by Anne Mather
‘Really?’ Lisette sounded sceptical, and Charlotte couldn’t altogether blame her. She was far too sensitive where Logan was concerned, and Lisette had time enough to speculate on the inconsistencies of her story.
‘How did you meet your husband?’ she asked now, and Charlotte could not evade an answer.
‘As a matter of fact, Matthew knew my mother,’ she admitted, at last. ‘When my parents both died, he—he looked after me.’
‘Adopted you, you mean?’ Clearly, Lisette was intrigued.
‘No, no, nothing like that.’ Charlotte caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘He just gave me a home, that’s all.’
‘And when you were old enough, he married you?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But …’ Lisette frowned, ‘if he knew your parents, surely he must have been quite a bit older than you were.’
‘Yes, he was.’
Lisette shook her head. ‘How much older?’
‘Does it matter?’ Charlotte had had enough of her questions. ‘Lots of girls marry older men.’
‘Not usually straight out of the schoolroom, they don’t,’ asserted Lisette. ‘Heavens, how old is that boy of yours? Eleven? Twelve? You must have been about sixteen! Didn’t you have any boy-friends of your own age?’
‘I’d really rather not talk about it,’ said Charlotte obstinately, realising that if she was not careful, Lisette might fasten on to the real truth of the situation.
‘Why not?’ Lisette examined the glowing tip of her cigarette. ‘I guess you knew which side your bread was buttered, didn’t you?’
Charlotte ignored that remark. ‘I’ll be back in about an hour,’ she said, carrying Isabelle to the door, and Lisette pursed her lips irritably.
‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded. ‘Can’t you stand to talk about him? You don’t strike me as being particularly heartbroken by his death.’
‘It’s not that …’
‘Then what is it?’ Lisette shrugged. ‘Oh, I know he didn’t leave you anything. Logan told me that before you got here.’
‘Did he?’ Charlotte felt angry.
‘Yes.’ She grimaced. ‘He said he’d hired some widow whose husband had left her without funds. I thought it was a pretty rotten thing for anybody to do.’
‘Yes. Well, it wasn’t quite that simple …’
‘No?’ Lisette raised her eyebrows. ‘Why? What was he like? Was he handsome? Did he have stacks of money? Was that why you married him?’
‘No!’ Suddenly Charlotte wanted to defend herself. ‘I—it may surprise you to know that I was very—fond of Matthew,’ she declared. ‘He—he wasn’t particularly handsome, that’s true, although he did look rather distinguished. But—well, he was always very kind to me. I don’t care about his money. His family are welcome to it. That wasn’t why I married him.’
‘Wasn’t it?’
Unaware, she had pushed open the door to the verandah with her hip, and while she was still talking to Lisette, Logan had come up behind her, his hand reaching past her to take the weight of the self-closing hinge. His nearness was disconcerting, as too was the scent of sweat from his body, and she started violently, holding so tightly on to Isabelle that the little girl began to protest loudly at being squeezed.
Lisette got up out of her chair and came to join them. ‘Logan!’ she exclaimed, more warmly when she saw he was alone. ‘Come on in.’
‘Thank you.’
He took another step forward, and Charlotte had perforce to retreat into the room again to avoid him walking into her.
‘I was just leaving,’ she said, resenting the power he had over her, when even his appearance could set her pulses racing. ‘Come along, Isabelle.’
‘I’d rather you stayed,’ Logan remarked, quietly, and now it was Lisette’s turn to look annoyed.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘No.’ Logan shook his head, looking infuriatingly calm, and Charlotte, guessing why he was here, wished she had not allowed Lisette to detain her. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to ask whether you’d have any objections if Charlotte took tomorrow off.’
Lisette looked taken aback. ‘Took tomorrow off?’ she echoed. ‘You mean—the whole day?’
Logan’s expression was wry. ‘Yes, the whole day. It may have slipped your notice, but she hasn’t had any time off since she started here.’
Lisette turned angrily to Charlotte. ‘Have you been complaining?’ she demanded.
‘No, I haven’t.’ Charlotte was indignant. She turned angrily to Logan. ‘This is not my idea!’
