Читать книгу Images Of Love - Anne Mather - Страница 7

THROUGHOUT the journey, Mark had been abnormally quiet for him, and while the ocean beneath the powerful aircraft changed from silver-grey to turquoise blue, Tobie had plenty of time to re-examine her feelings. She wasn’t just using Mark as an instrument of revenge, she told herself fiercely, she really cared about him, and her only reasons for agreeing to this trip were the usual ones of wanting to see his home and meet his mother. It was not an attempt to get even with anyone, and no matter what Laura might say, she was only trying to find the happiness that had so long been denied her. If—and here she allowed a tiny grain of self-justification to creep in —if she did feel a trace of mild self-satisfaction at the prospect of confronting Robert again, that was surely forgivable. After all, she had nothing to be ashamed of, and if she gave him a few uncomfortable moments, so much the better after the trauma she had gone through. It would be undeniably good to let him see that she had quite recovered from that wild infatuation, and she could even be grateful now that their relationship had not been legalised. A marriage, albeit a broken one, would have been that much harder to explain to Mark. As it was, he only knew there had once been someone else, but not that person’s identity. It was a gamble, of course, taking the chance that Robert would not betray her, but as it would also mean betraying his brother, she felt reasonably confident.

Nevertheless, she could still hear her sister’s shocked reaction when she first learned who Mark really was.

‘So you’re actually going to Emerald Cay to see Robert Lang again!’ Laura had accused angrily. ‘Oh, Tobie, how can you? Hasn’t he humiliated you enough? What are you—one of those girls who enjoys punishment?’

‘Of course not.’ Tobie had denied the indictment indignantly. ‘That would be foolish, wouldn’t it? You know I care for Mark now. I’m going to Emerald Cay with him—to meet his mother. Whatever was between Robert and me is over.’

‘But you do expect to see him, don’t you?’ Laura had persisted impatiently. ‘How do you think he’s going to react when he finds out who you are?’

‘I imagine he knows,’ Tobie retorted tautly, bending her head so that the silken weight of straight dark hair fell about her ears. ‘After all, Mark and I are practically engaged! And my name’s not so common. I should think Robert realised from the beginning, but do you honestly think he could come right out and say I’m the girl he virtually abandoned?’

Laura sighed, staring at her younger sister with troubled anxious eyes. ‘Even so,’ she said doubtfully, ‘the man’s unscrupulous, Tobie. We both know that. And this is his home you’re invading. Emerald Cay belongs to him, doesn’t it?’

‘I believe so.’ Tobie had shrugged, hoping to conclude the conversation. ‘He went to live there—oh, about three years ago. Just after—just after the accident.’

Laura shook her head. ‘Tobie! Change your mind. Don’t go. This trip—it isn’t good for you, I know it. You’re recovered now, I know, but I just feel it in my bones—you’re playing with fire! Tell Mark you can’t go. Give yourself more time. Don’t risk everything again…’

‘It’s no risk, Laura.’ Tobie had spoken purposely lightly, but as the blue-green waters of the Caribbean unfolded beneath her, she wished she still felt so sure.

‘We’re almost there, darling.’

Mark’s voice spoke near her ear, his breath fanning the tender lip of flesh, its warmth melting the chilling goosebumps that had unexpectedly appeared. It restored her sense of balance, reminding her that she was not alone any more, reassuring her of his love and affection. She had been uncertain about the trip in the beginning, but Mark’s eagerness had persuaded her, and if she was going to marry him, sooner or later she would have to meet the other members of his family.

‘You seem—anxious,’ he said now, touching her chin, turning her face to his. ‘You’ve no reason to be. My mother’s going to love you. And Rob—’ Tobie stiffened. ‘Well, I guess we can talk about Rob tonight.’

His words had a slightly ominous ring, and Tobie’s confidence faltered. ‘Tonight?’ she echoed, and Mark touched her nose with a playful finger.

‘You know we’re spending tonight in Castries,’ he reminded her, mentioning the name of the island capital of St Lucia, the nearest large island to Emerald Cay, but Tobie was still apprehensive.

