‘MUMMY, Mummy, wake up!’
Drowsily, Lisa surfaced from sleep. Robbie was standing beside her bed, his small face determined, the blue-green eyes, all that he had inherited from her, looking accusingly at her.
‘Why are you still sleeping?’ he demanded, watching her. ‘I’ve been awake for ages!’
He had tried to dress himself, and a strong surge of love tugged at her body as Lisa propped herself up on one elbow to watch him. He was so sturdy and self-assured, this son of hers; so much his father’s child in everything he did. But Rorke would never acknowledge him. To Rorke he was Mike’s child. The thick dark hair, so like his father’s, tangled and unruly, curled round his still babyish little boy’s face, but despite the baby chubbiness, already in his bone structure Lisa could recognise Rorke’s.
A rattle in the hall heralded the arrival of the post, and suppressing a sigh Lisa swung her legs out of bed, as Robbie hurried downstairs to see what had arrived.
Lisa heard him coming back as she stepped into the shower. He was talking to himself; she could hear the high piping voice, and she smiled to herself, picturing him climbing the stairs. He still had to take them one at a time, and consequently it took him a couple of minutes to reach the top. She heard him pushing open the bathroom door, and called out to him to pass her a towel as she turned off the shower and opened the door. Her body stiffened as she realised that Robbie wasn’t alone. Rorke was with him, and it was Rorke who proffered the towel she had asked for, galvanising her tense muscles into action as she whipped the towel round her, securing it like a sarong, as she darted Rorke a look of bitter hatred.
‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed as she urged Robbie towards the door. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Robbie let me in,’ Rorke told her calmly, apparently completely undisturbed by the intimacy of their surroundings.
‘I want my breakfast,’ Robbie announced, looking from one adult face to the other.
‘Go down stairs, Robbie, I’ll be down in a minute,’ Lisa instructed, glancing coldly and pointedly at Rorke as he followed her on to the landing.
‘If you don’t mind,’ she told him icily, ‘I’d like to get dressed. ‘I realise that good manners are apparently completely alien to you—otherwise you’d never have come up here in the first place,’ she added when he refused to move, ‘but getting dressed is something I prefer to do without an audience.’
‘You surprise me,’ was Rorke’s cynical comment, as he stepped past her, and as she opened her bedroom door Lisa found she was shaking with a mixture of temper and reaction. Just for a moment as she stepped out of the shower and saw Rorke there time had telescoped, present and past mingling, and just briefly, for the merest heartbeat, she had experienced again all those emotions she had known at seventeen.
But she wasn’t seventeen any longer. She was twenty-two and the mother of a five-year-old son whose father refused to acknowledge him, and that was somthing she would be wise not to forget.
She dressed quickly in jeans and a checked shirt. The jeans were relatively new ones and emphasised the slender length of her legs. Her hair, tangled and slightly damp from the shower, curled riotously on to her shoulders, and with an impatient gesture she tied it back into one long plait, securing it with a rubber band.
As she reached the kitchen she could smell coffee and toast. She pushed open the door, and the domesticity of the scene that greeted her took her by the throat, reminding her of how very vulnerable she still was no matter how much she might want to deny it. Robbie was sitting in his chair, eating toast. Rorke was standing beside him talking to him. Both of them looked up as she walked in, identical expressions in their eyes. If Rorke could see what she could see he would never imagine that Robbie was anyone else’s child. But he didn’t want to know about Robbie’s parenthood, she reminded herself, hardening her heart. He had wanted to believe what Helen had told him. Perhaps he had even then been regretting marrying her; wanting a way out. He had certainly never made any attempt to find her before—and now that he had it was for Leigh’s sake, not his own.
‘We’re going to fly a long way in a huge plane,’ Robbie told her matter-of-factly as she sat down, adding innocently, ‘We’re going with my daddy.’
Lisa’s head shot up, her eyes widening in shock.
‘It’s all right,’ Rorke announced, anticipating her. ‘I’ve explained to Robbie that I’m his father.’
‘You never told me much about my daddy,’ Robbie interrupted, accusingly. ‘You said it was mostly the two of us, Mummy.’
Oh, for the logic of youth, Lisa thought on a sigh, choking down the fierce wave of anger she felt against Rorke. How dared he walk calmly into her life, throwing out orders, telling Robbie that he was his father, carelessly and casually, not giving a thought to the effect it was likely to have on the little boy once he discovered the true situation?
‘Something wrong?’ Rorke had followed her across to the sink, watching her fill the kettle with hands that trembled betrayingly.
‘Of course there is,’ Lisa whispered savagely. ‘How dare you tell Robbie that you’re his father!’
