Older Man

by Bright, Laurey;

  "I'm sure it was wonderful,” Grant said when he had finished.

  "Yeah, shame you missed it,” Larry sympathised.

  Grant's lips twitched wryly. “I'll live, I think."

  "Coffee,” Rennie interrupted. “Are you coming through to the other room with us, Grant?"

  He looked from her to Larry. “No, thanks. Far be it from me to intrude on love's young dream."

  "Huh?” Larry took a cup from Rennie as she thrust it into his hand.

  She banged another down in front of Grant, giving him a wordless glare. “Come on, then,” she said to Larry, scooping up her cup. “Grant has work to do."

  Half an hour later she let him out, and closed the front door behind him. Grant came out of the kitchen, and she said coolly, “I hope we didn't disturb you.” Larry had still been on a high from the concert, and she had laughed a lot.

  "Not at all,” Grant answered. “I wondered about the children, though."

  "They haven't woken. And we weren't that noisy. No more so than you and your friend the other night."

  "Did we disturb you?"

  "It's your house."

  "Yes."

  "But that remark of yours was quite uncalled for."

  "Which remark?"

  "'Love's young dream',” she repeated sarcastically. “A cheap crack, don't you think?"

  He shrugged.

  "Larry's a friend. Nothing more."

  "Your choice, not his."

  "How would you know? He never attempted to make a pass."

  "One day he'll pluck up courage. Just remember what happened to you once before—or nearly happened."

  "Larry doesn't drink much."

  "Good for him. It isn't only drink that can drive men to madness."

  Rennie snorted. “Good heavens, we are getting melodramatic, aren't we? I'm not Helen of Troy!"

  A reluctant smile tugged at Grant's mouth. “You don't need to be,” he said cryptically.

  Rennie said huskily, “Thank you—I think?"

  "As if you didn't know.” His gaze slipped over her clinging shirt and tight jeans. Almost to himself, he said, “I don't believe Helen was half as sexy."

  The flush now encompassed her whole body. And that wasn't all. Her gaze riveted on him, she thought, How can he make me feel like this, without even touching me? And closed her eyes.

  "Don't do that!” Grant's harsh voice brought them wide open again. He had moved closer, but halted abruptly as she looked at him. She saw his chest rise and fall once. “You'd better get yourself off to bed,” he said.

  "The cups,” Rennie said. “I should wash them—"

  "Leave them. They can wait until morning."

  Rennie swallowed. “Well, goodnight then,” she said lamely. She had to walk past him. She didn't look at him, but she knew he was watching her all the way to her bedroom.

  She had begun spending more nights at home so that the break wouldn't be so noticeable for the children. Toby seemed to take the impending change in his stride, but Ellen had begun sucking her thumb again, and Rennie spent much time reassuring her.

  "I've told Ellen that I'll visit her and Toby often,” she said to Grant one night as they were finishing their coffee after dinner. “I thought it would help her to get used the change."

  "That's good of you,” he said formally, putting down his cup on the table. “I'm sure you're right, but I hope it doesn't cut into your social life, or your studies. Thank you,” he added.

  "That's all right. I'll try not to intrude on you."

  With a hint of impatience, he said, “Of course you won't be intruding. Toby and Ellen are fond of you, and anything that will help them is fine by me, you know that."

  "You're a very good father,” Rennie said impulsively.

  He looked grimly rueful. “Not particularly, until I was forced into it by circumstances. Then I didn't have much choice. As a matter of fact, I was a bit shaken by the way they—particularly Ellen—depended on me after their mother died. Ellen was a baby when I left, I hadn't even had time to get fond of her. I suppose I was all they had, but it was a frightening responsibility."

  "Well, you're doing a good job now. And it's worthwhile, isn't it?"

  He looked faintly surprised. “Yes, I haven't taken the time to think about it, but I've derived a great deal of pleasure out of those two, as well as worry. Oh, I meant to tell you, I've cancelled the advertisement for a nanny-housekeeper, so you needn't answer any more calls. I had a call from Mrs Beddoe. Her daughter is out of hospital and progressing nicely at home. Mrs Beddoe is coming back to Auckland next week, and she'd like to continue in the job. She said to give you her regards."

