by Helen Brooks
‘Call round?’ Robyn hoped she didn’t sound as taken aback as she felt.
‘I’m in England for a day or so,’ Margaret Bower informed her briskly. ‘A very short vacation of sorts.’
‘I see.’ No, she didn’t, she didn’t see at all, and she was not going to be pushed around by anyone ever again. Robyn stared at the ham sandwich hanging limply in her hand and said firmly, ‘Mrs Bower, I don’t want to be rude but why on earth would you want to come and see me?’
She had cried herself to sleep every night since the day baby Samantha had been born and had averaged about three hours sleep a night before she’d wake, sitting at the window and watching the dawn slowly rise in an uncaring, silent world, before she’d loaded her day with work, work and more work to stop her mind from thinking about this woman’s nephew. And now here was Clay’s aunt demanding an audience, because that was what this boiled down to. She had had enough of this family! Who did they think they were anyway?
There was a longer pause this time, and then the older woman’s voice came very quietly. ‘Because I’m worried to death about Clay and I need to talk to someone about it.’
‘But…your husband? Clay’s friends? I’m sure there must be someone more suitable than me,’ Robyn protested quietly.
‘You, Miss Brett. I need to talk to you,’ Margo Bower said flatly. ‘I’m actually sitting outside your house right now and I promise you I won’t take up more than a few minutes of your time.’
She just didn’t believe this, but then it was typical of the Lincoln bulldozer-type approach, Robyn thought bitterly. Although of course this woman was a Bower by marriage, she had the Lincoln blood running through her veins all right.
And then all her misgivings and annoyance was swept away when Margo Bower said in a very small voice that was quite unlike the rather self-assured tone she’d adopted to date, ‘Please, Miss Brett?’
The last thing—the very last thing—she wanted to do was to talk to Clay’s aunt about anything, so why did she find herself saying, ‘Very well, Mrs Bower, if you think it will help you.’
When the knock came on the door and Robyn opened it, a tall, good-looking, well-dressed woman was standing there, her immaculately coiffured hair dyed a discreet mid-brown which made her appear younger than she was for a few moments, until one really looked into the attractive face. ‘Miss Brett?’
‘Call me Robyn,’ Robyn said quietly as she shook the other woman’s hand and stood aside for her to enter. ‘Come upstairs. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, or maybe a cold drink?’
‘Coffee, if it’s not too much trouble.’
When they reached the first floor Robyn waved her visitor upstairs as she said, ‘Make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring the coffee up in a moment,’ and then all thought of coffee was forgotten when Margo Bower said, ‘How long have you known my nephew, Robyn?’
Robyn jerked round to face a pair of shrewd blue eyes. ‘I first knew him as a young teenager but then we lost touch until a few months ago,’ she said stiffly. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve never seen him like he’s been the last little while,’ Margo answered very directly. ‘I thought…’ And then she flapped her hand at herself. ‘It doesn’t matter what I thought,’ she said a touch irritably. ‘Did you finish it or him?’ And then before Robyn could answer, ‘I’m sorry. Really, I’m sorry. You must think this is the height of bad taste but I’ve always looked on myself more as Clay’s mother than his aunt, although that still doesn’t excuse my poking my nose into his private life.’
She looked at Robyn with an almost comical air of despair and suddenly Robyn found herself softening. She liked this woman. ‘I take it Clay doesn’t know you’re here?’ she said a touch drily.
‘Good grief, no.’ Margo looked absolutely horrified ‘He would never forgive me and I mean that. I’ve got no excuse, other than that he means a great deal to me. And…and he’s had a rotten deal in certain areas of his life.’
Robyn nodded. ‘He’s told me about his childhood and then his marriage to Laura,’ she said quietly.
‘He has?’ Margo’s mouth had dropped open in a little gape. ‘However did you get him to do that? To my knowledge he has never confided in a soul apart from me.’
Robyn turned back to the coffee pot. Something told her this wasn’t going to be the quick five-minute visit that Clay’s aunt had intimated.
