helen, had borne their two children here, and they seemed happier with the simple life. Philippe spent nearly all his time with four-year-old Tony, and his three-year-old sister, Anna, and Charlotte envied them their free-and-easy way of living. Helen had been a teacher, and she had endless patience with children, which was just as well, Charlotte thought, for Philippe’s sake.

  When she was walking back to her own bungalow that evening Robert came running to meet her, his eyes wide with excitement.

  ‘Hey,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is it right? Is Carlos coming to stay with us?’

  Charlotte was hot and tired after another of Lisette’s tantrums, brought on no doubt by her dissatisfaction with the arrangements at Logan’s house. She was in no mood to share her son’s enthusiasm for an unwanted guest, and besides, how did Robert know anything about it?

  ‘I thought I asked you to keep out of the way this afternoon?’ she exclaimed, recalling her parting instructions.

  Robert looked indignant. ‘I did.’ He hunched his shoulders, falling into step beside her. ‘Mr Kennedy came to see me.’

  Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yes.’ Robert sniffed. ‘You always think the worst of me, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, no, no!’ Charlotte shook her head
. ‘What did—Mr Kennedy say?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  Charlotte gave him an old-fashioned look, and he made a rueful grimace. ‘Well …’ he sighed, ‘he asked whether I would mind if Carlos put up a bed in my room. I said no, naturally. I mean, it’ll be fun, won’t it? Having someone else living in the bungalow. And Carlos knows all about snorkelling and scuba diving and—–’

  ‘I’m sure Carlos is a mine of information,’ returned Charlotte dryly, ‘but he’s not coming to stay with us, Robert. Just to sleep here. Mr Kennedy has guests—–’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Robert grinned. ‘Miss Mendoza! I’ve seen her. She came to find Mr Kennedy.’ He raised his eyebrows expressively.

  Charlotte ignored the gesture and went up the steps into the bungalow. It was pleasant to be in her own home again, even if it was a temporary thing at best. And soon not to be entirely hers either, she thought wearily.

  Carlos arrived with a camp bed and a sleeping bag after darkness had deepened the barrier of trees that separated them from the village. He entered the bungalow almost diffidently when Robert opened the door, and Charlotte guessed he was not wholly happy with the arrangements either.

  Robert showed him into his bedroom, and Charlotte could hear them talking together. There was an easy camaraderie between them that evidenced their growing relationship, and she wished there was someone she could talk to so easily.

  When Carlos emerged again, it was to say goodnight, and Charlotte looked at him uncertainly. ‘Do you usually keep such early hours?’ she asked, and a look of embarrassment crossed his dark face.

  ‘Mr Logan, he thought perhaps you went early to bed, Mrs Derby,’ he replied, and she sighed.

  ‘Not at nine o’clock, Carlos.’ She looked up at her son. ‘Robert goes at this time, of course, but there’s no need for you to emulate him, unless you want to.’

  Robert’s expression mirrored his disappointment. ‘But Mum …’

  ‘Your mother is right, Robert.’ To her surprise and relief Carlos backed her up. ‘A boy should get his sleep. How else can he expect to be fit enough to learn all the things he has to learn?’