‘Why—why should we have to talk about—about your half-brother?’ she persisted, circling her dry lips with her tongue, and with a sigh Mark relaxed back in his seat.

‘I’ve been trying to think of a way to explain him to you,’ he confessed, unknowingly supplying the reason why Tobie had thought he had been unusually silent during the flight. ‘Rob—well, Rob can be a law unto himself, and it isn’t always enough just to put it down to his artistic temperament.’

Tobie’s palms smoothed the arms of her seat. ‘No?’

‘No.’

She hesitated. ‘You’re—you’re saying—he’s conceited?’

‘Hell, no!’ Mark was swift to deny this. ‘No one could call my brother conceited. But he can be rude—ignorant—bloody-minded, if you like. He—well, he doesn’t always mince his words.’ He sighed. ‘He used not to be like that. I mean,’ he hastened on quickly, ‘he never suffered fools gladly, if you know what I mean, but since the accident—’

Tobie drew in an unsteady breath. ‘I thought he got over that.’

‘He did.’ Mark sighed again. ‘At least, as well as anyone could who was left in a wheelchair—’

‘A wheelchair!’ Tobie was all attention now, turning to stare at him with wide disbelieving eyes. ‘Robert’s disabled!’

‘Don’t use that word to him, honey, will you?’ Mark advised her gently. ‘It’s not the sort of term you use where my brother is concerned. He’s not an invalid, or so he says, he’s only—somewhat incapacitated.’

Tobie could feel all the colour draining out of her face, and it was all she could do not to turn to Mark and beg him to take back his words. But she could say nothing. So far as Mark was concerned, she had not even met his brother, and although his revelation was both terrible and shocking, she must somehow sustain it without giving in to the shaking disbelief that gripped her. Yet she could hardly think straight as images of the man he had been flashed before her eyes. Robert—in a wheelchair! Robert—without the use of his legs! Robert, who had loved walking and driving, swimming and dancing …

‘I know it’s not generally known, that’s why I wanted to warn you.’ Fortunately Mark had warmed to his subject, and was paying her scant attention at the moment. ‘That was Rob’s idea, of course. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s sympathy, and you can imagine the worldwide reaction if it was discovered that Robert Lang had been crippled in a car crash. That was why he bought Emerald Cay, why he’s dropped his public image. Not because he wanted to devote more time to his painting.’

Tobie felt totally drained of energy. Her whole body had slumped in her seat, and even her ankles felt weak. She couldn’t believe it; she simply couldn’t believe it. It explained so many things, and yet left so many others unexplained.

‘Anyway, it’s not so bad now,’ Mark added thoughtfully. ‘I mean, he still has the wheelchair around, but it’s not his only means of getting about. He manages pretty well on sticks these days. Not that he advertises that fact either. It’s a bit of a struggle, if you know what I mean, and like I said, Rob hates sympathy.’

Then, as if just realising that after her first horrified reaction Tobie had said nothing, he half turned towards her, grimacing when he saw her white face.

‘Hey,’ he exclaimed generously, ‘there’s no need for you to feel so badly, honey. I know you’re a fan of his and all, but really, it hasn’t affected his work, and that’s the important thing, isn’t it? You’ve seen his latest exhibition. His talent’s still as great as it ever was.’

Tobie knew she had to say something, but the words were so hard to articulate. ‘It—I—you should have told me sooner, Mark,’ she got out at last. ‘I—I don’t know what to say.’

‘Does it matter?’ Mark made a sound of impatience. ‘Come on! It’s nothing to do with us, is it? I just didn’t want you to—well, say something you might regret.’

‘Regret?’ Tobie echoed weakly, wishing suddenly that she had listened to Laura.

‘Seeing him in a wheelchair for the first time,’ Mark explained softly. ‘I don’t want you to be hurt. And Rob can be so damned sarcastic to people who show any sign of compassion!’

‘Can he?’

Tobie felt totally incapable of handling the situation. She only knew that if she had known about this before leaving London, she would never have agreed to come. She didn’t know why exactly. It didn’t change anything, so far as she and Mark were concerned. But somehow her presence seemed ghoulish now, an unwanted and unwarranted reminder of the past; and while she admitted that her feelings for Robert had died on the operating table more than three years ago, she was loath to arouse emotions that could only cause him bitterness.

