by Anne Mather
To her surprise, Lisette was sitting by her bed, and she seemed relieved when Charlotte opened her eyes.
‘Hi!’
‘Hi!’ Charlotte’s lips were dry, and her throat felt parched.
‘How are you?’ Lisette sounded genuinely concerned, and Charlotte managed a cracked smile.
‘I’ll live.’
She licked her lips, and immediately Lisette got up and indicated the jug of iced fruit juice on the table beside the bed. ‘Would you like a drink?’
Charlotte nodded. ‘Please.’
Lisette poured some into a glass and coming to the bed, helped her up, holding the glass to her lips.
‘I’m not an invalid,’ said Charlotte, at last, sinking back on to the pillows. ‘You should be berating me. I caused this to happen. I’m to blame.’
‘Oh, forget it.’ Lisette glanced carelessly about the room. ‘Say, would you mind if I had a cigarette? I’m gasping for one.’
Charlotte had to smile. ‘No, go ahead.’
‘Well, so long as Nurse Stevens doesn’t come back and catch me at it!’ remarked Lisette dryly, lighting up. ‘Cigarettes in the sickroom and all that.’ She raised her eyes heavenward. ‘Seriously, though, are you sure you’re feeling better?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Charlotte could feel that her limbs were no longer burning. ‘What time is it?’ ‘Almost noon. Helen had to go and see to the children’s lunch, so I said I’d stay.’
‘Helen? Helen’s been here?’
‘All night. Someone had to stay with you, and Mike didn’t think Carlos was entirely suitable.’ She grimaced wryly.
‘Carlos?’ Charlotte could feel the creeping agony of recollection enveloping her. ‘I—where’s Robert?’
‘With Helen,’ replied Lisette indifferently. ‘Along with Philippe and Isabelle. She’s a regular little mother, isn’t she? But then you know that.’
Charlotte’s lips formed Logan’s name, but the word remained unspoken. However, Lisette must have perceived her thoughts, and said lightly: ‘Logan’s not here. He left early this morning with the Mendozas. They’ve flown back to St Thomas.’
‘Oh!’ An anguished sound was stifled in her throat. ‘I—do you know when he’s coming back?’
Lisette shook her head. ‘No.’ Then she leant forward, her eyes perceptibly brighter. ‘I’m leaving, too.’
Charlotte struggled up on to her elbows, ignoring the pain that seared through her head. ‘You are?’
‘Yes.’ Lisette nodded. ‘Isn’t it exciting? I’m going home, back to London. Senhor Mendoza’s arranging it.’
‘Senhor Mendoza?’ Charlotte couldn’t take it in.
‘Yes.’ Lisette explained patiently: ‘Pierre was employed by the Mendoza Institute, too. When he died, there was some talk about compensation, but it never came to anything. Anyway, it turns out that Logan’s been working behind the scenes, so to speak, and he’s got Mendoza to agree to a lump sum. Twenty thousand pounds! What do you think about that?’ Charlotte slumped back on to the pillows. ‘I—that’s great, Lisette,’ she managed; and it was, for Lisette.
‘I know. I can hardly believe it.’ Charlotte refused to consider the consequences as far as she was concerned. After all, she had made up her mind to leave long ago. ‘Wh-what will you do?’ she asked.
‘Well, get a flat, for a start. And a nanny for the kids.’ She coloured at the implication. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Derby. But I don’t mean you. I want someone who can live in, someone younger. Someone I can boss about. Someone I don’t feel inferior to.’
Charlotte would have protested, but Lisette went on: ‘It’s true. You are different from me—I know that. Logan knows it, too.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, after that—getting the flat, I mean—I’m going to get a job. I don’t have to, really, although the capital won’t last for ever. But I want to. I like going out—meeting different people. Different men!’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I might even go back to the university. I was a damn good typist.’
‘I’m sure you were.’