‘No. It’s mine,’ he agreed evenly. He looked at Lisette. ‘Well? What do you say?’
‘What do I say?’ Lisette’s lips worked soundlessly for a minute. ‘What can I say? You’re the boss.’
Logan’s jaw hardened. ‘You’ll agree that all employees deserve some free time?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’ Lisette flushed.
‘Good.’ Logan turned to Charlotte again. ‘It’s agreed, then?’
Charlotte wished she could refuse, but she had more to lose than he realised. ‘I—I suppose so.’
‘What’s agreed?’ Lisette looked suspicious.
‘I’m going to teach Charlotte the rudiments of underwater exploration,’ he replied, much to their mutual surprise.
‘I see.’ Lisette was first to recover. She gave Charlotte a narrow look. ‘You didn’t mention this before.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Charlotte protested. Then as an idea occurred to her, she added: ‘Why? Would you like to go in my place?’
‘Lisette doesn’t swim,’ put in Logan dryly. ‘Do you, Lisette?’
Lisette sniffed. ‘I can’t, can I? I have this ear condition,’ she explained, for Charlotte’s benefit. ‘Swimming aggravates it.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Charlotte forced a smile for Isabelle’s benefit. ‘Well …’
‘You’re leaving?’ suggested Logan, with annoying accuracy. ‘Don’t let me detain you any longer.’
The screen door banged behind her, and she wished his head had been in it. He had an irritating knack of always putting her on the spot, and now to add to her difficulties, Lisette was angry with her.
She pushed Isabelle’s pram up to the village, collecting an assortment of helpers on the way. Philippe and the Stevens’ children always attached themselves to her on her walks, but she had no illusions that the iced lolly she bought them at the tiny stores was not the attraction. Avocado Cay was really not much more than a collection of houses and a tavern, without any of the tourist attractions to be found in the larger resorts. Maybe at San Cristobal it was possible to hire a boat or go water-skiing, but according to Carlos, there were no large hotels there either. As yet, the island was unspoiled, and no doubt that was why Logan had chosen it for his explorations.
Thinking about Logan brought the morning’s events back into focus, and she wondered what life here would have been like without his presence. It would certainly have been more restful, she thought, but would she have stayed on even so after the initial month was up? If Lisette Fabergé had been the Frenchwoman she had envisaged, and her husband simply a marine biologist, and not the man who had fathered her child and abandoned her, would she have been content? If she was completely honest with herself, she doubted it. Robert might not have found Monsieur Fabergé as sympathetic as Carlos, or Logan either, for that matter; and she knew now that he needed masculine company for at least part of the time. From her own point of view, San Cristobal had represented an escape, but from this distance the problems she had faced in England seemed paltry somehow. But was that because of what she had found here? she wondered, remembering that the Derbys had the power to strip the legitimacy of Robert’s birth away from her.
She saw Helen Stevens working in her garden, and stopped to speak to her. The Stevens’ bungalow was large and sprawling, its geography governed by their needs. Already a bedroom had been added, and a surgery where Michael coul
d attend to his ever-increasing panel of patients; and as Helen had confided that she was pregnant again, Charlotte guessed that before long another room would be needed.
Helen was working in the vegetable garden. With admirable determination, she was attempting to grow peas and beans and potatoes, and the tall canes almost hid her from sight. But she stood up when she saw Charlotte approaching with the children, and said eagerly: ‘Have you time for a coffee? I could do with a break.’
Charlotte hesitated. The delay would mean she would be out longer than the hour she had estimated, but as she had both children with her, she decided to accept.
It was cool in the Stevens’ kitchen, and she deposited Isabelle on the floor among a pile of building bricks which Anna and Tony had abandoned. The three older children were having orange juice and biscuits outside in the shade of the verandah and the sound of their voices drifting in through the open doorway was relaxing.
Helen made the coffee, and then seated herself opposite Charlotte at the pinewood table. ‘This is very pleasant, isn’t it?’ she smiled. ‘I just needed an excuse to sit down for a while.’
Charlotte lifted the thin cotton of her shirt away from her back. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she confessed. ‘I think if I was pregnant, I’d be spending my time taking it easy.’