‘You knew about the accident,’ Mark probed now, and she managed to nod. It would have been foolish to state otherwise. It had been in all the papers, and as Mark had said, she was a fan. ‘Anyway, it all happened a long time ago,’ he reassured her, and she guessed his patience was wearing a little thin. ‘There’s no reason for you to get upset about it. It was his own fault. He was driving too fast as usual. That damned car of his—’ He shook his head. ‘Who needs a car that can do nearly two hundred miles an hour on roads where the speed limit is seventy?’

Tobie swallowed convulsively. ‘Some—some people like fast cars,’ she offered feebly, remembering the Porsche only too well. She remembered, too, the reason he had been driving fast, and that last terrible row before he left her …

‘If you had to patch them up afterwards, perhaps you wouldn’t speak so carelessly,’ Mark remarked now, his tone full of indignation. ‘We see them all at the hospital. Young men, girls, kids, most of them, with too much power under the bonnet and too little grey matter in their skulls. Losing a leg or an arm, or their sight. And they’re the lucky ones. Paralysis is the most likely result, and believe me, it’s not a pretty sight.’

Tobie shook her head. ‘I—I didn’t mean—’

‘I know you didn’t.’ Mark’s smile suddenly illuminated his fair handsome face. ‘I guess Rob’s accident happened around the time we first met, didn’t it? And at that time you were in no fit state to be aware of anyone’s troubles but your own.’

No fit state …

Hysteria swelled inside her. If he only knew, she thought sickly. If he ever found out …

‘Not that I was involved with his recovery,’ Mark continued. ‘He wasn’t a patient of mine.’ He shrugged. ‘There was one consolation, though. It did bring him and my mother together again. You don’t know this, but before the accident they were a little less than close!’

Tobie bent her head. She wondered how Mark would react if she told him that she had known that. That in fact she had been staggered when she learned that after all that Robert had told her about his mother, he had actually forgiven her at last. He had always maintained that would never happen. But circumstances alter cases, she thought unsteadily, the weight of what she had learned bearing heavily on her.

‘So …’ Mark’s smile appeared again, ‘I’ve told you. I knew I’d have to, but—well, it’s not easy, destroying an ideal.’

An ideal! Tobie turned to stare out of the window, and as she did so, the stewardess advised the passengers to fasten their safety belts and put out their cigarettes ready for landing at Hewanorra airport. Was that how Mark imagined she thought of his brother? How differently he would have felt if he had known the truth. And how differently might she have reacted if she had suspected that Robert had not made a complete recovery?

The hotel in Castries was air-conditioned and very comfortable, and Tobie had no objections when Mark suggested that they rested for a couple of hours before dinner. It had been a long flight, and a long drive, and although it was only early evening in the Caribbean, her body told her it was much later in London.

Mark had booked adjoining rooms, but as yet he had not tried to force their relationship. He wanted to make love to her, she knew that, but being a doctor, he was also aware of the reasons why she had refused to allow him to do so. Since Robert, since the emotional impact of what had happened to her, she found it incredibly difficult to relate to any man in a physical way, and Mark was sensible enough to see that if he compelled her to respond to him, he might destroy the tenuous thread he had constructed. So they remained friends, but not lovers in the true sense of the word, and Tobie believed they were closer than she and Robert had ever been.

Lying on her bed, however, with the blinds drawn against the lighted street outside, and the steady hum of the hotel drifting irresistibly to her ears, she found it impossible to relax. Everything Mark had told her went round and round in her head, until she felt almost dizzy with the perplexity of her thoughts. Robert was an invalid, or he was crippled, at least. All those nightmares she had had during her illness, the women she had used to torment herself he was spending his nights with, had only existed in her imagination. She could understand why Mark had felt it necessary to warn her about the uncertainty of his moods. Robert had always been an arrogant devil, and even now she found it almost impossible to picture him any other way.

