Born Out Of Love. Anne Mather
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It was difficult, but eventually she separated them, shaking Robert gently, forgetting her own pain, both mental and physical, in an attempt to reassure the boy. ‘Listen to me,’ she exclaimed, forcing him to look at her. ‘You don’t understand …’
‘I don’t want to!’ retorted Robert, half tearfully now, as emotion got the better of valour. His lips trembled. ‘If I was older, he wouldn’t dare to touch you!’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Logan heavily, behind him. ‘I wouldn’t. I’m sorry, Robert. I promise you, it won’t happen again.’
The boy tore himself away from his mother and faced the man fearlessly. Watching them, Charlotte was appalled at how alike they were. ‘You bet it won’t!’ he muttered childishly, and Logan’s eyes sought and found hers above her son’s head.
‘I’ll show you the rest of the bungalow,’ he said, in a curiously flat voice, but Charlotte declined.
Drawing herself up to her full height, which in cork-soled sandals was a couple of inches more, she said: ‘We can manage, thank you. We shan’t need your assistance.’
Logan inclined his head wearily. ‘As you wish.’ He turned towards the door, and she wondered why her victory suddenly felt so much like defeat. ‘There are provisions in the kitchen, and the meal my man, Carlos, prepared for you earlier is in the refrigerator. The sanitary arrangements are, I think, self-explanatory.’ He paused, one hand on the lintel. ‘Carlos will fetch your cases from the car, and I will see you both in the morning.’
Charlotte nodded, but Robert muttered: ‘Not if we see you first!’ in a distinctly audible undertone.
Logan’s look narrowed. ‘If you need—anything else, my house is just a dozen yards away along the beach,’ he added quietly, and stepped through the door. ‘Goodnight.’
Robert turned his back and said nothing, but Charlotte acknowledged his farewell with a quick nod, going to the door as he crossed the verandah, and closing it securely behind him. There was a key and she turned it, uncaring whether or not he heard her.
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