by Anne Mather
‘I think you’d better tell me exactly what you mean, Robert,’ she said now, amazed at how calm she sounded, when inside her stomach was churning.
Robert hunched his shoulders, assuming an obstinate stance. ‘I heard,’ he said, and her fears were rekindled.
‘You heard?’ Charlotte’s voice was strangled. ‘Heard what?’
‘What Miss Mendoza said,’ retorted Robert sulkily, and Charlotte’s cheeks paled remembering what Elaine had said.
‘I—I see,’ she got out at last, wishing she felt stronger. ‘So—so you know—–’
‘—that Mr Kennedy wants to adopt me, yes,’ Robert finished, before she could complete the revealing statement she had been about to make. ‘I know I wasn’t supposed to hear, but I was bringing your orange, and—well, just imagine! A man like that wanting to adopt me! Just like—just like when Matthew Derby took you to live with him.’ He made a dismissing gesture. ‘Being able to go with him on all his expeditions, living like Carlos does, in all the most exciting places in the world! Wouldn’t that be fabulous?’
Charlotte’s body sagged. ‘You think so,’ she managed, faintly, trying to pull herself together again with difficulty. But the trauma of imagining he knew the whole truth and then learning he didn’t even know the half of it was debilitating.
‘Do I?’ Robert said now, his eyes brighter than they had been for days. ‘I mean’—he tried to justify himself—‘we’re interested in the same things, Mr Kennedy and me. I think I’d like to be a biologist when I grow up. And with him for a father …’
Charlotte turned her back on him, making her way to the door with a feeling of unreality muzzing the edges of her mind. It was like a bad dream, but unlike a bad dream it would not be banished by pinching herself. It seemed as if everything was conspiring against her, and no amount of wishing could make it better.
In her room, she stared about her blankly, not entirely capable of assimilating what she had planned to do. But one thing seemed painfully obvious. She could not take Robert away from here without telling him the truth, and right now that was beyond her capabilities.
She sank down on to the side of the bed, burying her face in her hands. She had never felt so lost and alone, not even when she had first discovered she was pregnant. At least then she had had Matthew, although now even his sympathy seemed suspect.
She was so lost in her own misery that she did not hear the door open, and therefore she was startled when Robert dropped to his knees beside her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her lap.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he sobbed bitterly, his tears soaking through the thin material of her dress. ‘I’ve been a pig! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, honestly.’
A little of the pain constricting her heart was eased. With tender fingers, she stroked back the dark hair, so exactly like his father’s, and bent her head to speak against his cheek.
‘It’s all right, darling,’ she reassured him gently. ‘I was just feeling down, that’s all.’
Robert sniffed miserably. ‘It’s all my fault.’
‘No, it’s not. Don’t be foolish. I haven’t been well, you know. People sometimes get very depressed when they’ve been ill.’
Robert lifted his head doubtfully. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’ Charlotte forced a smile. ‘Now stop feeling sorry for yourself, and make me a cup of tea.’
But although she managed to satisfy him that she was not distressed over his behaviour, the problem remained, and as she got ready for bed that night she knew what she was going to do. She had had eleven years of Robert’s life. The best eleven years, she liked to think. He was growing up now, and Logan would never know the thrill of seeing him take his first step and speaking his first word. She had had the hugs and kisses, which with both parents she would have had to share, and surely now she could afford to be generous. Robert needed his father more than his mother at this stage of his development, and she could not deprive him of that opportunity for purely selfish reasons. She hadn’t told Robert about his father, but Logan would, and maybe in a couple of years they could meet again—as friends. She would take the money Helen offered and go, before Logan returned. Helen would help her. She would understand. And Robert, the child he really was, would soon forget.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LONDON was very warm, the atmosphere heavy after the clean air of Avocado Cay. For several days Charlotte was too exhausted to summon up the energy to do anything, too drained both emotionally and physically to care where she was or what was going on about her.
It had been surprisingly easy to get away from the island. Expecting a hitch at the last moment or, terrifyingly, Logan’s sudden reappearance, she found her eventual journey from San Cristobal to Tortola had been something of an anti-climax.