She remembered the first time she had met him, when he came striding into the gallery where she worked. Her boss, Vincent Thomas, was staging one of his exhibitions, but she had not known that the tall lean stranger in the shabby denim shirt and jeans was Robert Lang. All she had seen was a man in his early thirties, a dark man, with untidy black hair, and skin with an olive cast. She had at first taken him for an intruder, not altogether trusting the way his dark eyes had swiftly appraised the layout of the gallery, and the general accessibility of the paintings, half suspecting he was checking the place out with criminal intent. Even when the dark eyes turned in her direction, and she found her own body betraying the dictates of her common sense, she was loath to admit that she found him disturbing, but when he spoke she was incapable of voicing any reproof. Robert had an attractive voice, low and mellow, with just a hint of the humour he had possessed in such measure, providing a lighter tone. And her nervousness had amused him, she had known that, even before he spoke to her and asked her who she was.

She had answered him. How could she not? She was in charge of the gallery in Vincent’s absence, and for all she knew, this man might be a valued customer. But when it became apparent that he was more interested in her than the paintings, she had made a polite withdrawal, leaving him to browse around alone.

He was gone before Vincent returned, and although she knew she ought to mention the suspicious circumstances of his visit, she was curiously unwilling to do so. Instead she kept the encounter to herself, and worried herself sick that night in case there should be a break-in.

The following afternoon he was waiting for her when she left her office. She hardly recognised him in a well cut navy lounge suit, but when she did, she was astounded at his audacity. All her earlier doubts returned, and she convinced herself he intended to incriminate her in some plot to rob the gallery.

His suggestion that she joined him for a drink before going home both excited and frightened her. She wanted to go with him, she knew that, but she also believed she was playing with fire, though how much, she had yet to learn.

In the event, she had agreed to accompany him to a club nearby, the exclusiveness of its clientele only occurring to her when she was seated on a plush stool at the bar. It was difficult to think of anything with his dark eyes playing lazily over her face, lingering longer than was necessary on her mouth, before returning to tantalise the darting uncertainty of hers. She had never met anyone quite like him before, and her lips twisted now when she remembered how naïve she must have seemed.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ he prompted, when she had taken possession of a tall glass of Campari soda—her choice, not his—and she had found herself explaining that although she had been born in Northumberland, since her parents’ death two years ago she had been living with her married sister, Laura, in Wimbledon.

‘And you’ve worked at the gallery how long?’ he probed, studying her expression, and she admitted she had only been there a little over six months, having spent her first year in London, taking a secretarial course.

‘I thought I hadn’t seen you there before,’ he remarked, surprising her, and Tobie thought it was time she asked some questions of her own.

‘What—er—what do you do, Mr—Mr—’ she had begun awkwardly, realising she didn’t even know his name, and his dark brows had drawn together aggressively.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ he asked, his expression coldly sceptical, and she had had her first glimpse of another side to his character.

‘No,’ she insisted, glancing uneasily about her. ‘Why should I?’

Robert had looked at her sharply, as if gauging her sincerity, and then, without provocation, he demanded: ‘So what the hell are you doing, accepting invitations from strange men? Didn’t that sister of yours tell you anything?’

His attack was so unexpected, Tobie was stunned by it. One minute they had been sitting enjoying a quiet drink together, and the next his dark face was contorted with anger, his lips thin and impatient. More than anything, it convinced her of the veracity of his words, and she fumbled desperately for her handbag, jumping down from her stool, and charging out of the club as if the devil himself was at her heels.

And he was—or so she thought when Robert caught up with her in the narrow side street adjoining the main thoroughfare. His face was grim and unrepentant, and the fingers that closed over her wrist were as hard and relentless as any tool of torture might be.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he had exhorted, swinging her round to face him, and despite her tearful mortification, the desire to leave him melted beneath the powerful attraction he exerted.

‘I—I—’ she stammered helplessly, unable to find the words to express her consternation, and with a shake of his head he had pulled her closer to him and bent his mouth to hers.

