Too Scared to Love

by Cathy Williams

  ‘I couldn’t,’ Roberta said flatly.

  He stared at her, his face bland. ‘Couldn’t? That’s a word that should never exist in one’s vocabulary. After all, everything’s a matter of will, isn’t it?’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘I insist. As your employer. Buy yourself something, or I’ll buy it for you.’

  ‘I’ll get it myself,’ Roberta said hurriedly. Buy it for her? No, thanks. His taste probably ran to the very skimpy.

  She would get herself something very understated. Something to suit the mood she wanted to project. It would be fun. In fact, the party would be fun. Emily would be there, her chaperon in a manner of speaking. And the place would be packed.

  What, she thought, could be safer?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHOPPING for something specific, Roberta discovered the following day, was a completely different matter from browsing. In the past, her clothes shopping had been highly unadventurous. A few smart outfits but, generally speaking, mostly clothes that she could comfortably wear to work. Things that could survive finger paints and baked beans and be thrown in the wash without her suffering traumatic attacks wondering whether the delicate material would be damaged by water that was too hot.

  Just out of sheer habit, she had initially been drawn to affordable items in muted colours, but Emily was having nothing of that.

  She had launched herself into looking for something for herself with gusto, and she demanded that Roberta do likewise.

  ‘You look like an old maid in grey,’ she had said right from the start, and Roberta had grimaced.

  ‘I am an old maid,’ she had said, amused, which had only served to stoke Emily’s determination to find her something bright, adventurous and very haute couture.

  They trailed from shop to shop, and it amazed Roberta that a teenager was more au fait with what was going on in the world of fashion than she was.

  Did that say something about her, or about Emily? she wondered. Or maybe the simple truth was that being brought up with money did away with the constant need to compromise, which most people were forced to do.

  It was hard to fight Emily’s determined enthusiasm, though, and after a while Roberta allowed herself to flow with the tide.

  They finally arrived back at the house laden with bags, and Roberta noted with relief that Grant was not back yet. She had felt unbearably guilty charging the dress to his account, and she had a feeling that if he so much as cross-examined her she would have no hesitation in returning everything to the store and making do with what she had in her wardrobe.

  They were not due to leave until seven-thirty, and at six-thirty promptly Emily hustled her off to the bedroom like a little girl, insisting that she couldn’t possibly get dressed, made up and perfumed in under an hour.

  Roberta had never seen her so excited before. It was only an invitation to a dinner, but she was reacting as though she had been granted her dream of a lifetime. In a lot of ways it was rather sad. Had Grant so absented himself from his daughter’s life that his sudden presence there had such a staggering effect? In one way, it was heart-warming, but in another it was vaguely dangerous, because what would happen if for some reason this fragile truce was broken?

  Children needed the continued support and interest of their parents. Did Grant realise that? She frowned and began applying her make up, taking much more care than was usual for her, accentuating her wide grey eyes, which she personally considered her best feature, with smoky black mascara.

  When she finally inspected herself in the full-size mirror in the bedroom, she wondered whether she was looking at the same person. There was nothing discreet or understated about her appearance tonight at all.

  The dress was seductively figure-hugging, designed to stir the imagination rather than state the obvious, and the high-heeled shoes made her look longer and slimmer than she had expected. She felt terribly glamorous. Emily’s expert approval, which Roberta found highly amusing considering her age, made her laugh, but she wasn’t laughing as they descended the staircase to where Grant was waiting for them both.

  In fact she felt horribly shy and nervous, and it was an effort to compose her features into their usual unruffled expression.

  He complimented Emily on her appearance, which made her blush even though she tried desperately to appear blasé, then he ran his eyes over Roberta, quickly at first, then more slowly, taking her in inch by leisurely inch until she felt her legs go wobbly at the lengthy inspection.

  She immediately began asking him a series of questions about the venue, simply to take her mind off her self-consciousness, keeping up her prattle as they walked towards the car, trying not to react as he opened the door for her and she slipped inside, lightly brushing him in so doing.