It had been agonising leaving Robert. That last morning, letting him go off to find Carlos with only a casual word of farewell, had torn her to pieces, but she knew if she broke down and told him what she planned to do, he would never let her go alone.
Helen had tried to argue with her. But she had known that she was wasting her time, and had offered no reproaches. Only someone intimately involved could try to persuade her, and while she knew she could never have done such a thing, she had to admire Charlotte’s courage. Nevertheless, there had been moments on the quay, before the launch sailed, when Charlotte would have given anything for someone to have told her what she was doing was wrong.
In London, she checked into the cheapest hotel she could find, booking a single room without bath, overlooking a row of equally cheap houses. It was near Shepherds Bush, in an area which had once been prosperous, but which now struggled against becoming a slum.
She slept a lot those first few days, only eating when the pangs of hunger became unbearable. She felt as though she was living in limbo, not really believing her situation, but similarly accepting that she was unable to escape from it. She looked at her reflection in the spotted dressing table mirror only rarely, because she knew she had to find employment, and the sight of her haggard features filled her with despair. Who, she wondered, would be prepared to hire such a gaunt-looking creature?
Of course, there would be all manner of formalities to go into first. She had no National Insurance card, no indication of what she had earned that year, or what income tax she was due to pay. But first, before entering into those complications, she wanted to go to the university and find out whether Dr Mannering had retired. It was a foolish whim in the circumstances, but one which she had promised herself she would obey.
The university was in Kensington, and a week after she had returned to England, Charlotte caught a bus which would take her some way towards her destination. It was the first time she had been out, other than to buy food, and she had the ridiculous sensation that everyone must know and was looking at her. She had put on denim trousers, and a blue cotton shirt, not wanting to draw attention to herself and had left her hair loose to hide the hollows in her pale cheeks.
The receptionist at the inquiry desk regarded her curiously when she asked for Dr Mannering. ‘No, he hasn’t retired yet, Mrs Derby,’ she replied, after Charlotte had vouchsafed her identity, and the doubts she had had. ‘But the university’s closed at the moment—–’
‘Oh, I know that,’ Charlotte interrupted her quickly. ‘But I do want to contact Dr Mannering if I can.’
‘Well …’ The girl looked thoughtful. ‘As it happens, he is in the building today. Hang on—I’ll see if I can reach him.’
‘Thank you.’
Charlotte hovered uncertainly about the coolly tiled lobby, waiting while the receptionist made several calls. The panelled walls were hung with dark-framed pictures of solemn-eyed individuals in caps and gowns, and an enormous plaque denoting the year the university was founded. Not the most comforting of surroundings, but she was in no mood to care.
‘Mrs Derby?’ The receptionist was beckoning, and Charlotte hurried t
owards her. ‘I’ve managed to contact Dr Mannering, and he says he’ll see you, so long as whatever it is you have to say doesn’t take up too much of his time.’
‘Oh, no, it won’t.’ Charlotte hugged her bag to her breast. ‘Where do I go?’
Dr Mannering awaited her in his office, an imposing room on the first floor. Here again, the walls were panelled, and a framed portrait of the man himself hung behind his desk. He frowned as she came into the room, obviously trying to place her, and then his eyes widened in surprise.
‘Of course,’ he said politely, holding out his hand, ‘you’re Matthew Derby’s wife—or rather his widow. I’m sorry, that was tactless. Tell me,’ as she subsided into the chair he indicated, ‘what can I do for you?’
Charlotte didn’t know how to begin. ‘I—I hoped I’d still find you here, Dr Mannering. I was afraid you might have retired.’
His smile was dry. ‘There’s life in the old dog yet.’
‘Oh, no …’ She coloured. ‘That’s not what I meant. Ony it seems so long ago since—since Matthew had anything to do with the university.’
‘Yes.’ Dr Mannering seated himself opposite her, crossing his legs. He was an angular man, tall and inclined to stoop now, but approachable, for all that. ‘I’m afraid your late husband and I had different views about—a number of things.’