‘If he doesn’t believe it, no one else is going to,’ Rorke told her quietly, ‘and I won’t have my father upset, Lisa. It’s imperative that he’s given some reason to hold on to life, that’s what the experts say, and I’m hoping that Robbie will prove to be that reason.’
‘You planned this, didn’t you?’ Lisa said bitterly. ‘You didn’t come here to take me back at all. You wanted Robbie…’
‘My father wants you both,’ Rorke corrected. A muscle beat angrily in his jaw and Lisa wondered at his hardness, his ability to ride roughshod over everyone else simply to get what he wanted.
‘So you knew about Robbie?’ she ventured bitterly.
‘I knew you were carrying a child—you told me so yourself, remember?’
She darted a look at the hard, implacably set features and wondered at his control over his emotions. He hated her, she knew that, and yet for his father’s sake he was prepared to take her back to St Martins and Robbie with him, acknowledging Robbie as his son, even though he believed him to be Mike’s.
But Robbie was his son, and had every right to live on St Martins; every right to expect to be treated as Rorke’s son, and she did not have the ability to deprive her child of that right, Lisa decided achingly.
‘It’s perfectly all right, Lisa,’ Rorke said softly, watching the play of emotions over her face. ‘I’ve never believed in punishing the child for the crimes of its parents, and Robbie won’t suffer for his fathering at my hands. Besides, all I’m concerned with here is my father and his return to health.’
‘And to ensure that you’re prepared to suffer my presence on St Martins, is that it?’ Lisa demanded in a choked voice. God, his arrogance made her long to hit him!
‘You’re the one who said it,’ Rorke drawled insultingly. ‘But yes. For my father’s sake, I’m prepared to do what I said I never would do, and that is to accept your son as my child.’
‘Big of you,’ Lisa muttered under her breath. ‘I’m sure Robbie will be most appreciative, if you’re around long enough for him to realise the sacrifice that you’ve made. Couldn’t you simply have told him that you were a friend? Children aren’t fools. Robbie is already aware of the fact that there’s only me—like all children he’s inquisitive and curious. Now you’ve told him you’re his father, he will expect you to be his father.’
Was he remembering as she was that he had sworn he would never acknowledge Robbie as his son?
‘And so I will be—at least for as long as you’re on St Martins.’
But what about after that? Lisa wondered with an aching heart. She was under no illusions. Rorke was simply using them to protect his father, and once Leigh recovered they would be cruelly and firmly jettisoned. For herself, she could cope—no pain could ever equal what she had experienced when she first left Rorke, but it was Robbie she was worried about now. Robbie who would suffer dreadfully if he was allowed to get too close to Rorke; if he did indeed come to accept Rorke as his father, and Lisa made a private vow that no matter what Rorke might tell the little boy she would do all she could to protect him.
‘I’ve booked us on the evening flight,’ Rorke told her. ‘You’ll need to do some shopping—buy Robbie some lightweight clothes, etc. I’ve telephoned home to tell them to expect us. If you manage to persuade my father to have this operation I’m willing to be very generous to you, Lisa.’ He looked round the small, cramped room, his glance indicating how easily he thought she would be tempted by his suggestion.
Anger, molten hot and bitter, churned through her.
‘Whatever I do, I’m doing for Leigh, not for you, Rorke,’ she threw at him, ‘and I don’t need bribing. I love Leigh…’
‘So much that you ran out on me and never even let him know where you were. Some love!’ Rorke sneered. ‘Didn’t you ever think about what you were doing to him? About the gossip that would ensue, especially when Mike Peters left the island only weeks after you?’
Mike had left the island? That was something she hadn’t known.
‘Don’t come the innocent with me,’ Rorke snarled. ‘I know the two of you were together in Paris. Helen saw you when she was on a buying trip. She let it slip…’
‘I can imagine,’ Lisa retorted hotly. ‘But she happens to have been lying. I haven’t seen Mike since I left St Martin’s.’
Rorke shrugged, plainly losing interest in the subject, and Lisa suddenly became aware of Robbie, who was watching with rounded eyes.
‘Why are you getting cross, Mummy?’ he demanded suspiciously. ‘Are you cross with my daddy?’
His lower lip trembled a little, and Lisa bit her lip, mentally chiding herself for letting Robbie witness their quarrel.
She was just about to reassure the little boy, when to her surprise Rorke scooped him up into his arms, holding him level with his face.
‘Mummy and I were just talking,’ he lied reassuringly. ‘It just sounded as though Mummy was getting cross.’
The explanation seemed to satisfy Robbie, and Lisa, who sometimes found his inescapable thirst for knowledge wearying, suppressed a small spurt of resentment that he should accept Rorke and his explanation so readily.
Robbie, though, was apparently engrossed in other matters. ‘If you’re my daddy, why haven’t you been to see me before?’ he asked queryingly.