  The car glided through the streets, which had been meticulously cleared of snow, towards the hotel which was on the outskirts of the city centre.

  It turned out not to be the grand, highly efficient but impersonal hotel that she was expecting, but a rather smaller place, more along the lines of some of the exquisite country inns to be found in England. There were a lot of cars parked outside, and as soon as they entered she felt herself relax in the throng of people.

  Mr Ishikomo and his wife greeted them personally, and Grant introduced both of them to his colleagues, most of whom had brought their children, and after some hesitation Emily was drawn away by a girl of her own age, and vanished into the crowd.

  ‘Just remember, Emily,’ Grant said, as she was walking away. ‘No drink.’

  Emily looked over her shoulder at him with a cryptic smile. ‘I told you, Dad, that’s not my scene. Getting drunk is very un-cool.’

  ‘You really seem to have had an effect on her,’ he said, turning to Roberta and handing her a glass of champagne from the tray being passed around by the waiter. ‘She seems far more settled than she was a few months ago. Mother,’ he said drily, ‘tries her best, but I think she finds Emily rather daunting at times.’

  If she finds Emily daunting, Roberta thought, then lord knows how she finds you.

  ‘Grandparents are in an awkward position,’ she said non-committally. ‘They sometimes find it difficult to lay down the law with their grandchildren. The bond is usually too much of a sympathetic one.’

  He was listening to her, his head cocked slightly to one side.

  ‘You could be right,’ he agreed, staring down at her intently. ‘I suppose you have quite a bit of experience of seeing that sort of thing firsthand in your job.’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.’

  ‘And tell me,’ he continued lazily, ‘what do you think of single-parent families?’ He twirled the stem of his champagne glass and then took a deep mouthful, not taking his eyes off hers.

  Roberta sipped nervously from her glass. ‘It’s a broad subject,’ she said, wondering where exactly this line of questioning was leading.

  ‘What do you think of Vanessa?’ he asked, his swift change of subject taking her by surprise.

  ‘I barely know the woman,’ Roberta said, bewildered. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I had lunch with her today. She seems eager to fill the role of my late wife, and now I think that perhaps Emily would benefit from having a mother-figure around, don’t you?’

  Roberta stiffened. ‘I have no idea. I haven’t got my crystal ball with me at the moment, so I couldn’t possibly hazard a guess at how Emily would turn out if you married Vanessa.’ She almost found herself choking on the words.

  ‘But what do you think? You have got some thoughts on the matter, I take it. You seem to on every other matter.’

  Roberta looked away, aware of her fingers unsteadily clutching the stem of her glass. ‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled. ‘If you’re in love with her and the feeling is mutual, then—’

  ‘Love?’ His eyes held a cynical glint. ‘Who’s talking about love? You don’t believe in all that claptrap, do you?’

  Her eyes flashed angrily at him. She had thought that she was in love wit
h Brian, had sworn afterwards that she would never love anyone again, that she would never put herself in the position of being at the mercy of someone else, but now that the question had been asked she found that, oddly enough, when she considered it, yes, she still did believe in love.

  The mere acknowledgement of that scared her because she knew that she shouldn’t. Love was capricious, unpredictable; it caused pain. She hadn’t even loved Brian, and look at how the memory of him could still stir her to feel sullied. So what if she truly loved a man and was disappointed in her love?

  Even so, for some reason, the thought of life without it suddenly seemed hollow.

  ‘I don’t know what’s made you so cynical,’ she responded tightly, ‘but I really don’t see the point of a relationship if it’s to be conducted like a business affair.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he mused thoughtfully. ‘Business affairs are far less taxing on the nerves than emotional flights of fancy.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Roberta responded in a clipped voice.