Charlotte lay back on the pillows, wondering how long it would take for her to recover her strength. If only it were possible to get away from here before Logan returned. Robert would be disappointed, but he would get over it. Except … Except that until Logan came back and paid her her salary, she couldn’t afford their return tickets …
Thinking about Robert brought back all her doubts about Matthew, and she knew she wouldn’t rest until she had discovered for herself whether Logan had been telling the truth. If Matthew had known his address, perhaps she had done Logan a terrible injustice, although nothing could alter the fact that he had gone away without bothering to find out for himself whether she had been all right.
Nevertheless, Lisette’s words had given her an idea. Maybe someone at the university would know whether Matthew had known Logan’s home address. The principal had been a friend of his, although she realised that he might well have retired by now. Even so, it was worth a try, and something to give her a reason to get well.
Robert arrived with Helen a little while later. The doctor’s wife had prepared her a delicious vegetable broth, and Charlotte found she was quite hungry. Robert sat with her while she ate, and it was obvious from his conversation that he had been told not to bother her with anything.
Eventually Charlotte put the remains of the broth aside, and said quietly: ‘What would you say if I told you we were leaving here?’
The consternation in his face was swiftly masked. ‘Leaving?’
‘Yes. You knew we would be, sooner or later,’ she added, pleating the bedcover. ‘Have you heard that the Fabergés are going back to London?’
‘We’re going with them?’ exclaimed Robert in surprise, but his mother shook her head.
‘No. We’re going on our own.’
‘Back to London?’ Robert hunched his shoulders.
‘That’s right.’ She tried to make light of it. ‘It’s summer in England, and we’ll have all the school holidays to make our plans; fix you up with a school and me with a job.’
Robert got up from his seat and paced heavily about the room, hands in pockets, his thin face mirroring his disappointment. ‘Must we?’ he demanded at last, stopping to confront her.
Charlotte’s heart thumped. ‘You know we do.’
Robert sniffed. ‘Why? Why can’t we stay on here? Couldn’t you look after Mrs Stevens’s children like you used to look after Madame Fabergé’s?’
‘No.’ Charlotte could feel a trickle of perspiration sliding down her spine. ‘Robert, Mrs Stevens is perfectly capable of looking after her own children.’
‘Well—well, what about Mr Kennedy?’
The room was shaded, and Charlotte was glad of it. ‘Wh-what about Mr Kennedy?’
‘I don’t know. Couldn’t you be—housekeeper to him or something? Carlos could do with some help—–’
‘No, Robert.’
‘Why not?’ Robert looked sulky. ‘I like it here.’
‘I know you do. But you’ve had a lovely holiday—–’
‘Huh!’
‘—and now it’s time to go back to work.’
‘I don’t want to go back to work.’
Charlotte’s patience snapped. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Robert! Stop being so selfish! How do you think I feel when you talk like this? I’ve got the responsibility to plan for our futures, not you, and if I say we’re going back to London, we’re going back to London!’
Surprisingly, her words did not arouse their usual reaction. ‘When?’ he asked sullenly.
‘When what?’
‘When are we going back to London?’
‘I don’t know. Soon.’
‘After Mr Kennedy gets back?’
‘Perhaps.’ Charlotte was deliberately evasive.
‘Perhaps?’ Robert looked dismayed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I don’t know. Why? What does it matter?’ Charlotte pushed back the weight of her hair with a trembling hand.
&nb
sp; ‘He said he’d see me when he got back!’ exclaimed Robert distractedly.
‘Well, he might not. What of it?’
Robert’s lips pursed. ‘I don’t see why we have to go back. Why can’t I have any say in the matter?’
‘I’m your mother, Robert.’
‘I know it.’ Robert sniffed again. ‘I just wish I had a father!’ And with these words he charged out of the room.
After he had gone, Charlotte felt limp. Dear God, she thought weakly, children could say the cruellest things! Of course, he couldn’t understand, but even so …
She felt stronger the next day, and the headache had almost completely disappeared. Against Michael Stevens’s advice, she got up in the afternoon and put her clothes on. She needed to feel she was getting better, and lying in bed would not hasten the cure.