She thought at first he had intended to kiss her as a form of punishment, a way of avenging himself for her embarrassing departure from the club, but it didn’t work out that way at all. From the minute his lips touched hers everything changed, and what had begun as a tentative caress deepened into a passionate embrace. The fact that they were standing in a street—albeit a quiet one—in broad daylight, meant nothing to Tobie. She had lost all sense of time and consequence, and when he finally lifted his head she was weak with emotion.

‘Come on,’ he had said, in a husky voice, urging her forward along the pavement, and she went with him, making no objection when they came to where a low steel-grey sports car was parked, and he put her into the front seat, before striding round the bonnet to get in beside her …

‘Can’t you sleep?’

Mark’s concerned voice broke into her reverie, and she turned almost guiltily to find him behind her. She had been so far from this colourful little island that it was incredibly difficult to reorientate herself. She stared at him blankly for several seconds before recovering her composure, and was grateful for his obtuseness when he added gently:

‘It’s the jet lag, isn’t it? It takes some getting used to. You’re tired, but you feel you shouldn’t be, isn’t that right? It’s a kind of mental hurdle, and it affects different people different ways. Personally, I find the atmosphere here makes me feel rather sleepy, and I never have any trouble adjusting to the time change.’

Tobie bent her head. ‘How lucky for you,’ she commented, and fortunately Mark didn’t hear the irony in her tone. Nevertheless, the fact that it was there at all troubled her, and she felt the start of a headache hammering at her temples. It was the thought of tomorrow, she realised uneasily, the thought of going to Emerald Cay and meeting Robert again, with the awareness of his condition like a Damoclean sword hanging over her head.

‘We could make love,’ Mark murmured now, sliding his arms about her waist and drawing her closer to him, but as usual, Tobie panicked at the possessive touch of his hands. There were times, like this, when she wondered if she would be able to respond to any man again, and her words were sharper than they might have been because of her uncertainty.

‘Oh, not now, Mark!’ she exclaimed, releasing herself without consideration for his feelings, her sense of guilt redoubling at the awareness of the pain she was inflicting. ‘I—want to take a shower, and get changed for dinner. Do you mind?’

Mark hesitated. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked perceptively, alerted by her nervousness, and with a sigh she spread her hands.

‘I’ve got a headache, if you must know,’ she admitted unwillingly. ‘I—I’ve had it since we got off the plane. I’m sorry if I’m bad company, but it really is painful.’

‘Hey, why didn’t you say?’ Mark disappeared back into his own room to reappear a few moments later with a bottle of tablets. ‘Here, swallow a couple of these. They’ll take care of the headache, and the jet lag. Take a cool shower, and I’ll meet you in the bar downstairs in half an hour. I promise you, you’ll feel a different woman.’

Tobie wished she could feel as sure, but she thanked him for his kindness, bestowing a warm kiss of appeasement on his mouth before he departed once more. ‘I don’t deserve you, do you know that?’ she murmured, touching his cheek with wondering fingers, and he captured them and carried them to his mouth before wishing her a gruff farewell.

The twin-engined Cessna made its approach to the tiny airstrip on Emerald Cay at eleven o’clock the following morning. As it circled the small island, Mark pointed out the places of interest to Tobie, leaning past her to indicate the whereabouts of his brother’s villa, and to share her admiration of the shimmering green waters of the lagoon.

‘The reef provides a natural barrier to intruders,’ he remarked, drawing her attention to its exposed teeth. ‘There’s one point of access, below the villa. Rob had an entry blasted in the coral so that his yacht can get in and out, but otherwise …’ He shrugged.

Tobie digested this. So Robert had a yacht. It was probably one of those motor yachts, the luxurious kind she had seen in the harbour at Castries that morning, not one of the tall-masted sailing vessels, whose sails looked so picturesque against the azure blue waters of the ocean. Robert had always loved speed, and Mark had told her that some of them could do thirty knots.

‘How many people live on the island?’ she asked now, trying to compose herself for their arrival, and Mark frowned.

‘Let me see—well, there’s Monique and Henri. They’re the married couple who look after the villa. Monique does most of the cooking and cleaning, and Henri looks after the garden. My mother instructs them, of course. She’s Rob’s housekeeper.’

‘I see.’ Tobie digested this. ‘And—and that’s all?’

