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‘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.