  She didn’t want to pursue this conversation. She looked around the room, inordinately relieved when some of his business colleagues approached them, and even more relieved when one of them said jokingly, ‘It’s not fair for you to hog the prettiest girl in the room,’ and led her away towards the bar. He was a young man, with a boyish, friendly face. His wife, he told her, was mulling about somewhere in the room talking girls’ talk with a friend. He hated girls’ talk, he confided, and he was sick of shop talk. So he asked her all about London, and Roberta obligingly made all the right responses, but her thoughts were a thousand miles away.

  Still dwelling, in fact, on her conversation with Grant. Was he really planning on marrying Vanessa? He had hardly seemed besotted with her but then, as he had pointed out, that was not a necessity when it came to marriage. In fact, it was a drawback.

  A while ago, he had not wanted to give the other woman any scope for setting her sights higher than a romp in bed with him, but he was beginning to see what Roberta had seen all along, and that was that Emily needed a maternal hand in her life.

  Roberta finished her glass of champagne and absent-mindedly accepted a refill.

  There was no point in thinking too long or too hard on what Grant Adams decided to do with his life. That wasn’t her problem. In under two weeks she would be on a plane bound for Heathrow. She would be leaving all this behind, and not a minute too soon.

  She tried very hard to concentrate on what Brad was saying to her. Across the room, her eyes rested on Grant, who was indolently dominating the conversation among a group of businessmen who appeared to be hanging on to his every word, and a few women who were eyeing him with blatant interest.

  Emily was nowhere to be seen, though she did make a reappearance when dinner was served, a casual but elaborately concocted cold buffet meal, with everything from smoked salmon and tiger prawns to salads of every description. And, in the centre of the long table, an ice figure of two swans, their necks entwined, dominated the spread.

  ‘Seems a shame that it’s destined to become a huge puddle of water, doesn’t it?’ she commented to Brad and his wife, and they laughed.

  It was after midnight before the party began disbanding. Roberta thought with amusement that you could always tell when people were thinking of leaving. They always began complaining about the weather and wondering aloud how long their journey home would take.

  She was murmuring her goodbyes to Brad and his wife, assuring them that yes, she would take them up on their invitation to visit their sprawling house in the surburbs just whenever she wanted, really, when she heard Grant’s voice from behind her and she swung around to face him.

  ‘We seemed to have rather missed each other this evening,’ he drawled, watching her.

  ‘Don’t we?’ Roberta answered. ‘Are you ready to leave? If so, I’ll just go and get my coat. And Emily, wherever she is.’

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, taking her by the hand, and she felt her skin begin to tingle again. ‘Let’s have a few words with Mr Ishikomo and his wife before we go.’

  Roberta nodded. She had spoken briefly to both of them in the course of the evening, but there had been too many people to hold any kind of conversation, and besides, as the hosts, they were obliged to mingle.

  Emily had drifted out from one of the adjoining rooms and she now tagged along, still rather bright-eyed, and Roberta made a cryptic comment about sticking to soft drinks next time she went out, since champagne was definitely soporific.

  ‘You old timers,’ Emily teased. ‘In a year’s time you won’t be up to going out at all. You’ll just want to spend your evening whiling away your time in front of cups of cocoa.’

  ‘Does that scenario appeal?’ Grant murmured lazily in her ear.

  ‘I can think of worse,’ Roberta said lightly. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Depends who I’m whiling away my time with.’

  Roberta flashed him a polite, expressionless smile. If he planned on marrying Vanessa, it didn’t take a great deal of imagination to work out exactly what nature of whiling away they would be doing, and she doubted that it would involve cups of cocoa.

  She tried to imagine what she would be doing in a year’s time, and drew a blank.

  One thing was for certain: whatever she would be doing, she would be doing it on her own. That thought, which previously had filled her with a light-headed feeling of freedom after Brian, now filled her with a vague painful numbness, and she remembered what she had said to Emily earlier on about being an old maid. Didn’t it have a dreadfully lonely ring to it?