‘No. There are one or two of Monique and Henri’s offspring about the place. I think their eldest son is married, and he and his wife live down near the harbour and look after the boats. Then there’s Harvey Jennings, of course. He and his daughter live on the far side of the island. Rob bought the place from them, and he lets them stay here free gratis.’

Tobie glanced at him. ‘You don’t like them?’ she asked, responding to the censure in his voice, and Mark shrugged again.

‘I don’t like Harvey,’ he admitted. ‘He’s a sponger, always making out he’s hard up. He relies on Rob far too much. Cilla—well, she’s all right. Quite a nice girl, actually. She’s often at the villa. My mother likes her too. I know that Cilla comes over for different reasons, but there you are. Rob’s a likeable character.’

He shrugged, but it wasn’t difficult to understand his meaning, and Tobie was appalled by her own reactions to it. Even after all this time, she could still feel the agony of Robert’s desertion, and she doubted coming here was going to blunt the pain.

The aircraft landed, and Mark went to bid farewell to their pilot. He had introduced him to Tobie as Jim Matheson, and as they crossed the airstrip he explained that Robert and the pilot owned the plane jointly.

‘It’s a small business venture,’ he remarked, glancing back at the blue and white Cessna glinting in the sunlight. ‘They own half a dozen of these small aircraft, hiring them out for trips around the islands. You’d be surprised how many people enjoy island-hopping, as they call it. It’s quite a going concern.’

Tobie was impressed, or at least she hoped she appeared that way. Inside, she was a churning mass of tangled emotions, and the sight of the gleaming convertible, parked in the shade of a clump of palm trees, obviously waiting for them, filled her with real panic.

‘Mark!’

The affectionate calling of his name, accompanied by the sight of an elegant woman in her late fifties climbing out of the back of the vehicle, told its own story. Evidently, this was his mother, come to meet them, and Tobie breathed a little easier when she saw that the only other occupant of the car was black.

Mark allowed himself to be enveloped in a warm embrace, and over his shoulder Tobie met the strangely malevolent eyes of the woman who had deserted her eldest son when he was little more than seven years old. She had left her home, and her family, to run away with a man more than twice her age, and that was what had created the rift between her and Robert, the rift Tobie had never expected to see mended. Mark was her second husband’s son, of course, but his father was dead now. Mark had told her he had died of a heart attack soon after Marks’s eighteenth birthday, and it was this as much as anything which had turned his interest towards medicine. Robert’s own father had committed suicide. A week after the divorce was made absolute he had hanged himself in the summerhouse of their Kingston home, and Robert had been brought up by a series of nannies, acting under his aunt’s instructions. His own mother had made little effort to see him, too absorbed with her new life and her new baby, and it was only when Robert became famous that he began getting letters from her. Letters he had destroyed, so far as Tobie was aware—until the accident—

Standing there with the sun beating down upon her head, Tobie tried desperately to relax. She was here now. There was nothing she could do about it. And if Robert’s mother knew who she was, and that was why she was looking at her so hostilely, there was nothing she could do about that either. Perhaps Mrs Newman was merely jealous of her younger son’s affection. But if there was any other reason for her hostility, she would soon find out.

Mark was freeing himself from his mother’s embrace now, assuring her that they had had a good journey—that he was in the best of health—that he wasn’t working too hard—and that no, he hadn’t lost weight. He was obviously amused by his mother’s insistence, but as Tobie waited somewhat apprehensively to be introduced, she had the feeling that Mrs Newman’s delaying tactics were deliberate.

At last Mark succeeded in drawing her forward, and with evident pride he introduced her to his mother. ‘Isn’t she lovely?’ he demanded, his arm possessively about Tobie’s shoulders. ‘I told you she was. Don’t you think I’m the luckiest man in the world?’

His mother viewed Tobie with cool assessing eyes. She was a tall woman, like her son, almost as tall as Tobie’s five feet six inches, with the heavier limbs of middle age. Yet she was quite an attractive woman still, with greying blonde hair and fair skin, that just avoided the gnarled weathered look. If she had had any heartache in her life she disguised it well, and presented the appearance of someone well able to take care of herself. She seemed much more Mark’s mother than Robert’s, and only the inimical gaze of her dark brown eyes reminded Tobie of how Robert had looked when he slammed out of the apartment that fatal afternoon.

