The Older Man

by Laurey Bright

  She bit her lip. “You don’t think anyone else noticed?”

  He shook his head. “I shouldn’t think so. Your mother, maybe. But she could hardly ask you to dance.”

  Rennie gave a wavery ghost of a smile. “No. Thank you, Ethan. I’m grateful for the rescue.”

  “Any time.” He kissed the top of her head. “He’s a lot older than you.”

  “Oh, don’t you start on that!”

  “Sorry. Your parents?”

  “Not them. Grant. He seemed to think there was something immoral about me being so much younger.”

  “So it wasn’t entirely one-sided,” Ethan said thoughtfully.

  “No. Not entirely.” Although Grant had not felt a tenth of the emotion she had expended on him. If he had, he would never have been able to let her go.

  “Have you been having an affair with him?” Ethan asked bluntly.

  “No such luck,” Rennie confessed forlornly.

  “Rennie!” His shock was tempered with amusement. “I must admit, it would have surprised me. I’d guess he’s an honourable man. Hardly likely to seduce a young girl living under his roof.”

  “An honourable man. Oh, yes. It sounds almost biblical.” Rennie made an effort at a smile. “Are they sitting at our table?”

  “I’m afraid so. You’ll be all right. You’ve got guts. And you have friends.” He smiled down at her as the music stopped. “Okay?”

  She took a deep breath. If nothing else, she had her fair share of pride. “Okay.”

  Ethan gripped her hand. “That’s the way.”

  “Please, can we get a drink first?”

  He laughed sympathetically and steered her to the bar, where he accepted without comment her demand for a large gin and tonic, and got himself a glass of wine.

  Slipping into the chair by Larry she said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to desert you. Ethan is a very old friend.” Across the table Rennie saw her mother looking at them anxiously. Oh, shoot, she thought. Was I that obvious?

  The worst of it was, Grant might have noticed, too. It was a humiliating thought. She lifted her chin. Pull yourself together, she admonished herself. And smile!

  The band was warming up, and had started belting out a tune with a heavy beat, bringing the younger contingent onto the floor.

  “This music is too good to waste,” she suggested to Larry. “How about we get on the floor?”

  “Sure,” he said, getting up immediately.

  Rennie threw herself into the dance, relying on the music thrumming in her ears, and the movements of her body, to numb her mind and her emotions. When the tune finished she applauded loudly, and as the musicians launched into another, she took up the beat with renewed energy, moving her feet, hips, shoulders to the music.

  She saw that Grant was dancing with Celeste, and dragged her gaze away from them, smiling at Larry and tossing her head, the loose curls swinging against her shoulders. Larry grinned back.

  But when the bracket closed with a drum roll and the band took a break, she followed him back to their table.

  Grant was talking to Celeste and Ethan. He glanced up as she sat down, giving her a piercing look, but she returned him a bland, determined smile before lifting her gin and tonic.

  The music began again. She held onto her glass, both hands curled around it. Grant got up and moved across to her.

  “Dance, Rennie?”

  She wanted to say no, she had to say no. But what excuse could she make, in front of all these people? She turned to Larry, hoping that somehow he would rescue her, but he totally misunderstood.

  “Go ahead,” he said generously. “I don’t mind.”

  Grant said with dry courtesy, “Thank you.” His hand was on her arm, lifting her from the chair, guiding her to the dance floor.

  Then his arm was around her waist, his other hand holding hers close to him, his breath stirring the short tendrils of hair at her temple.

  “How have you been, Rennie?” he asked. “Really?”

  She was sick of telling people she was fine, fine, fine. What if she told him how she really felt, screamed out her rage and pain at him, right then and there?

  But of course she couldn’t. And anyway, he wasn’t be blamed for her feelings. Or his lack of them. The pain was entirely her own fault. And she had no right to be angry with him. He had never tried to deceive her about how he felt. He had never said he was love with her, although he hadn’t denied it either. He had, by implication, told her that being in love was not an incurable condition. And he’d presumably had an antidote in Lorna.

  She said, “I’m fine. And you, obviously. Are you and Lorna a twosome?”

  His gaze flicked over to the table where Lorna was talking to Rennie’s father. “You could say that.”

  “She’s a lovely person.”

  “I think so, too.”

  She wanted to ask, Do you love her? Do you kiss her the way you kissed me? Does she love you the way I do?

