by Anne Mather
Charlotte stared bitterly at Logan, but he was not looking at her. He and Carlos were hauling in the anchor and hoisting the sails, and she was forced to submit to Elaine’s ministrations. She felt raw and exposed, both physically and mentally, and so far as she was concerned the whole day had been a disaster.
The swelling dealt with, Elaine turned her attention to the angry-looking burns on Charlotte’s arms and legs, and the exposed skin of her midriff.
‘You are a fool, Mrs Derby,’ she remarked, under cover of the shouted commands Logan was issuing from the helm.
Charlotte refused to be antagonised. ‘I know,’ she acknowledged quietly. ‘I’m not used to such a hot sun.’
‘That is not what I meant,’ remarked Elaine scornfully. ‘Of course, you have been stupid lying in the sun, and what else can you expect from a skin as fair as yours? But I was talking about your—association with Logan.’
Charlotte stiffened. ‘There is no association with Logan.’
‘No?’ Elaine looked sceptical. ‘That was not my impression.’ She paused. ‘What was your relationship with him in London? Were you his mistress?’
‘No!’ Charlotte was horrified.
‘No? But you did sleep with him, did you not, Mrs Derby? Or how else could he have fathered your child, que?’
Charlotte pushed the Brazilian girl’s hands away. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You forget, senhora, I heard what Logan was saying to you in the caverna. I am not mistaken. You would not look at me like that, unless you were afraid.’
‘Afraid?’
‘Sim, senhora.’ Elaine glanced round to assure herself they could not be overheard. ‘The boy does not know—of this I am certain. You have not told him because you know that he is already attracted to Logan, and if he learned that Logan was his father …’ She lifted her shoulders expressively.
Charlotte swallowed convulsively. ‘If what you say is true, why shouldn’t I tell him? I—Logan wants me to.’
Elaine’s dark eyebrows ascended. ‘I wonder why.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like I said, Mrs Derby, you are a fool. If Logan wants you to tell Robbie, it can be for only one reason. He wants to adopt the boy himself.’ She paused. ‘You know, do you not, that he intends to marry me?’
‘No!’ Charlotte’s stomach plunged. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Why not?’ Elaine’s lips twisted. ‘Because he made love to you?’ She shook her head. ‘I do not deny that he seems to find you—attractive, and as the mother of his son …’ She sighed. ‘But Logan is not a fool. He knows the score. Papa is no philanthropist, Mrs Derby, he is a speculator. And right now, he is speculating on my future.’
‘With Logan?’
‘With Logan.’
Charlotte was sickened. ‘But you can’t want to marry a man who—who makes love to other women!’
Elaine shrugged. ‘Why not? He makes love to me, too.’ She smiled a slow, reminiscent smile which robbed Charlotte of her last shreds of hope. ‘He is very good at it, you must agree.’
‘Please!’ Charlotte couldn’t take any more. ‘Please—go away!’
‘But the cream—–’
‘Give it to me!’ Charlotte almost snatched the tube out of her hand, daubing it liberally over her thighs. I can manage. Leave me alone!’
Robert appeared with a glass of iced orange juice. ‘I didn’t like to interrupt while you were talking to Miss Mendoza—–’ he began, but Charlotte made a dismissing gesture with her head, taking the juice and drinking thirstily. Robert squatted on the deck at her feet. ‘I really am sorry, Mum,’ he started again.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Charlotte was abrupt, but she couldn’t help it.
‘I had a super time,’ Robert went on.
‘Good.’
Robert seemed not to notice her monosyllabic replies. ‘I found some turtle’s eggs,’ he went on eagerly. ‘Would you like to see them?’ He laughed. ‘Carlos says that some West Indians think eating turtle’s eggs makes you more sexy, or something like that. Anyway, I only took one or two, and Carlos says a turtle can lay more than three hundred eggs at a time.’
‘All right, Robert.’
‘Would you like to see them?’
‘Not right now.’
‘No?’ Robert looked disappointed for a moment, and then Carlos beckoned to him, and he scrambled to his feet with alacrity, the rueful grin he cast back at her a plea for her understanding.
