by Penny Jordan
‘We’ll spend tonight on St Lucia,’ Rorke announced. ‘Lady is berthed at Castries, and we’ll sail from there in the morning.’
‘Lady?’ Lisa mumbled. ‘You’ve still got her?’
‘What the hell did you expect me to do with her?’ Rorke retorted, looking cynically amused. ‘Scuttle her like a heartbroken idiot? She’s too valuable for that. I charter her a good deal these days.’ His mouth twisted. ‘She’s very popular for honeymoon cruises.’
‘What’s a honeymoon, Mummy?’ Robbie demanded, pouncing on the new word with interest.
‘It’s a sort of holiday,’ Lisa replied vaguely, glad when something else caught his attention. How long did Rorke intend to keep them on St Martin’s? How long would it be before Leigh was well enough for them to leave? These were questions she should have asked in London, but somehow there hadn’t been time.
‘Tell me about Leigh,’ she turned to Rorke. ‘How serious is it?’
‘Serious enough to warrant him being hospitalised in intensive care on Martinique,’ Rorke told her grimly. ‘They wanted him to have an operation then, but he refused. He wanted to see you,’ he told her bleakly, ‘and he knew there was only a fifty per cent chance of survival.’
Tears stung her eyes. Dear Leigh! How she had missed him. Only now would she let herself admit how much.
‘Does he know about Robbie?’ She asked the question without looking at Rorke.
‘Not from me, so he’s going to be a welcome bonus. I’ll tell him that you only discovered you were pregnant after our quarrel—which is quite conceivable, since, as far as he’s aware, you ran away from me after one night of wedded bliss. I shall tell him that you didn’t tell me about Robbie, and then when I came to find you to tell you about his accident, the joy of discovering my wife and child was so great that I simply had to persuade you to agree to a reconciliation.’
‘You think he’ll believe that?’
Rorke smiled cynically. ‘He wants to believe it, Lisa, and he’ll want to believe it even more when he finds out about Robbie.’
‘And you’re prepared to let him believe that Robbie is your son, after all that you said?’
‘He’s my father, and I want him to live. I seem to think that letting him know that the sweet, innocent child he cherished as a daughter was neither of those things, and that, moreover, she is the mother of an illegitimate child is hardly likely to achieve that aim, do you?’
‘And what about Helen?’ Lisa asked in a low voice. ‘Are you going to tell her the truth?’
‘Your presence on St Martins is hardly likely to affect Helen,’ Rorke told her cruelly, ‘and neither is my relationship with her any business of yours.’
Two hours later they were touching down on St Lucia. The heat was something Lisa had almost forgotten. It hit them in a burning, dry wave as they stepped off the plane and waited to go through Customs.
Mercifully, Rorke was recognised and they were waved through after the merest formalities. Robbie rubbed tiredly at his eyes as Rorke led the way to a waiting Range Rover, lifting the little boy inside and making sure he was comfortable before turning back to Lisa. He was just on the point of helping her into the Range Rover when a bright scarlet sports car pulled up beside them with a spurt of gravel sending up miniature clouds of dust. Lisa felt her stomach muscles tense as she recognised Helen’s titian hair, and then the other woman was out of the car, hurrying welcomingly towards Rorke, ignoring Lisa as she lifted her face for his kiss. Time seemed to roll back; she was sixteen again, gauche and nervous, only this time she had the added handicap of jet flight exhaustion, and the sensation of grubbiness and loss of energy peculiar to long flights to contend with.
‘Rorke, I’m so pleased I’ve caught you,’ Helen said huskily. ‘I’ve come straight from Castries. There’s been been a problem with Lady. Something to do with one of the engines, but they’re working on it now. You don’t have her chartered for a couple of weeks, do you?’
Did Helen have to stress so obviously how intimately she was involved in Rorke’s day-to-day life? Lisa wondered acidly. Robbie was watching them from the Range Rover, and she moved across to reassure him that he hadn’t been deserted. Helen was watching her and Lisa had the satisfaction of seeing the other woman’s face pale with shock as she recognised Rorke’s distinctive features on his son in miniature.