‘So nice to meet you—er—Tobie,’ she said now, offering a curiously limp hand, and Tobie took it.

‘It was kind of you to invite me,’ she said, forcing a tight smile. ‘You live in a very beautiful part of the world.’

‘Oh, you must thank my son for your invitation,’ Mrs Newman demurred, her remark verging on discourtesy, and Tobie stiffened.

‘I’ve thanked Mark, naturally,’ she said, glancing at him, but his mother quickly intervened.

‘I meant Robert, of course,’ she said, ignoring her younger son’s discomfort. ‘Emerald Cay belongs to him, not to us, and it was he who offered the invitation.’

It was a body blow, but whether Mrs Newman was aware of its significance, Tobie could not be sure. After all, if Robert had not told her about their relationship, how could she know? And yet there was something here, some undercurrent that Tobie sensed but could not make contact with.

‘Well, we’re here, anyway,’ Mark observed tautly, his expression mirroring his impatience with his mother. ‘So let’s go, shall we? It’s hot, and I for one could do with a dip in the pool.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry.’

Tobie guessed Mrs Newman really meant it as she gestured towards the car. She was obviously very fond of Mark, but in spite of her comments about Robert, Tobie wasn’t altogether sure how she felt towards him. Yet they must be friends. They lived here together. They shared the same house. There had to be some feeling between them.

The drive from the airstrip to the villa gave her a little time to assimilate her own position. The news that Robert had offered the invitation required some adjustment in her thinking, and she couldn’t help wondering how he proposed to behave towards her. She had thought if he hadn’t admitted to Mark that he knew her before, he could be relied upon not to do so now, but that was not taking into account his condition, and who knew what quirks in his personality that might have created? She was both apprehensive and uneasy, and her feelings made a mockery of her boast to Laura that she loved Mark, and nothing Robert did could change that.

The road curved up from the flat stretch of earth that provided a landing strip, climbing towards the hills that formed the backbone of the island. It was a dusty track, rutted in places, where the rains had dislodged the stones that held the track together, but the scenery was so magnificent one could ignore the discomfort.

As they climbed, beyond the airstrip they could see miles and miles of unbroken sand, stretching to infinity. This side of the island must be uninhabited, Tobie thought, and the lace-edged waters of the ocean were the only intruders on these shores. It was a disturbing concept, and she experienced a moment’s awareness of how ship-wrecked mariners must have felt when faced with their own insignificance.

The hillside was thickly covered with stunted trees and flowering shrubs, their roots even encroaching on to the road at times. One could stretch out one’s hand and touch them as one passed, and Mark snatched a magnolia blossom to tuck behind Tobie’s ear. She shared his laughter for a moment, and then encountering his mother’s speculative gaze was silenced.

As if sensing the sudden tension, Mark broke into conversation, asking how Robert was, questioning his mother about his brother’s paralysis.

Mrs Newman seemed unnecessarily pessimistic about her son’s condition. ‘He says he’s quite well,’ she replied, plucking at the leather on the back of the seat in front. ‘But you know how independent he is. I keep my own counsel. I have my own opinion. I know what his doctors say. But it’s not a subject I’d advise you to discuss with him. At least—’ she paused, allowing her eyes to move to Tobie once more, ‘not in front of—strangers.’

‘But he’s—no worse?’ Mark insisted, his hand finding Tobie’s in gentle reassurance, and his mother shrugged.

‘Were it not for the lingering amnesia, I’d say he is as recovered as he’ll ever be,’ she responded succinctly, and when Tobie’s head jerked towards her, a mocking smile tugged at the comers of her mouth. ‘Didn’t Mark tell you, my dear?’ she enquired, with what Tobie was almost convinced was malicious amusement. ‘Robert still suffers a mental blackout of everything that happened immediately before the accident. He’s lost six whole months of his life. Isn’t that a shame?’