Born Out Of Love. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ almost to the point of thinness, in close-fitting denim jeans, with roughly cut dark hair overlapping the collar of a faded denim shirt, the man who emerged grasped the hand the fat man extended. They exchanged a few barely audible words, and then they both turned to examine the occupants of the vehicle with close scrutiny.

      Charlotte, who had been watching the encounter with only scant interest, suddenly felt her breath catch in her throat, and all the blood drain away from her face. The resemblance between the newcomer and the man who had been occupying her thoughts for the past few minutes was startling. There again was the darkness which had been duplicated in Robert’s intelligent features, the lithe economy of movement that reminded her of the sinuous grace of a feline, the detached, appraising stare from eyes which she knew could change, as his emotions changed, from coolest hazel to burning amber.

      But she was imagining things, she told herself sickly and without much conviction. She had to be. The man with the undisguisedly cynical expression who was presently surveying the passengers aboard this ancient conveyance could not possibly be the same man who had abandoned her almost twelve years before, without even troubling to find out whether she had recovered from his assault. It was too great a coincidence. That she should travel half across the world to escape from one situation only to find herself facing something even worse was nothing short of disaster.

      Realising she had been holding her breath, she expelled it sharply, unwillingly attracting Robert’s attention. He frowned when he saw how pale she had become, and said, with what for him was an unusual show of concern: ‘Are you feeling all right, Mum? Your face is all sort of grey-looking. You’re not going to pass out or anything, are you?’

      Charlotte managed to shake her head. ‘I just felt a little dizzy for a minute,’ she replied hastily, 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 СКАЧАТЬ