Born Out Of Love. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
looking down at her hands, their dampness moulding them together in her lap. ‘Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be fine.’
Robert was more shrewd than she had given him credit for being. ‘Who’s that guy who keeps staring at us?’ he demanded in a whisper, bending his head so that no one could read his lips, and Charlotte made the excuse of reproving him for using the Americanism to give herself time to marshal an answer.
‘I don’t know,’ she denied, impatience giving an edge to her tone. ‘Robert, stop behaving like a poor imitation of James Bond! He’s probably a government official or something, come to check out the hired help.’
Robert lifted his head to return the man’s stare, and then grimaced. ‘Blimey,’ he gulped. ‘he’s coming aboard ! Did we contravene Customs regulations, do you think?’
Charlotte never failed to be amazed at Robert’s grasp of vocabulary. ‘Where on earth did you hear that?’ she was saying, when the dark man came down the aisle between the rows of seats and stopped beside them.
‘Mrs Derby?’ he queried politely, and she looked up into Logan’s critical gaze.
‘Y-yes,’ she stammered.
He inclined his head. ‘Will you come with me? I’m here to escort you to Avocado Cay.’
Charlotte’s mouth was dry. For several seconds she didn’t—couldn’t—say anything, remaining in her seat, staring at him through mists of confusion. It was Logan. She had no doubts about that now. Older, of course—he must be thirty-seven now—with lines etched upon his tanned features which had not been there before, but unmistakably the man who had ravaged her emotions and abandoned her. She ought to feel angry, she thought. She ought to feel resentful and cheated, capable of returning the contempt she could see glinting in those tawny eyes.
Instead, she felt shaken, and apprehensive; terrified of the complications he could create. She glanced anxiously at Robert, half afraid her expression revealed the turmoil in her brain, but he seemed quite relaxed at this unexpected turn of events, obviously just waiting for her to make the first move.
She took a deep breath. What could she do but go with Logan? If Madame Fabergé had asked him to pick them up she had no valid reason to refuse his offer, and certainly Robert would think it strange if she showed a preference for the bus now.
She wondered what Logan was thinking, wishing she could see behind that cool mask he was presenting. Had he decided not to acknowledge her? Were they to behave as if they were the strangers Robert believed? Her heart thumped and she cast another covert look in her son’s direction, mentally trying to reassure herself that Logan could never suspect their relationship. Why should he, after all? She had been married, and so far as he was concerned, Robert was the son of that marriage. Yet if he had guessed who she was, why hadn’t he made any attempt to stop her from coming here? He must surely have as little desire to see her again as she had to see him.
‘Avocado Cay?’ she said now, stupidly she realised, and Logan nodded.
‘That is where you’re going, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. We’re going to Avocado Cay.’ Robert spoke up with his usual confidence. ‘But Mum’s feeling a bit funny, aren’t you?’ He smiled encouragingly at her before transferring his attention back to the tall man beside them. ‘Who’re you?’
‘Robert—–’
Charlotte’s hasty reproval went unacknowledged. ‘I’m Logan Kennedy,’ he answered the boy evenly. ‘And as a matter of fact, your mother and I have met before—years ago.’ His lips twitched briefly. ‘I live at Avocado Cay, too.’
‘You do?’ Robert pushed back a lock of dark hair, his frown mirroring his confusion. ‘But Mum—–’
‘I expect your mother’s forgotten all about our brief encounter,’ Logan interposed smoothly. ‘I was an—er—associate of your father’s.’
‘Oh.’ Robert looked as though he might be about to say something about that too, but to Charlotte’s relief he gave in to other questions: ‘What’s Avocado Cay like? I can’t wait to see where we’re going to live. Is there a beach? Will I be able to swim in the sea?’
A faint trace of humour touched Logan’s mouth. ‘There are miles of beach,’ he reassured him. ‘And swimming in the sea is possible. But perhaps your mother would prefer you to use the lagoon.’
‘The lagoon!’ Robert looked intrigued. ‘What’s that, Mr Kennedy?’
Charlotte made a supreme effort and got to her feet. ‘Robert, Mr—Kennedy’s not here to answer your questions.’ She forced herself to look at Logan. ‘I’m ready when you are. Our luggage is stowed somewhere at the back of the bus.’
‘I know.’ Logan’s expression hardened as he looked at her. ‘Miguel is presently loading it into my car.’
‘Miguel?’ Charlotte glanced round in time to see the overweight bus driver closing the rear flap of the station wagon and her lips tightened. ‘You were sure we would agree, then?’ The words would not be denied.
Logan’s heavy-lidded eyes flickered with an emotion she couldn’t identify. ‘Why not? The journey is rough, whatever the conveyance, and I’d hazard a guess that physically you’ll feel safer with me.’ He turned. ‘Come.’
‘Mum wasn’t looking forward to riding in this!’ agreed Robert, apparently unaware of the undercurrents in their conversation. ‘It’s a museum piece!’
Following Logan along the aisle to the exit, Charlotte was aware of Robert’s voice carrying clearly to the man standing at the foot of the steps, and she wasn’t surprised when Miguel pulled a face at him.
‘What is this? You are calling my beautiful bus a museum piece!’ he exclaimed in mock fury, and Robert grinned widely.
‘I’d like to ride with you, Miguel,’ he offered placatingly, ‘but I don’t think Mum could stand the pace!’
Miguel roared with laughter, and Charlotte, prepared to remonstrate with her son once again for his casual use of the man’s name, bit her tongue. She saw Logan watching Robert with a curious expression on his face and her heart turned over. What if he should guess the truth? she thought agonisingly, and turned back from the inevitable outcome of such a consequence.
‘Perhaps you might prefer to travel in the bus—er—Robert?’ suggested Logan quietly, and Charlotte’s nerves jangled at the terrifying possibility of having to make the journey to Avocado Cay alone with this man.
But Robert took one look at her pale features and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, thanks. Not today anyway. I think I ought to stick with Mum, if you don’t mind.’
Logan shrugged and swung open the nearside door of the station wagon. ‘De nada,’ he said indifferently, reminding Charlotte that in spite of his perfect English he was not European, and at his silent indication she subsided into the passenger seat with unconcealed relief.
THE road up from the harbour was little more than a dusty track, that in wet weather might well become dangerous, Charlotte surmised. Within minutes, the harbour had fallen away below them, a natural basin, which from this height revealed light and colour invisible from the quay. As they climbed higher, the air grew fresher, and the wind through the open windows tumbled Charlotte’s hair about her shoulders.
The palm groves which fringed the coastline had given way to dense undergrowth which was crushed beneath the wheels of the station wagon where it encroached on to the road. The trees, Charlotte could see, were overgrown with creepers, and their progress sent birds winging into the air, noisily indignant at being disturbed. They could hear water, clear rushing water, that revealed itself in streams and tiny waterfalls tumbling down