‘Yes.’ Charlotte shifted awkwardly. ‘I—er—I’ve been living out of the country for the last month.’
‘Since Matthew died?’
‘Soon after, yes.’
‘I was sorry to hear about his death.’ Dr Mannering sounded sincere. ‘He was quite a young man.’ His eyes flickered over her pale face. ‘Was it very bad?’
Realising he must think her appearance had to do with Matthew’s death, Charlotte felt worse than ever. ‘As a matter of fact, it was over fairly quickly,’ she said. ‘And—and towards the end, I’m afraid he didn’t want to see me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes.’ She shrugged. ‘But it’s over now. We have to get over these things.’
‘Of course.’ He inclined his head. ‘And you have a son, I believe, who must be a great comfort to you at this time.’
Charlotte felt a terrible yawning sense of emptiness opening inside her, and it was all she could do not to moan aloud at the agony it caused her. But somehow she managed to choke back her misery, and say carefully: ‘As a matter of fact, Dr Mannering, that is what I wanted to talk to you about.’
He frowned. ‘Your son?’
‘Yes.’
He leaned forward, resting his arms upon the desk. ‘In what way can I help you?’
She swallowed convulsively. This was more difficult than even she had imagined. ‘I—well, it’s not easy for me to ask you what it is I want to ask you, Dr Mannering,’ she faltered, realising how disjointed that sounded.
‘No?’
‘No.’ She twisted the strap of her bag round her fingers. ‘Do you—is it possible you remember a student of yours from some years back? A—a Brazilian called Logan—–’
‘—Kennedy,’ supplied Dr Mannering flatly. ‘Of course I remember him.’
‘You do?’ Charlotte was amazed.
Dr Mannering made an impatient gesture. ‘It’s not every day that one of my students is threatened with an accusation of statutory rape, Mrs Derby,’ he remarked coldly. ‘Of course I remember him. I myself suggested it might be best if he returned to Rio de Janeiro.’
Charlotte was stunned. She had known nothing about this. That Logan should have been involved with another girl whose parents had threatened him with court proceedings was bad enough, but she had left Robert in the charge of such a man!
‘I—I didn’t know,’ she stammered faintly.
Now it was Dr Mannering’s turn to look shocked. ‘Come, Mrs Derby,’ he protested, ‘you must have done.’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘How—how could I?’
Dr Mannering stared at her. ‘Do you mean to say that Matthew didn’t tell you?’
‘Matthew?’ Charlotte put a confused hand to her head. ‘What—what has Matthew got to do with it?’
‘He made the complaint!’ exclaimed Dr Mannering forcefully. ‘My God, do you mean it wasn’t true?’
Charlotte thought she was going to faint. It was strange, because she wasn’t a fainting person, but just lately she seemed to have very little stamina. She must have looked ill, because Dr Mannering got up from his chair and came round the desk towards her, quickly opening a decanter on a side table and offering her some strong-smelling spirit. It was brandy, and she sipped it obediently, unwilling to collapse here and possibly let him see where she was staying.
‘Are you feeling better?’ he asked at last, and she managed to nod her head, putting down the glass and making an effort to appear calm. He resumed his seat behind the desk, and then, folding his hands together, he said: ‘Exactly what was your relationship with young Kennedy, Mrs Derby?’
Charlotte hesitated. But she had started this and she had to go on. As briefly as possible she outlined how she met Logan, their attraction for one another, and less coolly its ultimate outcome.
‘I—I should tell you that—that Matthew and I had—had had a row,’ she murmured, hectic colour giving her cheeks a feverish appearance. ‘When—when I went to Logan’s hotel room, I—I was as much to blame for what happened as he was.’
Dr Mannering pushed back his chair with an impatient gesture. ‘Do you mean to tell me that my call to Kennedy came in while you were still there?’