‘Lisa,’ she acknowledged briefly. ‘Quite a surprise to see you back.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it must be,’ Lisa agreed equally sweetly. ‘Robbie, say hello to Helen.’
‘Hello,’ Robbie obliged, round-eyed. ‘Are you one of Daddy’s friends?’
Helen blanched and for a moment Lisa almost felt sorry as she saw the other woman turn accusingly to Rorke.
‘He called you “Daddy”!’ she snapped angrily to Rorke. ‘What’s going on? You said nothing about bringing him back with you!’
‘We could scarcely leave him behind,’ Rorke drawled back. ‘And since we had to bring him it’s better that he calls me Daddy rather than Uncle. I want my father to recover,’ he added grimly, ‘not suffer another setback.’
‘I’ll drive you back to Castries.’ Helen offered, indicating her car. ‘Lisa and Robbie can travel back together with your driver in the Rover.’
Lisa could see Robbie’s chin starting to wobble betrayingly. He was a little boy suddenly thrust into a strange environment; over-hot and overtired, and like small children the world over in such circumstances he was about to make it plain that he considered his parents his personal property and wanted them with him, Lisa sensed. She was just about to comfort him when, to her surprise, Rorke stepped forward, sliding into the Range Rover next to the little boy.
‘Another time, Helen,’ he suggested. ‘We’ll have to go straight to the hotel anyway, so there’s no point in taking you out of your way.’
‘Clever of you to foist your child off on him,’ Helen hissed as she brushed past Lisa, fury sparkling in her eyes, ‘but despite the impression he’s giving now, Rorke has never had much time for children—especially another man’s!’
‘Robbie is Rorke’s son,’ Lisa told her quietly, ‘and nothing either you or Rorke can say can change that, Helen.’
She had the satisfaction of seeing the older woman pale, and knew that her claim had the unmistakable ring of truth.
‘You’re lying,’ Helen accused. ‘You left Rorke the day you were married!’
‘That doesn’t stop Robbie from being his son,’ Lisa told her.
‘You’re just saying that because it’s what you want to believe; because it’s what you’re hoping to force Leigh to believe.?’
‘It’s the truth,’ Lisa insisted. ‘You may not want to believe it, but it is.’
Before Helen could make any further response she turned away heading for the Range Rover. Robbie seemed to have recovered his usual good spirits and was staring around, obviously amazed by the sudden change in his surroundings.
It was a long drive down the length of the island from the airport to the hotel near Castries, and Robbie chattered excitedly, making it unnecessary for Lisa to do much more than stare blindly at the passing scenery. The last time she had made this journey had been the last time she returned from school just after her mother’s death. She had travelled with Leigh then, never dreaming what awaited her. In six short months she had grown from a child to a woman, knowing a man’s desire, and eventually his contempt. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away determinedly, as they turned off the main road and into the drive which led to one of the family’s hotels.
In almost no time at all they were shown into one of the hotel’s luxurious chalets set in the lush tropical gardens. The chalet was a large one, with two bedrooms, a living room, bathroom and kitchen.
As soon as their baggage had been brought in Lisa started to get Robbie ready for bed. She had bathed him and was just wondering about ordering him something to eat when a beaming maid arrived with a covered tray.
‘Master Ror
ke, he order something for the little boy,’ she explained to Lisa when the latter expressed surprise.
‘Beans on toast, plus ice cream,’ Rorke elucidated, suddenly emerging from the other bedroom. ‘Not exactly Cordon Bleu, but I hope it will suffice.’
His thoughtfulness astounded Lisa, but it was swiftly dispelled when he explained mockingly, ‘Surely it’s only natural that I should show concern for my son’s welfare, Lisa? After all, I’ve already missed the first five years of his life—thanks to our quarrel. Which reminds me…’ he added thoughtfully.
Lisa had been settling Robbie with his tray, and she turned at the speculative note in Rorke’s voice.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I’ve just got a couple of phone calls to make, that’s all. I’ll be back in half an hour. Would you like to have dinner in the restaurant, or…’
‘Here in the bungalow, please, if you can arrange it,’ Lisa told him. ‘Getting changed for dinner is the last thing I feel like right now.’