Margo stayed for three hours, and by the time she rose to leave the two women were friends.
Robyn had found herself telling Clay’s aunt the whole story—apart from the fact that she loved him—and then even that came out when Margo said, very softly, ‘You love him, Robyn, don’t you? Don’t worry, I won’t betray a confidence, my dear. But he is a fool. I love him dearly, but I have to say he is a fool. But you could never tell Clay anything from when he was a boy.’
‘I told him plenty,’ Robyn said a touch wryly.
‘So you did, my dear, so you did.’
‘And he’ll never forgive me for it.’ It was something of a wail.
‘Never is a long, long time,’ Margo said thoughtfully. ‘When he came back to the States last Wednesday I’ve never seen him in such a mood. Oh, I don’t mean angry, not exactly, but it was as though something was tearing him apart inside. Many years ago now I remember something similar but this was much, much worse. That’s when I made up my mind to find out what had happened and come and see you for myself. I asked after you, you see—he’s mentioned you often over the last weeks—and he nearly bit my head off. So, I told him I had a little business to do in France—quite true as it happens—and that I intended to combine the trip with a couple of days sightseeing, and flew out over the weekend. Do you know I’m actually in Paris right now?’ she added with a sly smile.
‘Clever you.’ Robyn smiled back. And then the smile faded as she said, ‘But don’t assume he cares for me like I do him, Margo, because he doesn’t. It was a physical thing on his side mainly. Oh, I don’t doubt he grew to like me over the last weeks but there’s a vast difference between that and love, isn’t there? He was probably upset because of what I said to him, not that our relationship—such as it was—is over.’
‘Maybe.’ Margo looked at her with sympathetic eyes. ‘But don’t forget he has had years of hiding his feelings, Robyn, from when he was a little boy in fact. He’s all locked up inside.’
The two women hugged as Margo left. ‘I shan’t mention I’ve been here,’ Margo said quietly as they stood on the doorstep. ‘But if I don’t see you again, can I just say I think you’re one in a million and that I would very much have liked to welcome you into the family.’
‘Thank you.’ Robyn blinked back the tears until Margo’s taxi had disappeared from view, and then she stepped back into the house and had a good howl. That goodbye had sounded terribly final somehow, and seemed to confirm—although Margo hadn’t actually said as much—that Clay’s aunt saw things the way Robyn did. With the facts as they were it was the only way to see things.
She walked up to the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee, pouring herself a cup before retracing her way downstairs again.
It was useless to try to go to bed for a while; her head was spinning with all that had been said and the dull ache in her heart told her she wouldn’t be able to fight the thoughts of Clay that would swamp her immediately as she laid her head on the pillow. And she was sick to death of crying herself to sleep.
Work, the panacea, as she had proven over the last few days. It might not cure all ills, but at least by the time she fell into bed after working into the early hours she was too exhausted to do more than have a little cry before sleep claimed her for two or three hours, and tonight, maybe, she might even get the victory over that? Because she couldn’t carry on like this.
It was gone midnight when the knock came at the front door, startling her so much that half a cup of stale coffee went flying over the papers on the desk.
‘Damn, damn, damn!’ Her heart was thuddin
g as she whisked the papers up and shook them—the best she could do in the circumstances—but then, when the knock came again, she put them on Drew’s desk and her hand went to her throat.
Who on earth would be standing outside at this time of night? she asked herself nervously. Admittedly burglars didn’t normally knock to gain entrance, but one heard such funny things these days with kids high on drugs and so on. What should she do? She continued to stand there, her eyes fixed on the front door.
On the third time of knocking, Robyn walked warily to the door and called loudly, ‘Yes, who is it?’
There was silence for what seemed like an eternity but in reality was no more than a second or two, and then an unmistakably deep, husky voice said, ‘Clay.’
