Born Out Of Love. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

CHAPTER TWO

      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 the mountainside. Ferns and mossy rocks determined its course through pools and cascades, flowering plants clinging to its path for survival.

      They followed the curve of a ridge until the harbour was hidden by the shoulder of the island and thick vegetation gave way to waist-high grasses. From here it was possible to glimpse the shapes of other islands in the group, shadowy mounds rising out of the deepening colours of the sea.

      Robert, who, like Charlotte, had been silent on the journey up from the quay, now exclaimed eagerly: ‘How big is the island?’

      ‘I don’t know—–’ Charlotte was beginning, when Logan interrupted her.

      ‘San Cristobal is approximately twelve kilometres long and seven across at its widest point,’ he stated calmly. ‘Not very big, as you can see.’

      Robert rested his arms along the backs of their seats, obviously regarding this as an invitation for more questions. ‘They’re volcanic islands, aren’t they?’

      ‘Twenty-five million years ago,’ agreed Logan dryly.

      ‘Twenty-five million years! Gosh!’ Even Robert was impressed by this. ‘I can’t imagine that—twenty-five million years!’

      ‘Nobody can,’ replied Logan, swerving to avoid the protruding buttress of a thickly rooted evergreen. ‘But geologically the oldest islands in the Antilles were formed about a hundred and fifty million years ago.’

      ‘Is that so?’ Robert frowned. ‘Have you made a study of the islands, Mr Kennedy?’

      Logan glanced sideways at Charlotte. ‘I’m a scientist, Robert. All—behaviour interests me.’

      Robert was intrigued. ‘What kind of a scientist?’

      ‘Oh, Robert, please—–’ Charlotte glanced round at him, nervously impatient, and then felt dismayed at his obvious lack of comprehension. ‘I—Mr Kennedy can’t want to answer all these questions!’

      ‘I don’t mind.’ Logan was infuriatingly casual. ‘I’m a marine biologist, Robert. I study underwater life, among other things.’

      ‘How terrific!’ Robert was really impressed now. ‘Do you go scuba diving—that sort of thing? Like Jacques Cousteau?’

      A touch of humour lifted the corners of Logan’s mouth. ‘Well, I would not put myself in the class of Monsieur Cousteau, but yes—I do spend some of my time underwater. It’s a fascinating world.’

      ‘I’d love to see it—–’ Robert was beginning wistfully, when Charlotte determined that this conversation had gone far enough.

      ‘How well do you know the Fabergés, Mr Kennedy?’ she inquired politely, as much from a need to penetrate the wall of isolation she could feel closing around her as a desire to prelude her introduction to her employers.

      Logan’s long, narrow fingers slid effortlessly round the wheel. ‘Quite well,’ he replied, after a moment’s pause.

      Charlotte forced herself to go on. ‘I believe Madame Fabergé’s husband is working here on the island. Does he work with you, by any chance?’

      Logan turned to look at her and for a moment their eyes met and held. But the coldness in his was chilling and she looked away as he answered: ‘Madame Fabergé’s husband is dead, Mrs Derby. I thought you knew that.’

      For a moment, Charlotte’s brain spun dizzily. She tried to remember what it was Mr Lewis had said, and she could almost swear that he had told her that her employer’s husband was living and working at Avocado Cay.

      Grasping the frame of the open window for support, she said faintly: ‘I didn’t know that, Mr Kennedy. How could I?’

      Logan shrugged. They had been descending a steep slope for some minutes, and below them stretched the serried ranks of a plantation of some kind. Thick leaves disguised their fruit, but Robert recognised the fleshy green fingers beneath.

      ‘Hey, they’re bananas,’ he cried excitedly. ‘Rows and rows of banana plants!’

      Logan gave him an inscrutable smile, his benevolence fading when he again encountered Charlotte’s troubled gaze. But he went on to explain that this was the only crop grown in any quantity on the island. They had an unusual amount of rainfall, he explained, and its hilly contours were not suitable for acres of sugar cane. The island was not overly populated either. Apart from the village they could see ahead of them, and Avocado Cay, the small township of San Cristobal was its main settlement.

      The village was a thriving community, with weatherboard houses and stores fronting a narrow main street. Charlotte saw the schoolhouse and beside it the Episcopalian church, the churchyard incongruously ordered among such tropical disorder. She wondered how many other white people lived on the island. She had seen mostly black faces.

      Logan was instantly recognised, and their progress was slowed by his casual exchanges with passers-by. Occasionally, someone would approach the car to take a look at the newcomers, and once a child clung to Logan’s open window, cheekily demanding when he was going to be taken sailing again.

      ‘You ought to be in school, СКАЧАТЬ