‘Mmm, I think you’re right,’ Rorke agreed. ‘As we’re a newly reconciled couple, it will seem more realistic if we keep to the privacy of our bungalow.’
‘We haven’t reached St Martin’s yet,’ Lisa reminded him tartly, ‘so it hardly matters what everyone thinks.’
‘You seem to have forgotten how parochial these islands are—and how fast news travels,’ Rorke reminded her dryly. ‘I don’t want even the merest suspicion of a cloud to mar Leigh’s happiness when he discovers you’ve come home—and I’ll take every step I can to make sure that one doesn’t, understand?’
Lisa thought she did, but it wasn’t until later—too much later—that she really understood.
Once Robbie was in bed and their clothes laid out for the morning Lisa allowed herself to give in to the full weight of the exhaustion that had been with her since they stepped off the plane. She showered and then sat down in an easy chair, in her robe, intending to read one of the magazines Rorke had bought her on the plane, but somehow the print kept blurring as waves of tiredness swept over her, and not even the opening of the chalet door had the power to wake her, half an hour later when Rorke returned.
He walked over to the chair, standing over the recumbent feminine form, the flimsy cotton robe doing little to conceal the shapeliness of the curves beneath. With a grim look in his eyes he bent and lifted Lisa into his arms. Her hair fell in a curved silken bell, her body totally relaxed in his arms. With a muttered curse Rorke carried her into the bedroom where a temporary small bed had been set up for Robbie.
‘God damn you, Lisa,’ he swore softly as he placed her on the bed, ‘I let you get to me once, but you’re not going to do it again!’
CHAPTER SIX
‘MUMMY, wake up! Daddy and I have had our breakfast already!’
She was making a habit of over-sleeping, Lisa thought tiredly, responding automatically to Robbie’s voice. Perhaps her body was trying to tell her something—like for instance that dreams were more pleasant than real life.
‘Wake up, Lisa, we’re leaving in half an hour!’
She opened her eyes, struggling to sit up as she recognised Rorke’s voice. Both of them were standing just inside the bedroom door, Robbie leaning against Rorke’s legs. Just for a second she allowed herself to imagine that they were in fact the happy family unit they appeared, before firmly reminding herself of the truth. She couldn’t bear to look at Rorke again—or Robbie. Seeing them together, Robbie his father all over again in miniature, started off that old familiar weakness she had always experienced in Rorke’s presence. She had forgotten over the years the forceful magnetism of his personality, the sheer male force of him, but now, with him standing in the doorway to her room, she found herself trembling with the memory of how she had once felt about him. And it was only memory, she told herself; that was all!
‘Lisa.’
She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that the hard edge of impatience in his voice startled her, as did his sudden emergence into her room. He made determinedly for the bed, grasping the bedclothes before she could stop him, Robbie chortling in glee at his side.
‘If you aren’t going to get up of your own volition, perhaps I ought to help you. Funny, I seem to remember you were always something of an early bird in the old days.’
As he spoke he wrenched back the covers, leaving Lisa feeling ridiculously exposed in her thin cotton nightgown. Robbie, unaware of the friction between the two adults, bounced on the bed beside her, cuddling up to her in a way that reminded her that for all his sturdy independence he still hadn’t actually left childhood very far behind.
Having stripped off the bedclothes, Rorke hadn’t moved. He simply stood there staring down at them, arms folded across his chest, like a pirate with his human booty, Lisa thought bitterly, and then he moved and just for a moment the expression in his eyes made her heart turn over in sympathy for his anguish. He was watching Robbie, and Lisa stilled an urge to go to him and tell him again that Robbie was his son, but she stifled it almost at birth. Rorke wouldn’t believe her, if he couldn’t believe the evidence of his own eyes. If she told him Robbie was his son he would only think she had some ulterior motive for doing so, and besides, she knew now what the truth would do to him!
‘Daddy, why are you looking at me like that?’ Robbie piped up, frowning up at Rorke. ‘Daddy looks sad, doesn’t he, Mummy?’ he appealed to Lisa.
Avoiding Rorke’s eyes, Lisa said hurriedly, ‘Get off the bed, Robbie, there’s a good boy, then I can get dressed.’