Charlotte remembered the telephone call from the principal only too well. ‘I—I suppose it must have done. Unless you rang a second time …’
‘There was no second call, Mrs Derby.’ Dr Mannering paced to the windows, hands clasped tightly behind his back. ‘Your—that is to say, Derby rang me and told me Kennedy had seduced his ward. He made it very clear what his intentions would be if one of my students persisted in pursuing such a course.’
Charlotte was horrified, hardly able to comprehend what this could mean to herself—and to Logan. ‘You—you mean, Matthew rang you after I had left the house?’
‘I suppose he must have done.’ Dr Mannering turned back to face her. ‘You’re saying you knew none of this?’
‘No. No!’ Charlotte was distracted. ‘Please …’ She gazed at him imploringly. ‘If there’s anything else you think I should know …’
He came back to the desk, regarding her gravely. ‘Why has all this come up now?’ he asked. ‘Surely the past is dead and gone.’
‘Oh, no.’ Charlotte shook her head vigorously. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t told you the whole story. I—my son—the son you mentioned earlier. Logan was the boy’s father.’
‘You mean—you passed him off—–’
‘No. No, that’s not what I mean.’ Charlotte spoke frantically. ‘Matthew knew. He knew he couldn’t have any children—he was injured, during the war. He didn’t like to talk about it, but it’s true. His brother can verify that. That—that’s why Robert and I left the country. He left us nothing.’
‘My dear Mrs Derby—–’
‘Oh, please! Won’t you go on? If there is anything else I should know …’
‘Where does Kennedy come into all this?’ The principal was determined to have all the facts. ‘Does he know about the boy?’
‘He does now.’ Charlotte sighed. ‘Oh—I don’t know why, he must have kept me under observation over the years, and when he knew Matthew was dead, he was instrumental in getting me a job as nursemaid to the children of a friend of his. That was when—when he learned about Robert.’
‘I see.’ Dr Mannering nodded, subsiding into his seat again. ‘Well, let me see—what more can I tell you that you don’t already know?’ He frowned. ‘The whole affair was very upsetting, you know. Kennedy was an intelligent man, a fine student. We were sorry he had to leave, but in the circumstances …’ He sighed. ‘What I can’t understand is why you didn’t speak to him yourself afterwards
. Surely that would have been the fairest thing to do.’
Charlotte bent her head. ‘He—he left before I could contact him.’
‘Before you could contact him!’ Dr Mannering stared at her aghast. ‘My dear young lady, I know that young Kennedy tried several times to see you—to speak to you. I believe he wrote several letters, but they were all returned unopened.’
Charlotte had thought she had heard it all, but now she felt utterly shattered. ‘You mean—you mean Matthew …’ She couldn’t go on, and Dr Mannering, after a moment, nodded.
‘It seems as though he must have done,’ he exclaimed perplexedly. ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear! I had no idea …’
‘Nor did I!’ cried Charlotte, getting to her feet to pace restlessly about the room. ‘Do you realise what this means? If—if Logan tried to get in touch with me, he didn’t just—abandon me.’
‘And you thought he did?’ Dr Mannering’s expression mirrored his distaste at the whole affair. ‘But surely you had Kennedy’s address?’
‘Not in Rio. And—and Matthew rang the university, or so he said, and ascertained that Logan had left the country.’
Dr Mannering spread his hands. ‘Well, Matthew certainly had Kennedy’s address, had he chosen to give it to you. In the beginning, if you remember, he evinced an intense interest in the young man’s work. It was only later—–’
‘After Logan and I fell in love,’ said Charlotte bitterly.
‘—that he became opposed to him.’ Dr Mannering rose to his feet again. ‘If only I’d known … Although,’ he shook his head, ‘Matthew was your guardian. The law would have been on his side, one can’t deny that.’
Charlotte nodded, too numb now to think straight. ‘Well—well, thank you for your time,’ she managed unsteadily. ‘You—you’ve answered all my questions. Thank you.’
Dr Mannering took the hand she held out in farewell with more warmth than at their meeting. ‘I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of such bad news,’ he said regretfully. He paused. ‘Console yourself with the thought that Matthew must have loved you very much.’