‘I haven’t been able to,’ Rorke told him easily, ‘but I’m here now, and…’
‘And you’re going to take us home with you,’ Robbie supplied, obviously having been well primed. ‘My daddy lives on a real island,’ he told Lisa importantly,’ and I’ll be able to learn to swim properly. Will I have to go to school?’
School! That was something Lisa hadn’t thought about, but she suspected they wouldn’t be there long enough for her to need to worry too much about the time Robbie might miss off school. However, to her surprise, Rorke responded immediately, ‘There’s a school on the island, Robbie—you’ll like it, I know, and then when you’re older you’ll go to school here in England like I did.’
He saw Lisa glaring at him, and put Robbie back on the floor. The little boy quickly became engrossed in his toys, leaving Lisa free to whisper bitterly, ‘Did you have to tell him that? He has an excellent memory, Rorke, and you said you didn’t want to punish him for my sins. How do you think he’s going to feel when he realises you’ve lied to him? That you’re just using us?’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Rorke told her, adding cynically, ‘What upsets you the most, Lisa? The fact that I might be hurting Robbie, or the fact that he could so easily have been my child if only Helen hadn’t told me the truth.’
‘The truth?’ Lisa laughed bitterly. ‘What do you know about the truth, Rorke? Nothing! Nothing at all!’
If she had any sense, she would refuse here and now to go back to St Martins with him, but the thought of Leigh tugged at her heartstrings. Leigh and Robbie, who would surely find much pleasure in one another. Could she, merely for selfish reasons of her own, deny them that relationship? In her heart of hearts she already knew the answer.
It was a hectic rush to be ready on time, and in the end, much to her surprise, Rorke suggested that he looked after Robbie while she did her shopping.
It wasn’t easy finding lightweight clothes for a small boy in mid-November, but at last it was all done, and after all, they wouldn’t be on St Martin’s for very long, Lisa assured herself as she hurried homewards.
It was growing dark as she walked along the road, and as she opened her gate she absently noted the familiar squeak. She would have to go next door and ask her neighbour to keep an eye on the house while she was away.
She pushed open the living room door, unprepared for the scene that met her eyes. Rorke was relaxing in one of the armchairs, Robbie asleep on his lap, and something about the totally relaxed and trusting face of her son made Lisa’s heart ache for all that she had lost. Quickly she dismissed the thought. It was not her fault if Rorke had refused to believe her; if he chose to believe Helen instead.
Something about the sleeping man drew her. She bent forward almost instinctively, her heart thudding as Rorke’s eyes opened. Just for a second they looked at one another, and then Rorke said dangerously softly, ‘Wondering how you’re going to manage without Greg? He is your latest lover, I presume.’ He said it so sardonically that Lisa felt anger flare hotly inside her, provoking her to retort bitterly,
‘Why the hell should I tell you? At least he’s honest and decent, which is more than I can say for Helen! I assume she is still the woman in your life?’ she added recklessly.
‘And if she is? You wouldn’t by any chance be jealous, would you, Lisa?’
‘Of what? Helen enjoying your prowess as a lover? As according to you I’ve never known that pleasure, I’ve nothing to be jealous of, have I?’
She had caught him off guard, Lisa thought with satisfaction, but in another moment he had himself under control, his expression mocking as he drawled softly, ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you what a powerful aphrodisiac the imagination can be, Lisa?’
His mockery infuriated her and she flung at him bitterly, ‘If you think I’ve ever imagined you making love to me…’
‘Haven’t you?’ he interrupted softly, watching her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. ‘Haven’t you, Lisa?’
Her expression gave her away, she knew. She licked her lips nervously, suddenly unbearably reminded of all those occasions when she had lain sleepless, reliving the touch of Rorke’s hands on her body, the hungry possession of his mouth. Perspiration broke out on her skin, her eyes drawn to the hard line of his mouth. Her body started to tremble, and a curious weakness robbed her of the ability to think logically. Rorke was watching her narrowly, his eyes on the parted warmth of her mouth. She swayed towards him, then suddenly Robbie stirred in her arms, breaking the spell which had held her in thrall. Rorke stepped back, his eyes cruelly cynical.
‘Careful, Lisa,’ he warned her bitingly. ‘You’re a woman now, with all a woman’s desires, but I’m not going to appease them for you.’
She was still trying to think of a fitting retort when he opened the door and walked out.
* * *
‘Mummy, I’m tired! When will we be there?’
‘Not long now, Robbie,’ Rorke soothed him, lifting his head from the papers he had been studying ever since they boarded the aircraft. It was a long flight for so young a child, and now Robbie was starting to grow restless.
‘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 Rorke, 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!’