She had seen next to nothing of Robert since the previous afternoon, and his absence began to play on her nerves like an aching tooth. She learned two days later that he was spending most of his time with Carlos, but that did nothing to reassure her. On the contrary, she had the feeling that she and her son were on opposite sides of a wall which was getting higher by the hour. It was useless telling herself now that she should have stuck to her guns in the first place and kept him away from Logan. It would have been an impossible task. And besides, nothing could alter the fact that Logan was his father and therefore had as much legal right to his company as she had.
With a feeling of futility, she began to pack her belongings, deliberately leaving Robert’s things until last, curiously loath to take the step which would alienate them from his father once and for all.
Helen came upon her as she was rinsing out some nylon undies and exclaimed at once: ‘What do you think you’re doing, Charlotte? You’re supposed to be resting this week.’
Charlotte gave her an apologetic grimace. ‘I needed the occupation.’
‘Why? What’s wrong? Are you sorry the Fabergés are leaving?’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘Oh, no. No, nothing like that.’ She forced a smile. ‘Just—depression, I think.’
Helen sighed. ‘It’s to do with Logan, isn’t it?’ She hesitated as Charlotte pretended to be concentrating on a thread of lace. ‘What’s happened? Has he told you he’s going to marry Elaine?’
‘No!’ But Charlotte couldn’t hide the pain in her eyes. Then, distractedly: ‘Is he?’
Helen shrugged uncomfortably. ‘So her father says. We were invited to the beach house for drinks one evening—you know, the evening before you were taken ill. And according to Mendoza, everything’s fixed except the date.’
‘Oh!’ Charlotte bent her head again. ‘I see.’
Helen stared at her unhappily. ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’ she asked perceptively. ‘I guessed you were. That day you had coffee with me—I knew there was something …’ She paused, but Charlotte said nothing, and presently, she added: ‘He’s an attractive man, I know. Heavens, even I can see that. But—well, Charlotte, you’ll get over it.’
‘Will I?’ Charlotte dried her hands on a towel, and then looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. ‘Can you guarantee it?’
Helen felt dreadful. ‘Oh, love! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Me and my big mouth!’
‘It’s all right, really.’ Charlotte sank down into a chair, suddenly weary. ‘I know it’s got to be faced.’
Helen took the chair opposite. ‘That’s right. That’s the way to take it. Lord, you’ve only known the man a month! You’ll soon forget him.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Charlotte sounded curiously defeated. She looked across at Helen’s confused face and then said flatly: ‘You might as well know—Logan is Robert’s father.’
Helen could not have looked more shocked. ‘Logan—is Robert’s father?’ she echoed.
‘That’s right.’ Charlotte sighed. ‘Now do you understand my problem?’
‘Does Robert know?’
‘No.’
‘And Logan?’
‘Oh, yes. Yes.’
Helen shook her head. ‘And?’
‘He—he asked me to marry him.’
Helen’s expression was ludicrous. ‘He what?’ She gave a little shake of her head as if to clear her brain. ‘Charlotte, are you telling me you turned him down? When? When you were first pregnant—or recently?’
‘A few days ago,’ replied Charlotte quietly.
‘But why? You just—–’
‘He wants his son, Helen, that’s all. I won’t marry him for that.’
Helen leaned beck in her chair. ‘But you love the man!’
Charlotte lifted her shoulders. ‘What kind of marriage would that be? He doesn’t need my permission to take Robert from me.’ She bent her head as tears threatened. ‘I’m not so sure he’s not done it already.’
‘Why?’
‘Robert. He doesn’t want us to leave.’
‘And you do?’
‘I have to,’ said Charlotte bitterly. ‘I just wish we could leave before Logan gets back.’
‘Why can’t you?’ Helen frowned.
Charlotte shifted awkwardly. ‘I—my fare was paid out here but not back. And as I haven’t received any salary yet …’
‘I see.’ Helen nodded understandingly. ‘But once you’ve been paid …’
‘Oh, yes. Once Logan gets back and pays me,’ agreed Charlotte miserably. Then she tried to pull herself together. ‘I’m sorry, Helen—involving you in all this. But I had to tell somebody.’