But after he had gone, she didn’t know which was worse—Robert’s innocent chatter or the turmoil of the thoughts that plagued her now she was alone. Nothing was the same any more. It was one thing making a decision without anyone else being involved, but suddenly other people were involved, and it was terrifying to think how many people already knew her son’s parentage. Had Lisette Fabergé guessed that Logan was Robert’s father? Somehow she didn’t think so. Lisette was not that kind of person to keep a thing like that to herself.
Which didn’t alter the situation at all. She was still left with the disruptingly-growing conviction that if she didn’t tell Robert the truth, and he ever found out for himself, he might never forgive her.
Manoel came to ask how she was feeling, but she had no heart to speak to him now. He went away again, probably offended by her offhandedness, but quite honestly, she dreaded him revealing that he, too, had guessed the truth.
Logan approached her some time later, and stood looking down at her with brooding malevolence. ‘Do you feel up to talking now?’ he inquired curtly, and she closed her eyes against his disturbing sexuality.
‘What about?’ she countered wearily. ‘What is there to say?’
What is there to say?’ He repeated her words indistinctly. ‘Deus, Charlotte, there are times when I could—–’ He broke off, controlling himself with evident difficulty. He dropped down on to the bench seat beside her, legs apart, arms resting along his thighs, his hands hanging between. ‘What happened in the cave,’ he said, through clenched teeth, ‘I think that deserves some consideration, don’t you?’
Charlotte half turned away from him. ‘You don’t have to apologise—–’
‘My God, I’m not apologising!’ he snapped, his voice rising, and falling again as he realised he could be overheard. ‘Charlotte, I—I think we should get married.’
‘What?’
He had her whole attention now. She stared at him disbelievingly, her heart palpitating with the excitement his words had engendered. Was it true? Was he actually asking her to marry him? Had everything Elaine told her been nothing but a pack of lies?
His eyes bored into hers. ‘You must have expected it,’ he said flatly. ‘I don’t expect you to make a decision right away. Take as long as you like to think about it. But it seems to be the solution, doesn’t it?’
‘The … solution?’ His words were having a different effect now. ‘What do you mean?’
He raked back his chair wth a careless hand. ‘Look, Charlotte, we’ve got to give this time—–’
‘What—time?’
‘Our relationship. Robert’s relationship. I realise that liking someone and finding out that they’re your father are two entirely different things—–’
‘You’re doing … this … for Robert?’
He swore angrily. ‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding me.’
‘On the contrary, I think I understand you very well.’
‘I doubt it. However, we’ll have the rest of our lives—–’
‘No!’ Her lips trembled and she bit on them. ‘No.’
‘What do you mean—no?’
‘What does anyone usually mean? I mean I refuse. The answer’s in the negative. I won’t do it. Is that clear enough for you?’
‘You can’t do this to me, Charlotte.’ Logan got to his feet as if he could not sit still under her censure. ‘I won’t accept what you’re saying!’
She stared up at him woodenly, praying that he would not notice how her knee
s were shaking. ‘What will you do?’ she challenged.
His eyes darkened with anger, and he took a deep breath. ‘If you’re expecting threats from me, Charlotte, you’re going to be disappointed. I won’t salve your conscience for you. Robert will never learn anything from me!’ And with these words he left, striding over to the wheel to stand stiffly beside Carlos.
Charlotte wanted to cry. Nothing less than tears could soothe the aching void inside her. So, she thought bitterly, Logan was prepared to give up his freedom for the sake of his son, prepared to marry her now when twelve years ago he had abandoned her without compunction. Could Robert possibly mean more to him than his commitment to Elaine? Was he willing to jeopardise his future with the Mendoza Institute by marrying her, when he must know how vindictive Elaine could be? And if so, had she the right to withhold the choice from the one person most intimately involved?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE next morning, Charlotte had the greatest difficulty in just getting out of bed. Her legs and arms were raw and painful, and the throbbing in her head was centred around the spreading bruise on her forehead. In addition to which she felt strangely shivery, and guessed she was suffering the after-effects of too much sun. She was glad Carlos left before she was up. He would know immediately what was wrong with her and probably tell Logan, too; that, she could do without.