  "Oh, I'm so pleased!"

  "Yes, I thought you would be. The children liked her, and they haven't forgotten her, either. I imagine even Ellen will find the transition quite easy."

  And so will you, she thought bitterly. Rashly, she said it aloud. “You'll be relieved to see me go, won't you?"

  He looked at her across the table. “Don't be silly."

  "I'm being honest. Why can't you?” she challenged him.

  His mouth was wry. “That's your forte. Perhaps I don't dare."

  Rennie looked at him scornfully. “You mean you're a coward?"

  His lips went tight. “Stop it, Rennie,” he warned. “You could get more than you bargained for."

  She leaned across the table. “Just once, why don't you let yourself go with your feelings?"

  "I did, ‘just once,'” he reminded her, softly jeering. “And you were scared stiff."

  Rennie swallowed, trying not to blush. “That's an exaggeration. I was nervous, that's all. And anyway, you—meant to scare me, then. You said—you said you wanted to teach me a lesson."

  "You want another one?” The jeering note was stronger now, the curve of his lips almost cruel.

  Rennie swallowed. “I just want you,” she said baldly. “And I know you want me.” She saw his face close, his fist on the table clench, and said hurriedly, “And it isn't just sex and—and flattery with you, either. You're not that sort of man.” Before she could lose her courage, she went on. “I think you're in love me. Why don't you want to admit it?"

  He was looking down at the table, but then he raised his head and she almost flinched at the blaze in his eyes. Anger, obviously, but desire, too?

  He got up suddenly, and she held her breath, but he slammed away from her towards the sink, for a moment leaned his hands on the counter, his head bowed, and then turned to face her. “Listen to me,” he said. “It's a first time, for you. At your age, being in love is enough. You think it's so simple, that love can move mountains, overcome all obstacles. It's not like that, Rennie. Not in the real world, where I live."

  "You think I don't—?"

  Brutally he reminded her, “I've been in love before, Rennie. When Jean and I met she was eighteen and I was ten years older. I was,” he said deliberately, “madly in love with her, then."

  Rennie steeled herself not to flinch as he went on. “My father was sixteen years older than my mother. My parents’ marriage wasn't exactly a glowing testimonial to the state of matrimony, but I didn't give the parallel much consideration.” He paused.

  "What does that have to do with us?” Rennie demanded stubbornly.

  "There are too many similarities. You are the same age that Jean was when I first met her."

  "And I'm studying law—” Rennie conceded impatiently.

  "Yes, an A student—"

  "You need them to get into law school at all. I had to work for them."

  "I'm not implying otherwise. You're bright, and ambitious, and young—just as Jean was."

  "I'm not Jean!"

  He looked at her, and she saw pain in his eyes, but with a sinking heart she knew intuitively that he wasn't seeing Rennie, alone. Her image in his mind was overshadowed by the indelible memories of his marriage and his ex-wife.

  "She said, “You really think the fact that you were older was the reason for the br
eak-up of your marriage?"

  "Perhaps not,” he conceded after a moment. “But it did seem to accentuate the problems. I'm sure Jean felt that a younger man would have been more competent in the house, and she certainly thought I was too far removed from my own childhood to be any good at childrearing."

  It sounded to Rennie as though Jean had flung at him whatever came to mind when they were arguing. And probably Grant had accepted the accusations with that stoic calm which Toby had inherited. His own arguments would have been incised with an infuriating logic, but his wife's accusations had bitten deep. Grant was almost morbidly aware of his own shortcomings.

  He said, and there was pain in his voice, too, “I think we both hoped that Ellen's birth would perform some sort of miracle for us and restore our marriage. But by then it was too late. Jean was always tired, and when I tried to help—my efforts weren't very welcome."