Helen stretched out her hand and patted her soothingly on the shoulder. ‘Don’t be silly. I just wish there was some way—–’ She broke off abruptly. ‘Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? I could lend you the money—–’
‘Oh, no!’ Charlotte looked horrified.
‘Why not?’ Helen was eager now. ‘Why shouldn’t I? You can send me a cheque when you’re in funds again. Heavens …’ She spread an expressive hand. ‘What do I need money here for? There’s nothing to spend it on. I’d like to help you, Charlotte, really.’
Charlotte drew a trembling breath. It was a temptation. But could she take Robert away from here without giving him one last chance to see his father? She doubted she could. She doubted he would go.
‘Thank you, Helen,’ she said at last, ‘but I can’t do it. It’s running away, and I’ve already run too far.’
Helen sighed. ‘Well … You know best, I suppose.’
Charlotte bent her head. ‘I don’t know whether I do, but—thanks anyway.’
Helen dismissed her gratitude with a regretful smile. Then she said firmly: ‘If you should change your mind, you know. The offer is still open.’
It had done her good talking to Helen, and Charlotte prepared the evening meal with more enthusiasm than of late. It was good to know she had an escape route if she needed it, and somehow once the door was open, her position seemed less fraught.
Robert appeared as she was making the dressing for the salad. He looked into the kitchen, but went straight to his room, and didn’t come out again until she called him.
‘Have you had a good day?’ she asked brightly, determined to ignore the long face he was wearing.
Robert shrugged offhandedly, and helped himself to a roll. ‘It was all right.’
‘Have you been snorkelling?’ Charlotte persisted, but he mimed that his mouth was full and couldn’t answer her. When he had emptied his mouth, however, he quickly filled it again, and she refused to pander to his vanity by appealing to him.
When the meal was over, he would have left the room again, but tonight Charlotte determined that he should wash the dishes, and his response to her request was to bang all the plates together in the sink so that one smashed and splintered, cutting his finger.
Charlotte was out of her chair in a minute, running his hand beneath the cold tap, removing the broken piece of plate to the waste bin. Then, still without speaking, she got the tin of Bandaid plaster from her suitcase, and secured one round the injury.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Robert was subdued now, and judging from his expression near to tears, but Charlotte refused to feel sympathy for him.
‘You’ll survive!’ she remarked dryly, and indicated the rest of the dishes. ‘Try not to break any more. Mr—er—Kennedy might not be too happy about us smashing up the place before we leave.’
His chin jutting, Robert dipped his hands into the soapy water and began washing the other plates. ‘We are leaving, then,’ he muttered in an undertone, so that she could hardly hear him.
Charlotte sighed. ‘You know we are.’
‘When?’
‘In a day or two.’
Robert glanced round at her. ‘Carlos says that Mr Kennedy will be angry if we leave without seeing him.’
‘Oh, does he?’ Charlotte stilled the trembling that threatened to start once more. ‘Well, what Carlos says doesn’t concern me.’
Robert looked mutinous. ‘I thought what Mr Kennedy said did.’
‘Is that supposed to mean something?’
He moved his shoulders indifferently. ‘You seemed to like him well enough on the boat.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes.’ Robert was defensive. ‘When everybody else was sleeping, you let him—–’ He flushed. ‘Well, anyway, it’s not fair.’
‘What’s not fair?’
‘You—making us leave here!’ Robert turned fully round now. ‘You know Mr Kennedy doesn’t want us to go, but you won’t listen to him!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Charlotte stared at him in real confusion. ‘What do you know about it?’
Robert bent his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, obviously discomfited by her questions. ‘You know!’ he muttered sullenly.
Charlotte felt a cold hand touch her stomach. Like Logan and Carlos, and Elaine, too—did Robert know his father’s identity? Her mind flipped back alarmingly over her conversation with Logan on the yacht. Could Robert have heard something? Was this behaviour the result of resentment at knowledge withheld? But no! At that time, she had not known that Logan suspected the truth, and nothing had been said to enlighten the boy. And yet …