  It struck her that she didn’t want to end up embittered and alone. She wanted companionship, but she wanted excitement as well and, as far as she could see, the two were not compatible. Excitement, she thought, was the forte of people like Grant Adams, men that she should run from as fast as her legs would take her.

  She thought back to that night in the cabin, the warmth and hunger of his caresses. Heady excitement. She felt her body squirm.

  Emily was prattling on to Mr Ishikomo and his wife, talking quickly until they told her laughingly that she had to slow down if they were to understand a word of what she was saying.

  ‘Our English,’ Mrs Ishikomo said, her delicate features rueful, ‘is still not so very good.’

  Roberta smiled. ‘It’s a whole lot better than my Japanese,’ she said, to which Mr Ishikomo replied,

  ‘You must get Mr Adams here to teach you it, then!’

  ‘I had no idea that you spoke Japanese,’ she said spontaneously, turning to him, momentarily distracted from what she had been about to say, which was that he would need to be a very good teacher if he could teach her Japanese in under two weeks. Not, she thought, that he would make a very good teacher anyway. His patience wouldn’t run to it.

  ‘There are quite a few things you don’t know about me,’ he said, amused.

  ‘But time enough to find out,’ Mr Ishikomo said, his face beaming as he looked at them from behind his spectacles.

  Roberta opened her mouth to explain that a fortnight was really not a very long time, not that she wanted to find out anyway, but he continued with evident pleasure.

  ‘I hear about your adventure in the log cabin,’ he said, still smiling. ‘My wife thinks that it is all very romantic.’

  Roberta’s face had gone bright red. ‘It was all an accident,’ she stammered. ‘We... Grant...he had some work to do, he needed the journey up to finish it, so I drove him up, except the snow...we were marooned; it really wasn’t planned at all.’ Instead of sounding clear and articulate she heard her voice dwindling pathetically into silence, and wondered why Grant wasn’t saying something. After all, the whole damned episode had been entirely his fault.

  ‘In my country,’ Mr Ishikomo said, ‘courtships are not conducted in quite this manner but, of course, you westerners, you do things differently.’

  Mrs Ishikomo was nodding her agreement and Roberta looked at them, at a los
s for words.

  She darted a glance at Emily, who was grinning, enjoying the spectacle of an adult in an embarrassing position.

  ‘I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding here.’ Roberta cleared her throat, deciding that she might as well say something since Grant was maintaining an infuriating silence.

  ‘Darling,’ she heard him whisper in her ear, ‘how can you say that?’ He looked at his Japanese hosts and smiled, circling Roberta with his arm and pulling her lightly towards him. ‘As Roberta said, it wasn’t planned. Not even I could time the weather so beautifully.’ There was some amused laughter at this point, and Roberta gritted her teeth together, wondering what the hell was going on. ‘But we did enjoy our little sojourn there, didn’t we?’

  Emily was wearing a pleased smile, as though she had somehow manoeuvred the whole thing.

  ‘We did?’ Roberta asked weakly.

  ‘We certainly did.’ Grant’s voice was firm and his fingers tightened on her arm.

  Mr Ishikomo adjusted his spectacles. ‘Well, we are here for two weeks more before we return to Japan. We would be honoured if you would be our guests at a friend’s house. It is on a lake, and very charming.’

  ‘We’d love to,’ Grant accepted, his fingers tightening a little more on her arm.

  ‘I fix a date with you when I see you tomorrow.’

  As soon as they were back in the car Emily began with a tirade of questions, none of which Roberta answered. She had a feeling that if she attempted any form of speech just yet, the result would be an unintelligible croak.

  She stared out of the window, listening to Grant’s smooth, persuasive voice, and as soon as they got home she said to Emily in as normal a voice as she could muster, ‘You must be off to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘But...’ Emily protested, then her face creased into an impulsive smile. ‘I guess I’ll have to listen to you from now on.’

  Roberta said something inoffensive and vague, and as soon as Emily had vanished out of sight she turned to Grant fiercely.

  ‘I want a word with you,’ she hissed. ‘Now!’