She stood frozen to the spot, her heart thumping so hard it actually hurt and her mind unable to take it in until his voice came again, slightly irate this time. ‘Robyn? It’s Clay. Can you hear me? Open the door; it’s all right.’
He was here. She glanced wildly about the room as though it would provide the answer as to why Clay Lincoln was standing outside her front door in the middle of the night, and then nerved herself to reach up and turn the knob, still not really believing he would be standing outside.
He was.
She saw his eyes narrow as they took in her slim figure encased in the cream shot-silk chiffon dress she had worn for a meeting with an important client earlier in the day and had not bothered to change once she was home again, his gaze lingering on her hair—which she had loosened out of its clip on top of her head and had allowed to cascade free some time during Margo’s visit. ‘Hello, Robyn.’ His voice was deep and husky.
She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and the silver gaze slanted still more as he said, ‘Can I come in or do you have a visitor?’ as he glanced behind her into the room.
‘A visitor?’ she repeated breathlessly.
‘I saw the lights were still on and assumed you were up, but if you have guests…’
‘I was working.’ It suddenly clicked that he suspected she had a man here and her voice was curt, even as she thought, It would have served him right if I had.
‘So, can I come in?’ he repeated quietly. ‘We need to talk.’
She stood aside for him to enter, hoping with all her being that she didn’t look as poleaxed as she felt at the sight of him. He was wearing a pale grey shirt and black jeans and he took her breath away. But he looked tired too, ill almost.
‘What do you want, Clay?’ As she turned to face him after shutting the door she was amazed her voice sounded so calm and ordinary when her nerves were jangling and she could feel the blood pounding through her veins. ‘It’s very late.’
‘I know.’ He hadn’t moved a muscle after stepping into the room and now he surveyed her with unblinking eyes. ‘You look tired.’
Did he mean she really looked tired—as she’d thought about him—or that she looked a mess? Robyn asked herself silently. She managed a tight smile as she said, ‘It’s been a long day and this heat is wearing. They’ve been saying for days that the heatwave is going to break, but it hasn’t happened.’
He nodded, the piercing, unrevealing stare continuing to hold her. ‘The heat hit me when I stepped off the plane,’ he agreed softly. ‘It was cooler in the States for once.’
So he had just flown in. She ought to offer him a drink or something. The thoughts were there but the full enormity that he was actually standing in front of her was dawning, and she didn’t dare move or speak in case it revealed the trembling that was threatening to take her over.
‘I know I shouldn’t have come at this time of night.’ He was speaking quietly, watching her face with a curious expression in his eyes that she couldn’t fathom. ‘But I had to, I had to try at least. If the lights hadn’t been on…’
What was he talking about lights for? Why didn’t he say why he was here? Was it something to do with the business? Was he going to tell her he was pulling out of their agreement now their tenuous relationship was over? The thoughts were screaming in her head but at the back of them was the realisation that she was hoping it was something else—she’d started hoping the moment she had heard his voice. Which made her the biggest idiot under the sun because, when it turned out not to be her he had come for, she would die all over again.
‘Clay.’ Her voice was croaky and she swallowed before she could try again. ‘Clay, why are you here?’
‘I need to explain.’ And then, as though he had only just realised they were both still standing within a few feet of the door, he added, ‘Do you want to go upstairs and sit down? It will take a while.’
It will take a while. She felt her senses freeze and go into cold storage. He hadn’t come to say he wanted her, that he was prepared to try again, that…that he loved her. Those three words only took a second to say. But of course he hadn’t, she told herself numbly. Why would he? He could have any woman he wanted so why would he come here and tell her he loved her? Oh, she was going mad here. Why couldn’t he get on with it? ‘No, I don’t want to go upstairs,’ she said on little more than a whisper, forcing the words out through stiff lips.
‘Then, sit down at least.’ Now he touched her for the first time and she had to nerve herself to show no emotion as she felt the warmth of his flesh on her arm as his hand guided her to her chair. She moved like a robot, stiff and unyielding.