Helen shook her head. ‘No, you wouldn’t. You’re not the type. Lisette—yes. You—no!’
Charlotte looked down into her cup, not wanting to be drawn into a discussion about Lisette, but Helen was not to be diverted. ‘I think it’s a pity if a young woman like her can’t look after her own home and children! Good heavens, she doesn’t even have a man about the place making a mess of everything you do!’
‘Is that what Michael does?’ inquired Charlotte dryly, and Helen smiled again, more ruefully this time.
‘Oh, no. He’s very good really. But you know what I mean.’
‘If Lisette didn’t need anyone to help her, I wouldn’t be here,’ Charlotte pointed out.
‘No,’ Helen conceded thoughtfully, tugging at a strand of brown hair. Like Lisette, she wore her hair short, but whereas Lisette’s was inclined to curl, Helen’s hair was definitely straight. Charlotte guessed she had once been an elegant woman, but now she seldom bothered with her hair or her nails, and went around mostly in shirts and slacks that did nothing for her somewhat angular figure. ‘But you won’t stay here, will you?’
Helen’s words, coming so soon on her own thoughts along the same lines, startled her, and she took a few moments before she replied: ‘I don’t think so.’
‘I thought not.’ Helen grimaced. ‘What I can’t understand is why you took the job in the first place.’
Charlotte raised her cup to her lips, hoping Helen would put her heated cheeks down to the temperature of the coffee. ‘I wanted a complete change,’ she said.
‘Well, you certainly got that,’ remarked Helen dryly. ‘So what’s changed your mind? Lisette?’
‘No.’ Charlotte shook her head. ‘I—I have Robert to consider.’
‘You always did.’
‘Yes, well, I suppose I didn’t realise the—conditions would be so different from what he’s used to.’
‘Is he unhappy, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, he’s not unhappy …’
‘I thought not. Philippe says he’s always with Carlos. I think that young man’s had his nose put out of joint since Robert took over.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘Oh, dear!’
‘Don’t be silly. Philippe needed a set-down. Logan spoils them all—including Lisette.’ Helen ran a finger round the rim of her cup. ‘So—if Robert’s not unhappy, what is wrong? You don’t object to him spending so much time with Carlos, do you? You’re not—prejudiced or anything?’
‘Heavens, no!’ That was the last thing Charlotte wanted anyone to think. ‘I—it’s just—well, the schooling,’ she finished lamely.
‘You mean the lack of it, don’t you?’
‘Y-e-s.’
Helen shrugged. ‘Send him to Tortola. There’s a perfectly good school there. He could board through the week and come home weekends. Or there’s always the States. Some people send their children there to school, but perhaps that’s too expensive.’
‘It is,’ said Charlotte firmly. ‘In any case…’
‘There’s something else,’ said Helen shrewdly. ‘There always is. Is it Logan?’
‘Logan?’ Charlotte could not have been more shocked. ‘I—why, what do you mean?’
Helen sighed. ‘I don’t know. It was just something Philippe said.’
‘Wh-what did he say?’ Charlotte had to know.
Helen looked thoughtful. ‘Oh, it was nothing much. You know how children chatter on. He just said something about Logan going away and you wanting to know where he had gone. It made me wonder whether you found him attractive—Logan, I mean. But knowing his commitment to Lisette …’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s always puzzled me why Logan’s never married. I know he likes children. Perhaps after a decent interval, he’ll marry Lisette.’
Charlotte finished her coffee and got to her feet. ‘I must be going,’ she exclaimed, and then realising she was inviting further speculation by not answering Helen’s suppositions, she added: ‘Perhaps marriage would be an unnecessary encumbrance—to Logan. He seems to do very well without it.’
‘You mean the Mendoza girl, I suppose,’ Helen nodded.
‘Have you met her?’
‘Not yet.’ Helen shook her head. ‘But Mike was talking to them both last night, and he said Logan said something about having a dinner party while the Mendozas were here, so I expect I shall. Mike says she’s very attractive.’
‘Is she?’ Charlotte feigned indifference. ‘I really have to go, Helen. Thanks for the coffee.’