Trying not to scratch herself, she managed to take a shower and towel herself dry, putting on one of the loose dresses she favoured. Its sleeveless, low-necked style revealed more of her flesh than she liked, but as she couldn’t bear anything weighty against her skin, it had to do.
Robert, however, was more perceptive than she had given him credit for being. ‘Are you feeling all right, Mum?’ he exclaimed, when she came into the kitchen where he already had the kettle boiling. ‘You’re awfully burned, aren’t you? Doesn’t it hurt?’
Charlotte managed not to be irritable with him. ‘Of course it hurts,’ she answered evenly. ‘I hope you’ve taken notice of what reckless sunbathing can do.’
Robert hunched his shoulders, lean and angular in his shorts and tee-shirt. ‘My skin doesn’t seem to burn like yours,’ he remarked, half apologetically. Then: ‘Mum, don’t you think you ought to tell Philippe’s mother that you’re not going up there today?’
‘No, I don’t.’ An edge had entered Charlotte’s voice now. ‘Besides, Madame Fabergé may want to join—Mr Kennedy and his guests for lunch today, and someone has to look after Isabelle.’
Robert shrugged. ‘She was over at their place last night. I shouldn’t think she’ll be invited back again today.’
‘Oh!’
Charlotte was briefly speechless. She had not known this. As soon as the ketch had moored at the landing, she had excused herself on the pretext of getting out of the sun, and no one had made any attempt to detain her.
At the bungalow she had succeeded in suppressing the storm of weeping which came later until after Robert and Carlos had gone to bed, and if she had thought about Logan at all, it had not been in terms of his entertaining his guests at a dinner party as if nothing untoward had happened.
Now Robert shifted restlessly, hands in the pockets of his shorts. ‘I’ve had my breakfast, Mum. Is it all right if I go?’
Charlotte turned off the kettle. ‘Go? Go where?’
Robert coloured. ‘Carlos said I might help him this morning. The station wagon’s developed an oil leak, and he’s going to show me how to change a gasket.’
Charlotte sank down weakly into a chair, absurdly near to tears again. ‘Do what you like,’ she said, without expression.
Robert hesitated. ‘I really do think you ought to take the day off, Mum,’ he mumbled. ‘Go back to bed …’
Charlotte managed to school her features into a smile. ‘Don’t be silly.’ She gestured towards the door. ‘Go along. Go and do your mechanicking. See you later.’
With evidently mixed feelings, Robert left her, and wearily she got to her feet again and made some tea. The hot liquid was soothing, but it would take more than tea to restore her, she thought despairingly. Pushing her cup aside she rested her elbows on the table, supporting her head on her hands, feeling a total sense of dejection.
She had been sitting like that for some time when a sound made her lift her head, and she stared in dismay at the denim-clád legs on a level with her vision. Her eyes travelled up over masculine thighs to the leather belt slung round his hips, and from there over the muscled expanse of his chest revealed by the denim waistcoat hanging open from his shoulders. She didn’t need to look into the lean dark face or see the black hair clinging wetly to his neck to know who was standing there, watching her.
‘Wh-what do you want now?’ she asked, unable to hide the tremor in her voice, and he uttered an angry imprecation as he came to stand before the table.
‘Can’t you guess?’ he demanded. ‘Your—our son was concerned about you.’ She drew an unsteady breath. ‘There—there was no need—–’
‘Damn you, I’ll decide when there’s a need!’ he muttered. ‘Exactly what do you think you are going to do today?’
She gasped. ‘What I usually do.’
‘No!’ She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I don’t intend to argue with you, Logan.’
‘Oh, don’t you?’ His tone was sardonic. He came round the table towards her. ‘That is good news.’
‘Logan—–’
‘I suggest you go back to bed. I want Stevens to take a look at you.’
‘I won’t!’ Charlotte quivered. ‘I—I meant I’m perfectly all right. And Lisette is expecting me—–’
‘To hell with Lisette!’ Logan’s hot breath fanned her forehead. ‘Charlotte, I don’t want to hurt you but, God help me, if you don’t do as I say, I’m going to have to.’