  Tired and irritable, Rennie thought. Giving herself too much to do, setting unrealistically high standards and refusing help, but at the same time resenting the workload. And resenting the drastic change of direction in her life. “She was punishing you,” she said slowly.

  "Perhaps,” he acknowledged. “Certainly I felt guilty, and I guess we both felt cheated. She wasn't the loving, passionate girl I had married, and she must have felt that I'd forced her into a role that she hadn't been prepared for but was determined to make the best of. And my attitude didn't help her. I began to feel shut out. By the time Toby was two I'd found my own compensation."

  Rennie's head lifted. “You were unfaithful?"

  "Not in the way you mean. I threw myself into my work. I wasn't home much. It seemed better that way. But naturally, Jean became fed up with it. She thought I was taking her for granted."

  She had to respect his unwillingness to criticise his ex-wife. No doubt both he and Jean had been partially to blame for what had happened to his marriage. But his awareness of past mistakes had changed him.

  "Rennie,” he said. “Try to understand. I can't risk it all happening over again. Don't ask it of me."

  She got up and walked towards him. She took his arms and looked up into his taut, determined face. “Look at me, please! Please, Grant,” she said, trying to get through to him, blinking away tears. “You don't have to send me away out of some silly notion of self-sacrifice."

  For a moment she saw the longing in his face, and his hands came out to clamp on her arms, and she lifted her face to his, thinking she had won. Then he determinedly pushed her away from him. She saw the effort he made to steady himself, to wipe all expression from his face, and her heart contracted with love and hurt.

  When he spoke his voice was harsh but even. “You don't understand,” he told her deliberately. “It isn't self-sacrifice, Rennie. It's self-preservation. I'm not prepared to go through all that again."

  He was rejecting her, finally and completely. Knowing how she felt, tacitly admitting his own feelings, he was turning his back on them. Furious and appalled, Rennie swallowed a fierce desire to hurl herself at him and attack him with her fists. That would only convince him all over again of her childishness. She lifted her head instead, looking him right in the eye. “Then you are a coward, after all. And a fool, too. You're like Ellen, afraid to set foot outside of your self-imposed, loveless prison because you might get hurt again. But Ellen's just a little girl, and you are supposed to be all grown up."

  But if she hoped to goad him, it was useless. He had himself well in hand now. “Thank you for that analysis, Rennie,” he said equably. She detected a spark of temper in his eyes, but even so he managed a faint, superior smile that made her long to hit him. “Maybe you should take up psychology after all.” Then he gave her an ironic little nod and walked out of the room.

  Mrs Beddoe came in the afternoon of Rennie's last day, bringing an overnight bag. “Mr Morrison asked if I could stay overnight occasionally,” she explained. “We thought I should for tonight."

  Ellen was a little shy with her at first, but by the time Grant came home from work she seemed quite happy with the situation. She pressed into Rennie's hand an unidentifiable object made of paper, ribbon and some pictures cut from a magazine, and said, “I made it for you."

  "It's very pretty, Ellen,” Rennie said sincerely, restraining herself from asking what it was. “I'll keep it in my room at home."

  "And I made you something at school,” Toby told her, producing a parcel wrapped in crumpled paper. At least she recognised his gift as a pin-cushion, and thanked him warmly, promising to use it.

  "Mr Morrison said not to bother with dinner, he'll bring something in and run you home afterwards,” Mrs Beddoe said.

  Rennie crushed a pang of jealousy that the message had been given to the other woman, not to her. Out with the old, and in with the new, she told herself. She toyed with the idea of going home by bus before Grant arrived. But it would be impolite, and perhaps cowardly. And the children would want to know why.

  He brought Chinese food with him, much more than they could eat, and while Mrs Beddoe put the children to bed, he said, “I'll take you home."

  She fetched her small bag, which he took from her and swung into the back seat before opening the passenger door for her.

  She was doing up her safety belt when he got in beside her. She thought he hesitated an instant before he started the car, but she was still adjusting her belt, not looking at him.

