For years Charlotte had been accustomed to dressing in styles suitable to the wife of a man with Matthew’s money while Lisette’s clothes were stained and unpressed and obviously cheap. She was not at all the chic Frenchwoman Charlotte had expected.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said indifferently, and Charlotte realised she was not French at all, but English. Then she turned back to Logan. ‘Phil swallowed one of Isabelle’s safety-pins just after you’d left, and I’ve been frantic!’
‘Was it open?’ asked Logan at once, a fleeting trace of resignation crossing his face.
‘I don’t know,’ cried Lisette, and Philippe started to cry again.
Logan crouched down beside the boy. ‘Now stop that,’ he said gently. ‘You must know whether the pin was open or not.’
Philippe sniffed. ‘It wasn’t.’
‘You’re sure about that?’ Philippe nodded, and Logan straightened again. ‘So where’s the problem?’
Lisette’s jaw trembled. ‘He didn’t tell me that!’
‘Didn’t he?’
‘No. He just ran away when I tried to catch him, and Isabelle was screaming for her tea, and—–’
‘—and you shouted at him and frightened him,’ finished Logan patiently. ‘I know.’
‘Oh, Logan, you’re so good with him!’
Charlotte turned away to stare across the stretch of sand to the water’s edge. Dear God, was there no end to her punishment? she wondered bitterly. Eleven years of living with a man she did not love should have been enough for anyone.
Fortunately, Robert was unaware of her feelings. His own thoughts lay in an entirely different direction, and it only took Philippe’s tentative indication towards the ocean to send them both charging across the sand to the water’s edge. Charlotte opened her mouth to call her son, and then closed it again when Logan spoke.
‘This is Mrs Derby, Lisette,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ll find her assistance a great help with the children.’
Charlotte turned reluctantly and approached them. Isabelle was wriggling impatiently in her mother’s arms, and glad of anything to divert her awareness of Logan’s penetrating gaze, she held out her arms towards the baby. Isabelle hesitated only a moment before returning the invitation, and with a shrug Lisette dumped the child on to her. Isabelle was wet, among other things, but Charlotte had never liked the cream silk dress she was wearing, and decided ruefully that at least now she had a reason for getting rid of it. She knew Logan was watching her with guarded eyes, but now she felt less vulnerable.
‘I can’t imagine why a woman like you would want to come out here,’ remarked Lisette by way of an opening, obviously as aware of the differences between them as Charlotte was. She was looking down at her own grubby shirt and pants with dislike, clearly favouring the dress Charlotte was so willing to discard.
‘Needs must,’ Charlotte said now, deciding to be honest about that at least.
‘Really?’ Lisette looked sceptical. ‘I would have thought a job was the last thing you’d need.’
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ replied Charlotte, more easily, pulling Isabelle’s sticky fingers out of her hair. Then, realising something more was expected of her, she added: ‘What a beautiful place this is!’
‘It’s all right.’ Lisette looked reflectively at Logan. ‘Are you coming in?’
Logan shook his head. ‘Not right now. I think I should show—Mrs Derby where she and her son are going to sleep.’
‘That’s your son?’ Lisette asked Charlotte thoughtfully. ‘You must have been very young when he was born.’
Charlotte could do without questions like that. Equally, she could do without Logan showing her where she was going to sleep. ‘I—if there’s anything you would like me to do now—–’ she began hastily, only to be silenced by the look Logan cast in her direction.
‘Well—–’ Lisette started, but Logan broke in flatly: ‘Not tonight, Lisette. Mrs Derby’s had a long day. I think something to eat, a bath, and an early night is indicated, don’t you?’
Lisette shrugged, half sulkily, looking very like Philippe had done earlier. ‘What shall I give her to eat?’
‘I had Carlos take the liberty of providing Mrs Derby and her son with a ready-made meal earlier in the day,’ Logan stated evenly. ‘Relax, Lisette. Everything’s been taken care of.’
‘Except Philippe.’
‘What about Philippe?’
‘Have you forgotten the pin?’
‘No, I haven’t forgotten,’ Logan told her tolerantly. ‘The pin will make its reappearance, don’t worry. Just keep your eyes open for the next couple of days.’
Lisette pursed her lips and turned back to Charlotte, clearly not altogether suited by his proposal. ‘You’d better give Isabelle to me before she ruins your dress completely,’ she said, half sullenly.
‘It will wash,’ Charlotte reassured her, handing the child over with faint regret, and Lisette uttered an angry imprecation as Isabelle began to protest noisily.
‘Everything around here has to,’ she stated shortly, and marched back up the steps and into the bungalow, leaving Charlotte to face Logan alone.
He seemed rather preoccupied just then, his eyes intent on the two boys splashing in the shallows along the shoreline. Looking at him unobserved, Charlotte felt something uncurl and expand inside her, something that sent the blood more thickly along her veins and probed without sensitivity at her inflamed emotions. He was still the only man she had ever known to exude that aura of raw masculinity, and whether it was in a lounge suit or the revealing jeans he was presently wearing, the way he moved aroused feelings she had long forgotten. Had they really once been that close to one another? she asked herself incredulously. Had she lain beside him and ached for his possession, run her fingers over the smooth brown skin of his body and exulted in the trembling passion he had found impossible to control in her arms? Moisture prickled all along her spine, even though the air was much cooler now as the sun sank lower. Oh God, she thought wretchedly, it was more than eleven years ago. She must not think of that now!
Then Logan turned and encountered her eyes upon him, and his expression banished all traces of tremulous emotion. ‘Come with me!’ he commanded harshly, and she followed him obediently down the dusty slope to where a second bungalow was situated in the shade of a clump of gnarled coconut palms.
Shallow steps led up to a verandah, which ran right round the house and would no doubt give access to the beach from the other side, but Logan threw open the door leading into the living room, and Charlotte had, perforce, to follow him inside. He stood in the middle of the sparsely furnished room, with its chintzy upholstery and rug-strewn floor, a darkly malevolent accuser, and when the fugitive wind slammed the door behind her, she knew that the moment of truth had come.
‘Well, Charlotte,’ he said coldly, and she had to steel herself not to show her fear of him. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Yes.’ The word came out squeakily higher than was normal, and she cleared her throat nervously.
‘You’ve changed,’ he went on critically. ‘You used not to be so sophisticated.’
‘I’m older, Logan,’ she answered, achieving a coolness she was far from feeling. ‘You—you’ve changed, too.’
‘Have I?’ His lips curled. ‘You married Derby.’ It was almost an accusation.
‘Yes.’ Again the single word stuck in her throat.
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Charlotte stared at him lamely, reduced