‘My pleasure.’ Helen accompanied her to the door, giving Isabelle a biscuit to compensate for her extraction from the bricks. ‘See you later, then. At Logan’s place, perhaps.’
Charlotte forced a smile. She could hardly tell Helen that if she had her way she would be attending no dinner parties. It smacked too strongly of sour grapes, and that was the last thing she wanted to imply.
Philippe wanted to walk back with her for once, but when they reached the bungalow Lisette’s temper had not improved, and he quickly disappeared again.
‘I thought you said you’d be back in an hour!’ she began, as soon as Charlotte appeared. ‘I suppose you’ve been gossiping with Helen Stevens. Were you telling her about your invitation to join Logan and his guests? I bet she just loved hearing that. She doesn’t like me, as if you didn’t know. What did she say? Poor Lisette! She never fitted in here!’
‘I didn’t mention it,’ Charlotte retorted hotly. ‘It may come as a surprise to you to learn that there are other topics of conversation beside you and Logan Kennedy!’
Lisette sneered. ‘Oh, I see. Elaine came under the hammer, did she? She—–’
‘As a matter of fact we talked about Robert!’ declared Charlotte angrily, and not altogether truthfully. ‘I didn’t think you’d have any objections to my being a little longer than I anticipated when both children were with me.’
Lisette reached for her cigarettes. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered moodily. ‘My feelings never do.’
Charlotte sighed. ‘What is it now, Lisette? What have I done? If you’re still annoyed about my taking tomorrow off—–’
‘And if I am? What then? What can you do about it?’
Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to go, but he is my employer, Lisette.’
‘Oh, yes, that’s very convenient, isn’t it?’ Lisette paced restlessly across the verandah. ‘It may interest you to know that I had a visitor myself this morning. After Logan had gone.’
‘Yes?’ Charlotte was wary.
‘Yes.’ Lisette held up her head. ‘Manoel Mendoza.’
‘Oh!’ Charlotte was impressed. ‘That was unexpected, wasn’t it?’
&nbs
p; ‘It was rather,’ agreed Lisette smugly. Then: ‘He suggested I might like to join them for lunch tomorrow.’
‘I see.’ Charlotte wondered at the sudden plunging of her heart. ‘And?’
‘I had to refuse him, didn’t I?’ Lisette scuffed her bare toes irritably. ‘Someone has to look after Isabelle, don’t they?’
Charlotte sighed. ‘Lisette, if there was some way—–’
‘Oh, don’t bother making excuses.’ Lisette would not be placated. ‘And next time you want a day off, don’t go running to Logan first.’
Charlotte deposited Isabelle in her chair. ‘Shall I feed her?’ she inquired quietly, but Lisette refused her offer.
‘If I can manage tomorrow, I can manage today,’ she retorted. ‘And I shouldn’t make any plans about staying on here after your month is up, if I were you.’
Charlotte didn’t argue. There was no point. Lisette was in no mood to be reasonable. But she wished Manoel Mendoza had been with Logan earlier. How much easier it might have been then.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHARLOTTE dressed with care the next morning. Not because she cared what Logan thought about her appearance, she told herself fiercely, but to give her the confidence to face Elaine Mendoza. Her white cotton trousers were immaculately creased, and the tangerine-coloured midi blouse tied securely about her rib-cage, leaving a couple of inches of pale flesh exposed to the sun. She tied her hair back with a white chiffon scarf, and was checking the contents of her raffia bag when Robert came to find her.
He whistled when he saw how she was dressed. Then he made an awkward gesture. ‘Hey, Mum, this isn’t a grand affair, you know. Jeans and a shirt; or just a bathing suit, that would do.’
Charlotte had been prepared for this. ‘I felt like wearing something smart, for a change,’ she said. ‘Don’t I look all right?’
Robert prowled round her. ‘Sure, Mum, you look great! But honestly …’
Charlotte interrupted him to ask whether the swimming shorts he had on were all he intended to wear. Robert agreed that they were, and she did not object. Already his torso had acquired an all-over tan, and perhaps because of his Latin ancestry, he had not suffered any burning. She felt an anxious pang when she realised how his darkening skin would increase his resemblance to Logan, but now was not the time to have those kind of worries.