  She glanced up fleetingly, and saw that he looked troubled. Humiliation made her squirm.

  She laughed. It sounded genuine. “Of course, you were quite right,” she said. “Much as I hate to admit it. I had a crush on you.” She grimaced. “I got over it, just as you predicted when you thought I was yearning over Ethan.”

  “Did I?” he asked. “I seem — ” he paused to clear his throat ” — I seem to remember that you thought I was fairly crass in saying so.”

  “I’ve grown up since then.”

  “Yes,” he said in a strange tone. “I’ve noticed.”

  And about time! she thought. For once he was looking at her as though she was more than ten years old.

  They danced in silence for a while, and she let herself relax in his arms. The lights were low, only flickering colours playing across the dancers, and the tempo had slowed. She closed her eyes and allowed a bitter-sweet pleasure to take over.

  His hand moved on her back, and she snuggled closer. And felt his sudden withdrawal, his hand stilling.

  Rennie drew away. She said, “How are the children?”

  After a moment he said, “Good. Both well. You haven’t been round in a while. They — we all miss you.”

  “They’re all right, aren’t they?” she enquired anxiously. “You said they’re well.”

  “Yes. They’re not distressed about it. I told them you were busy. How did your exams go?”

  “Okay. No results yet, of course.”

  “I’m sure you’ve passed with flying colours. Next year you’ll be qualified.”

  “Yes. Will you be pleased?”

  “Of course I’ll be pleased for you.”

  “Are you going to marry Lorna, after all?” she asked suddenly, without thinking. Hastily she tacked on, “She’d be a good mother.”

  “I know she would,” he said in a strange tone, his eyes searching hers. “The children like her.”

  Rennie felt sick. What are you doing to yourself, girl? she thought wildly. Digging your own grave? “That’s nice,” she said brightly. “So, are you going to announce your engagement?”

  “I haven’t asked her yet,” Grant said.

  Yet. The sick feeling grew in intensity. “I see.”

  “Do you?” His eyes looked cold now. He had distanced himself. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “And you’re still seeing Larry,” he commented.

  “Now and then. I see a lot of people.”

  “Men?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. She smiled into his eyes. “Some of them.”

  “You will be careful, Rennie, won’t you?”

  “Not to get myself raped, you mean? I’ve learnt my lesson. You made sure of that. You taught me a lot that I’m not likely to forget.”

  “Rennie — ” He hesitated, searching her eyes. His weren’t cold any more, they were troubled and there was something in the depths of them that made her want to cry.

  Still smiling, she said, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease.”

  “Is that what you�
��re doing? Teasing?”

  “What else? I can’t help it, sometimes, when you’re being — “

  “Pompous?” he suggested, a glint of grim humour in his eyes displacing the disturbingly sombreness.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You’d better not even think it!” He was smiling too, making an effort to keep things light.

  “Or else — ” Rennie finished for him. “What?” she asked innocently.

  But equally suddenly the humour disappeared, his face closing. “You are incorrigible,” he said softly.

  “And what are you?” she said recklessly. “Susceptible?”

  “Evidently.” His tone was clipped.

  So, no matter how he tried, he still wasn’t completely indifferent to her. But even though she could momentarily get under his skin, he wasn’t about to lose that iron control of his. Unless…

  She danced closer to him, linking her arms about his neck, her eyes challenging. Her body moved against his.

  Softly he said, “Cut it out, Rennie.” His face went tight as if he was in pain.

  “Does it bother you? Larry likes it.”

  His jaw clenched angrily. “I said, cut it out!” His hands closed on her wrists, pulling them away.

  “What a prude you are,” she mocked him.

  “I wouldn’t start name-calling,” he warned her. “You might hear a few you wouldn’t like.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say,” she flashed.

  “Self-defence.”

  Her smile this time was real, although there was a complicated adrenalin-fed anger behind it. “Oh, pooh!” she said, making a face at him. “I’m no threat to you. You can’t tell me I’ve cost you any sleep.”