Once she was sitting down he walked across to Drew’s desk and perched on the side of it, his masculinity suddenly dwarfing the room as he looked at her with brooding eyes. ‘You were right, you know.’ It was husky, his accent strong for once.
‘What?’ She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
‘Those things you said back at my house. I don’t like emotion; in fact it scares the hell out of me. Emotion makes you vulnerable, open to attack, as accessible as the next man. And the most powerful emotion of them all is love. I was taught by an expert that if you love you are at your weakest, and that when the object of your love is destroyed or leaves you the pain is always with you.’
He was talking about Mitch dying, his father’s gradual demise. Robyn stared at him as he looked into her eyes with an almost hypnotic intensity.
‘Because I was weak, many years ago, I ran away from love into a hell of my own making,’ he continued softly. ‘I could have had heaven but I wasn’t strong enough to reach out for it, and so for years I lied to myself. I told myself that all women were the same deep down, that betrayal and lies and heartache were the core of any relationship once you were foolish enough to trust, to love. I let someone down very badly and then I got Laura, and so to convince myself I hadn’t got what I deserved I built up an armour of lies. Not a pretty picture, is it?’
He had loved a woman once? Ridiculously she felt a stab of jealousy, the force of which tightened her hands into small fists. But why was he telling her all this? What difference did it make to them now? It was just torturing her if he did but know it.
‘Robyn, do you understand what I’m saying?’ His voice was low and smoky, and as she shook her head in bewilderment he rose abruptly, pacing up and down in front of her for a moment or two before he said, the words a groan, ‘I’d promised myself I wouldn’t touch you until I’d said it all but this is killing me.’
She gazed at him, utterly at a loss as to what was going on and then he stopped in front of her, pulling her to her feet and into his arms as he drew a long, steadying breath and ground out, ‘I love you, Robyn. I’ve loved you for years. Loved and desired and wanted you since you were sixteen and quivered and moaned in my arms that night at the lake. There was never anyone before and there’s never been anyone since, not here, in my heart.’ He hit his chest with his fist.
Robyn felt the disbelief shudder through her and her face must have expressed what she was feeling because he shook her gently, his eyes wretched, before he said, ‘That night at the hospital when you thought I was asleep? I heard what you said. It…it crucified me, I can’t tell you.’
He had heard her? She let out a low moan of protest, of humiliation, but he crushed her against him, taking her lips in an agonised kiss as he murmured, ‘Don’t, oh, please, don’t. It’s all right; I swear I’ll make it all right.’
‘You…you’re feeling sorry for me.’ She could barely get the words out through the sobs that were shaking her. ‘You don’t love me, you told me you can’t love.’
‘Why do you think I’ve kept in touch with Guy all these years? Even after the twins were born and they reminded me of Mitch and I?’
The pain in his voice stilled her struggling but she still didn’t dare let herself believe what he was saying. ‘I had to know what you were doing, where you were; I couldn’t get you out of my mind, Robyn. Half the time I was torturing myself with jealousy, imagining you with other men, but I still couldn’t let go. That night at the lake, I would have been the first, wouldn’t I? You meant what you said, about loving me?’
She nodded, unable to speak.
‘I knew it deep down, even that night when I said those lies that sent you flying away from me as though I was the devil incarnate. Maybe I was,’ he ground out wretchedly.
No, he hadn’t been the devil, merely a terribly hurt, confused young man who hadn’t dared to believe and reach out for what had seemed too good to be true to him at the time. Suddenly she understood. And because of that there had been too many wasted years, broken dreams, heartaches and vain strivings. And she had been too young herself, too much in love and too fragile to believe in herself enough to stay and talk it through.
‘When I went back to the States after Cassie and Guy’s wedding I was in a hell of a state,’ he continued painfully, his hands stroking restlessly up and down the smooth silky skin of her arms. ‘I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep; I knew then I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. The way you looked at me in those few seconds before you ran… It was eating me up inside. And so I tried to break it off with Laura.’
