Born Out Of Love. Anne Mather

he stopped her from coming? It didn’t make sense, and the knowledge that she was obliged to spend four weeks on the island before terminating her contract filled her with alarm. Her relationship with Robert had always been so good. Yet now she was in a position to put that relationship in jeopardy—in more ways than one …

      Heaving a sigh, she turned away from the window, surveying the room behind her with troubled eyes. There was still Lisette Fabergé to consider. Exactly what was her relationship with Logan? It was all very well for him to explain that her husband was dead and that she had no one else, but where did they go from there? And when it was obvious that she turned to him for guidance in everything, wasn’t it reasonable to assume that sooner or later he would marry her?

      Charlotte’s nerve-endings tightened. It didn’t matter to her what Logan Kennedy should choose to do, she told herself angrily. He had walked out on her eleven years ago, and just because now he was showing masculine hostility at the knowledge that she had quickly found someone else to replace him, there was no reason for her to get involved. But she was involved, a small voice inside her taunted stubbornly. Nevertheless somehow she had to persuade Robert that in spite of their eventful arrival, ultimately the situation was as expected. How ludicrous that sounded, she thought bitterly, realising it would take more than her reassurance to convince her son.

      The sound of metal falling on to rubber tiles alerted her to the fact that in spite of the early hour, Robert was already about. Without stopping to dress, she stepped into her mules, and opened the bedroom door. Robert’s bedroom, which was across the hall from her own, was empty, and she padded along the passage to find him.

      The kitchen door stood wide and the kettle was almost boiling. Robert, in blue cotton pyjama trousers, was busily setting cups and saucers on a tray, and guessing he meant to surprise her, Charlotte would have drawn back. But the sound of her mules attracted his attention, and he spun round to face her, a slightly shamefaced expression marring his lean features. His black hair flopped untidily over his forehead, and as he lifted his hand to push it back, she could see all the bones of his rib-cage through his pale skin.

      ‘I—er—I was just making some tea,’ he offered, gesturing towards the tray. ‘Did you—did you sleep well?’

      Charlotte moved into the room, glancing round casually at the colour-washed walls and steel units. ‘Did you?’ she countered gently, and he pushed his jaw forward childishly.

      ‘Not very,’ he mumbled, and then, as the kettle boiled, turned away to make the tea. When the teapot was sitting squarely on the tray beside the cream jug and sugar basin, he added, in a muffled tone: ‘I wish we’d never come here!’

      Charlotte sighed, and came round the table which stood in the middle of the floor to get close to him. ‘Do you, Robert?’ she asked softly. ‘Do you really?’

      He looked up at her miserably. ‘I didn’t—not at first. I was looking forward to it. All the boys back home said they wished they could come and live in the West Indies, and yesterday morning, when we sailed from Tortola, it was super! It really was.’

      ‘Then?’

      ‘That man—Kennedy. He spoilt it.’

      Charlotte found herself compelled to ask: ‘Don’t you like him?’

      Robert shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘I did—to begin with. I mean,’ he went on, as if to justify himself, ‘his job is jolly interesting, isn’t it? And he knows such a lot about the islands—everything. I was looking forward to talking to him some more—maybe even learning about underwater biology and diving.’

      Charlotte shook her head, but she found she could not allow Logan’s son to dismiss his father out of hand. ‘Listen, love,’ she said, looking down at him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, ‘nothing has changed. Not so far as you are concerned—–’

      ‘Yes, it has!’

      ‘No!’ She squeezed his shoulders more tightly. ‘Robert, what you saw—what you shouldn’t have seen—yesterday has nothing to do with you. What’s between—Mr Kennedy and me has no bearing on your relationship with him.’

      ‘Of course it does.’

      ‘Why?’

      Robert stared at her. ‘You’re my mother. No one’s going to hit you while I’m around and get away with it.’

      ‘Oh, love …’ Charlotte felt a ridiculous lump come into her throat, and for once he made no protest when she hugged him. Then she drew back and looked at him again. ‘Robert, you must try to be realistic. Ours is an adult world, and some things can’t be explained. But believe me when I say you shouldn’t prejudge a situation.’

      ‘You mean, you deserved his slapping you?’

      ‘Well, I slapped him first,’ admitted Charlotte reluctantly.

      ‘You did?’ Robert uttered a boyish whoop. ‘Hell, I’d like to have seen that!’

      Charlotte shifted impatiently. ‘Maybe you would, but I’d be glad if you’d moderate your language.’

      ‘Oh, Mum, everybody says hell these days!’

      ‘Do they?’

      ‘Sure.’

      ‘Americanisms, too, I suppose.’

      Robert grinned, and a surge of relief swept over her at the knowledge that he didn’t appear to blame her, at least. ‘Where shall we have the tea? he asked, and she suggested they went into her bedroom as they had been accustomed to doing at High Clere.

      Sitting cross-legged on her bed, however, Robert returned to the subject she most wanted to avoid. ‘How long is it since you’ve seen Mr Kennedy?’ he asked curiously.

      Charlotte was glad of her teacup to disguise her expression, but she determined to get this over with, once and for all. ‘I—er—met him several years ago, in England,’ she replied slowly. ‘I told you that.’ She paused. ‘He and your father—–’

      ‘Matthew Derby was not my father!’

      ‘No. Well, as I was saying, they—they met through Matthew’s connections with the university.’

      ‘And he came to our—to High Clere?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Did I meet him?’

      Charlotte cleared her throat. ‘No.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Well, I—I expect you were in bed,’ she responded hastily, and despised herself for getting into this position. Finishing her tea, she slid off the bed, and walked across to the windows. ‘It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?’

      There was silence for so long that eventually she had to turn and look at him, finding him watching her with curiously speculative eyes. Then he smiled, and the momentary chill she had experienced disappeared again.

      ‘Shall I start school straight away?’ he asked unexpectedly, and the simply question created another problem.

      ‘I—don’t know,’ she conceded, her dark brows ascending.

      ‘That’s one of the things we’ll have to find out.’

      ‘At home, the schools will soon be closing down for the summer holidays,’ Robert reminded her hopefully. ‘There doesn’t seem much point in starting something I’m not going to finish.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Will we be staying here after your probationary month is up?’ he explained.

      Charlotte could feel the warm colour invading her cheeks. ‘What makes you ask that question?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Robert shrugged. ‘Just last night—well, I heard you moving about in here long after we went to bed.’

      Charlotte