‘Oh, Logan, please!’ She wrung her hands, looking up at him unwillingly, realising that fighting him simply would not do any good. ‘Why can’t you leave me alone? I don’t torment you. Why do you persist in persecuting me?’
‘You don’t torment me?’ His dry smile was without humour. ‘Charlotte, you can have no idea what you do to me!’ His hands lifted almost against his will to cradle her face. ‘What do I have to do to make you listen to me?’
Charlotte tried to move her head from side to side. ‘Why did you bring me here?’ she cried bitterly.
His hands fell to his sides. ‘Why do you think?’
She shrugged. ‘To make me suffer?’
His lips thinned. ‘And if I did?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I had to know—–’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Tell me something—why didn’t you let me know that you were expecting a child? Didn’t I have the right to be told?’
Charlotte put a shaking hand to her head. ‘Oh, Logan, it’s too early in the morning—–’
‘Deus!’ he interrupted her violently. ‘When is it not too early—or too late—or the wrong time, or we’ll be overheard—or you don’t want to talk about it? God, Charlotte, I’ve been more than patient! You heedlessly deny me knowledge of the first eleven years of my son’s life, and then calmly propose to separate us again without even telling me why?’ The knuckles of his clenched fists showed white through the brown skin. ‘All right, I have to accept that you don’t regret what you’ve done, but don’t you think you owe me an explanation?’
There seemed to be something wrong with Charlotte’s vision. Every now and then Logan’s profile swam into two, and she found it almost impossible to distinguish which was the man and which was the reflection.
‘You—you went back to Rio,’ she stammered. ‘You—you weren’t there when I found out.’
‘Goddammit, there are such things as telegrams—telephones; the university could have told you where I was!’
Charlotte made a negative gesture. ‘You—you think I would have done that?’ she demanded unsteadily.
‘Obviously you didn’t.’
‘I have some pride left, Logan.’
‘P
ride? Pride? What has pride got to do with it?’ He raked long fingers through his hair. ‘Did you imagine that because I didn’t know about it, the child was any less mine?’
‘You didn’t care!’ she protested.
‘I didn’t know!’ he retorted coldly. ‘Charlotte, Matthew knew where I was. He had my address.’
She stared at him disbelievingly, swaying a little. ‘He didn’t!’
‘He did!’ he insisted inexorably. ‘But perhaps you didn’t tell him about the baby until afterwards, hmm?’ Contempt twisted his features. ‘Why didn’t I think of that before? Perhaps the poor sod thought the child was his. My God, what a rude awakening he must have had! No wonder he cut you off without a penny—–’
‘It’s not true!’ She could not allow him to believe that. ‘Matthew did know. He did!’
Logan was staring at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Can you prove that?’
She trembled. ‘Can you prove he didn’t?’
Logan uttered an oath. ‘Charlotte, I—–’
But what he was about to say she did not hear. The dizziness she had been fighting ever since she got to her feet was overwhelming her, and for the first time in her life, she lost consciousness.
She didn’t remember much of what happened for the rest of that day. She opened her eyes to a darkened room, and later Michael Stevens came to see her, calm and competent, despite his shorts and sweat shirt.
‘Sunstroke,’ he diagnosed mildly. ‘Not too severe a case, but enough to keep you here for the next couple of days.’
‘But Lisette—–’ she began weakly, and he put a reproving finger on her lips.
‘Rest,’ he told her firmly. ‘Now, I’m just going to give you something to ease the pain …’
She fell asleep soon afterwards, and in the fleeting moments of consciousness she had throughout that day and the night that followed, she guessed he had sedated her. Not that she cared. At least in oblivion she was free from the problems which would beset her as soon as she was fit again, not least the uncertainty which Logan’s words had aroused. Had Matthew really known Logan’s address all along? Could he have kept it from her knowing that she might feel obliged to at least inform Logan of her condition? It was unacceptable, and besides, thinking made her headache worse. She allowed herself to drift, and when next she surfaced it was daylight.
