and at least they were not to be crushed by the press of humanity, Charlotte approved with some relief, subsiding into the seat beside her son. It was just as well. The contours of the bus did not allow for expansion, and although all the windows were open, the air inside was still and humid.
Through the windows, they could see the quay, and the launch which had brought them from Tortola rocking at its mooring. The stones of the quay were bleached hite by the sun, which was presently beginning its downward sweep towards the shadowy rise of the densely wooded hinterland, and the water beyond was clear turquoise shading to deepest blue. Whatever else San Cristobal lacked, there was no shortage of colour, Charlotte had, reluctantly, to admit. White-painted buildings, overhung with flowering creepers were dazzling without the protection of dark glasses, and she searched her bag for the polaroid lenses she had bought in St Thomas. A station wagon was coming fast down the narrow road towards the harbour, throwing up a cloud of dust in its passing, drawing attention to the precipitous climb ahead of them, and she hoped Robert was right in his casual assertion that these vehicles were built to last.
Then, realising how tense she was becoming, she forced herself to relax. There was no point in letting the situation play on her nerves. It was too late for that. She was here now; she was committed; and providing Madame Fabergé found her work acceptable, here they would stay.
All the same, it was impossible to rid herself of the bitterness she had felt these past few weeks since Matthew’s death. Without it, she might never have considered taking a post in such an out-of-the-way spot, might never have given in to the eagerness to escape from the triumphant condescension of Matthew’s relatives. What had they said? That it was only right that he should have left his house and property to his family; his real family, that is, not the girl he had taken into his home when she was seven years old, and whom he had had to marry ten years later because she was pregnant with another man’s child. The child he had grown to hate …
Charlotte shivered and looked despairingly at her son. Was this Matthew’s way of reaping his revenge, leaving her without even a roof over her head, and only her brief experience of nursery training to fall back on? Had he really lost all feeling for her? Had he allowed his brother and sister-in-law to influence him to that extent?
Of course, she had always known that Malcolm and Elizabeth had disliked her. They had made that plain in a dozen different ways, not least by forbidding their own two sons to associate with her. As far as they were concerned, Matthew had been mad to take responsibility for her in the first place, and when she had found herself pregnant, she had merely confirmed their opinion of her. But it hadn’t been like that …
She sighed now. How many times during those months before Robert was born had she longed to be able to destroy the child inside her? She hadn’t wanted a baby, not this baby, and by no means had she wanted to marry a man almost thirty years older than herself.
But Matthew had been adamant. He wanted to care for her, he said, and how could she expect to care for herself? People would talk if she went on living in his house as the mother of a baby, he said. They would suspect it was his, so why shouldn’t they convince them of it? Only Malcolm and Elizabeth had known that Matthew was not Robert’s father, could never have been, and they had never let Charlotte forget it.
In the early days, she used to wonder why a man with money and influence like Matthew Derby should have wanted to take in the orphaned daughter of one of his saleswomen. Those had been innocent days, before she had learned that years ago Matthew had cared for her mother, had wanted her, and had been thwarted when she met and married the young airman who had been Charlotte’s father. In those pre-war months Matthew had been an eligible bachelor, elder son of Andrew Derby, who had opened the first of two department stores from which the Derbys had made their money. He had found it incredible that anyone in her mother’s position should have preferred a penniless airman to someone with his social advantages, but then the war had overtaken them all, killing Matthew’s parents in an air raid and destroying for ever his own hopes of ever fathering a child.
Charlotte had learned the story gradually, through Elizabeth Derby’s barbed comments and from the things she had overheard the housekeeper saying. But then she had not really understood the connection between that history and herself. That had come later, and with adolescence came the rude awakening to Matthew’s true purpose in putting her in his debt. Even so, she had not taken his advances seriously until her involvement with Robert’s father …
Logan Kennedy had been studying marine biology. His home was in Brazil, but he had come to study for a while at a London institute, and Matthew had met him through a colleague of his at the university. Because Matthew was always interested in something new, he eventually invited Logan to dinner at High Clere, his house in Richmond.
From the beginning, Charlotte had been fascinated by the dark South American. Tall and lean and muscular, with the kind of uneven good looks and deep tan that went with the outdoor life he led, he was totally outside her realm of experience. She was used to spending time with older people, and Logan was much younger than Matthew’s circle of friends. Even so, she had never expected him to become interested in her.
Logan only came to High Clere that one time. Whether Matthew sensed he had made a mistake in bringing him there, Charlotte never knew for certain, but what she did soon learn was that Matthew did not approve of her associating with the young Brazilian.
She had left school the previous summer and because she liked children, she had decided to train as a nursery nurse. Brought up without children of her own age, she found working with the toddlers a delight, and that was how Logan had come upon her that afternoon when he had come to the nursery to meet her—with her arms full of children.
To say she had been surprised to see him would have been an enormous understatement. But that had quickly been erased by her very real excitement at his appearance. Because she had been afraid that if she went home and asked Matthew his permission he might refuse, she had telephoned Mrs Parrish, the housekeeper, and explained that she intended having a meal with a friend, and allowed her to draw her own conclusions.
Of course, when she had gone home she had told Matthew the truth, and because he had been surprisingly non-committal she had assumed he had no objections. But she had soon found this was not so. Engagements she couldn’t remember accepting were sprung on her at the last minute, forcing her to ring Logan and cancel whatever arrangements they had made. Matthew developed curious aches and pains whenever she was going out, and she found it almost impossible to relax at times, knowing he was sitting at home, waiting patiently for her.
Naturally, Logan began to get impatient. He had so little time in England, and although she began to see what it was Matthew was trying to do, she couldn’t help the feelings of guilt he managed to arouse inside her.
Besides which, her relationship with Logan was developing too quickly for her peace of mind. She had had boy-friends before, but never anyone like Logan, and when she was with him she seemed to lose all control over her emotions. She could think lucidly enough when they were apart, but when she was in his arms, sharing kisses and caresses which were all the more passionate because of their brevity, she knew they were rapidly becoming not enough. Sooner or later his own need would break through the iron control Logan kept upon himself, and then …
Even so, the inevitable might not have happened had it not been for Matthew. Charlotte came home from work one evening in early autumn to find him sunk in a mood of deep depression, seated beside the fire in his study, the bottle and empty glass beside him bearing silent witness to the number of drinks he had already swallowed.
It was then he had broached the subject which in recent weeks she had forgotten—that of the eventual outcome of their relationship. He wanted to marry her, he told her, staring at her through slightly bloodshot eyes, and she had tried to make light