  He drove in silence, seemingly concentrating on the traffic, and she could think of nothing to say. A small, cold wad of misery was lodged somewhere in the region of her heart.

  When he drew up outside her house, he said, “You'll be glad to be home again."

  "I'll miss ... the children."

  He glanced at her, then looked away, fishing in the breast pocket of the suit he wore. “Your wages,” he said, handing her an envelope. “And a bonus."

  "Thank you. I didn't expect any bonus."

  "You've earned it."

  She sat fiddling with the envelope. He reached across her and flipped open the glove-box. “And this is—well, something extra. I hope you'll like it."

  It was much more expertly wrapped than the children's presents. She removed the silver paper with its looped bow, and opened the box inside, to lift out a crystal suspended from a gold hoop that curved round to form a circular stand. It was simple and beautiful. She held it on the palm of her hand, and he touched the crystal with a finger, making it dance and glint, even in the gathering dusk.

  "You didn't have to give me anything,” she said, blinking away tears.

  "I wanted to. I didn't buy you a birthday present. Chocolates don't count.” He paused. “You don't like it?"

  "Yes, of course I do. I love it."

  She replaced the lovely thing carefully in its box, trying to put off the moment when she had to say goodbye.

  He watched her hands, and when she looked up again, he gave her faint smile, and touched her cheek with the back of his index finger. She turned her head against his hand, and somehow his fingers were tangled in her hair. His face was very close. He was holding himself still.

  She said, “You could at least kiss me goodbye."

  His smile was crooked. “Not a good idea, Rennie."

  She moistened her lips with her tongue. “Well, Mahomet—” She curled her hand behind his neck, and lifted her face until her mouth found his. She felt him go rigid, and slid her hand down his neck inside the collar of his shirt, and dug her nails into his skin, at the same time opening her mouth with a desperate, angry passion, her teeth closing momentarily on his lower lip.

  Grant made a low noise in his throat, and the hand in her hair convulsed and tugged painfully, pulling her head back.

  "What do you think you're doing?” he demanded hoarsely, his eyes ablaze with furious desire. “Have you any idea what you're asking for?"

  "Yes. I'm not a child, Grant."

  "The hell you're not!” he groaned. And then his mouth was on hers, his hand in her hair, their breath mi
ngling. He trailed a finger down her throat and a moment later firmly cupped her breast in his palm, making her heart treble its beat. She arched toward him with her arms about his neck, and felt his hand sweep down to her hip, her thigh, then up to her waist under the edge of her loose T-shirt, stroking the heated skin. A finger traced the line of her backbone from waist to nape and back again, and his palm found her breast once more, this time with only a thin layer of nylon and lace between them. Her head was pressed against the back of the seat, his tongue mercilessly exploring her mouth. She freed one hand and burrowed under his jacket, trying to hold him closer to her. His hand was inside her bra now, touching her, reminding her how it had been lying almost naked with him on his bed, and she made a long guttural sound of pleasure and satisfaction.

  And yet it wasn't enough. Even as she moved against his hand, abandoned to that sweet caress, she knew that it wasn't going to be enough.

  Then the pleasure unexpectedly spilled over and she cried out against his open mouth so that he lifted it from hers, and she shuddered in his arms, hearing his shaking voice in her ear saying, “Rennie? Rennie! I don't believe this. Darling...” The last with a kind of stunned amusement.

  Her head had fallen against his shoulder, and she was filled with a delicious lassitude and slowly fading pleasure. He smoothed her hair, his lips on her temple, and whispered, “Rennie? Are you all right?"

  She nodded.

  "You are quite a girl."

  "That was quite a kiss,” she said drowsily.

  His chest shook with silent laughter. “You could say that."

  "That never happened to me before."

  "No?” he enquired tenderly.

  She shook her head again. “Never."

  "Well, it's bound to happen again. Though not necessarily in the same way."

  There was a grim sadness in his tone that made her raise her head from its comfortable resting place. “And not with you?” she asked painfully.