‘Daddy, why are you sad?’ Robbie persisted.
Lisa had to walk past Rorke to get to the bathroom and there was no way she could avoid looking at him, surprised to see the tide of dark colour running up under his tan.
‘Rorke, is something wrong?’ she questioned. She touched his arm as automatically as she might have touched Robbie’s in a gesture of comfort and compassion, but Rorke tensed against her, as he might have done a scorpion, and it was her turn to colour heatedly, withdrawing from his obvious rejection.
‘Nothing’s wrong, Lisa,’ he told her grittily. ‘You’ll just have to make allowances for me occasionally, when I make the mistake of remembering how things should have been—that Robbie should have been my son. He’s a fine boy,’ he added abruptly. ‘A lot like you.’
‘He has my eyes,’ Lisa replied absently. To judge from Rorke’s words it almost sounded as though he regretted their break-up, but he had never to her knowledge made any attempts to trace her or come after her, and surely if he had loved her as she loved him, he would have done so, Mike or no Mike?
‘There’s very little of Peters about him.’ Rorke’s voice sounded almost jerky, as though saying the words were a mental and physical agony.
‘I think he looks very like his father,’ Lisa told him—after all, it was the truth. He did look like Rorke, although the latter couldn’t seem to see the resemblance—couldn’t or wouldn’t, she thought bitterly. Rorke would never want to acknowledge Robbie as his son, not when he was so obviously still involved with Helen. Would he marry her eventually? Lisa forced herself not to think about the future. She was back in the Caribbean and for Robbie’s sake she intended to make their time there a happy one—for Robbie’s sake and for Leigh’s as well. Leigh! She had written to him from London when she first arrived there, explaining what had happened, but he had never replied to her. Did he hate her as much as Rorke had done; did he too believe that Robbie was Mike’s child?
‘Peters certainly didn’t lose much time in joining you,’ Rorke added tauntingly. ‘I saw him before he left, when I came back from St Lucia without you. He came to see me; told me that he’d begged you to tell me the truth. He was most concerned for you, but not concerned enough to give you his name, eh, Lisa?—he left that little task to me. Why did you marry me?’
Robbie was staring at them wide-eyed, taking in every word, and Lisa glanced pointedly down at him before responding lightly,
‘Oh, all the usual
reasons, Rorke. I thought I loved you, for one thing.’
The bitter anger she saw in his eyes made her freeze where she stood. ‘Liar,’ Rorke breathed harshly. ‘You never damned well loved me, Lisa, otherwise you…’ He broke off, and Lisa was amazed to see how pale he had gone beneath his tan, his face almost grey in the pure morning light.
‘You’d better get dressed,’ he added coldly, ‘otherwise we’re going to miss the plane. Having returned from St Lucia once without you and faced the consequences, I’ve no desire to do so again.’
What had he said when he returned home without her? Lisa wondered. In the first few weeks after her flight she had been too distressed to give that a thought, and then later she had firmly put her past behind her, refusing to allow herself to think about it, refusing to admit to the pain the memory of Rorke always brought. Why, even now… She bit her lip. Even now what? Even now she wasn’t wholly indifferent to him? Even now her body trembled betrayingly just because he was in the same room? Mere physical response, that was all; that there was nothing left of the love she had once felt for him. There couldn’t be!
* * *
Nothing had changed, Lisa thought drowsily as she clambered out of the small twin-engined plane and down on to the airstrip of St Martin’s. They had flown in over the house, and Lisa now wondered nervously what her reception would be. Had Leigh really been asking for her? If so, why had he never answered her letter? Or was it simply that he had owed more loyalty to Rorke and that now he regretted it?
Even Robbie seemed to be affected by the sombreness of her mood, clinging to her skirt as Rorke talked to the pilot of the plane.
She had changed into a silky cotton two-piece for the last leg of their journey. It was softly patterned in misty blues and lilacs on a white background and Lisa knew it suited her blue eyes and fair colouring. Despite Robbie’s birth she was as slender as she had always been, only the firm fullness of her breasts against the fine fabric betraying the fact that she was no longer a girl.