  He stopped dancing suddenly, looking down at her, and she caught her breath, gazing back at him. His hands tightened on her. His voice very soft, he said, “All right. I’ll tell you. I’ve lost sleep over you for weeks at a time, especially when you were in my house, and I knew I had only to walk down the passageway and be welcomed into your bed. You don’t have any idea of the nights I lay awake trying not to think about that, and despising myself for doing so. You make my blood run hot just by looking at me, and when I hold you I want nothing more than to take you the nearest bed and make love to you until morning, and the morning after, and the one after that, until we’re both so spent we fall asleep in each other’s arms. I was besotted over you. You’re my middle-aged erotic fantasy — does that please you? But fantasies have nothing to do with reality. If I take a woman into my life I have to consider the children. What I need is a mother for them, not a pretty nymphet who’s nearer Toby’s age than mine. As you pointed out, Lorna would fill the bill admirably.”

  Then he said, “I’ll take you back,” even though the music hadn’t stopped, and walked her across the floor with his arm about her waist. He put her in her chair, and turned and left her.

  And Rennie sat and deliberately didn’t watch him go to Lorna’s side and bend close to speak to her, then take her into his arms to dance. She listened to Larry talking, and smiled and nodded and even laughed once or twice, then got up to dance with him, and didn’t feel a thing. Not a thing.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  That came later. She was astonished at how much it hurt. Lying awake in bed she said to herself wonderingly, against the pain, You never really believed it, did you? That he could turn his back on you and decide cold-bloodedly to marry someone else. You thought that somehow it would all come right. Like in the story books. Kidded yourself you were doing great without him, when all you were doing was marking time and waiting for him to admit that he couldn’t do without you. Well, he could. And this time it’s for real, you have to accept that it’s over, finally. And if you truly love him you’ll hope that he will live happily ever after. With Lorna.

  She thumped her pillow and tried to will herself to hope that. But all she could think was, But I want it to be me! Why couldn’t it have been me?

  This time it was harder. When she appeared at breakfast, pale and puffy-eyed, her father asked if she had a cold, and her mother looked at her searchingly.

  “Too much gin last night, more likely,” Shane said. “She was knocking it back like nobody’s business.” But his teasing grin was strained and almost apologetic. He was covering for her.

  “I might be getting a cold,” she agreed. She didn’t want any discussion of what was really ailing her. The wounds felt too new and raw. While grateful for her family’s concern, she knew she was going to have to get over this by herself.

  Life had to go on somehow. She immersed herself in study, swotting for her finals, actually forgetting Grant for hours at a time. Except for a nagging, hollow ache that never quite went away and that she learned to live with. Then the exams were on her and she made a gut-wrenching effort to banish Grant’s memory while she tackled them. By the time they were over she was blessedly tired, and for days at a time nothing seemed to matter any more. Not the exam results, not her projected career, not even her blighted love life.

  At the end of the year she applied for a holiday job with a legal firm. A letter came inviting her to come for an interview the following week.

  They asked her to bring references from any previous employers. That was something she hadn’t thought of. References from her father, who had sometimes given her field training, wouldn’t be very telling, she supposed.

  She had one or two others, but the most valuable one, in terms of her employment experience, was probably missing. And time was getting short.

  She had to do it. The day before the interview, she phoned Grant at his office.

  “Rennie?” He sounded reserved as he answered.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. But I need a reference. I wondered if you’d mind — “

  “Of course I don’t mind!” Was that relief she heard in his voice? “I’ll be happy to write you a glowing testimonial. You want me to post it to you?”

  “No.” She paused. “No, there isn’t time, I’m afraid. I have to produce it for an interview tomorrow. Sorry it’s such short notice, but I wondered if I could pick it up from your office on my way to the interview.”

  “Yes, certainly.”

  She was sure he sounded decidedly cool, now. Did he think she was making an excuse to see him?

  And aren’t you? an inner voice jeered. If you’d contacted him earlier he could have posted it, and you’d have no need to call.

  “You could leave it with your receptionist,” she suggested, trying to match his tone. “I won’t need to bother you.”

  “No bother. What time do you expect to call?”

  “About twelve-thirty,” she said, “but I could make it earlier if that time is inconvenient.” He could legitimately be out to lunch then, she thought. “The interview is at one.”

  “Twelve-thirty is fine,” Grant said. “I’ll see you then.”

  She dressed for the interview carefully if listlessly, choosing a dark green skirt and an apricot blouse that looked both pretty and businesslike, and slipping her feet into a pair of medium-heeled Brazilian leather shoes. She pinned her hair back and applied a little eye makeup and a touch of lipstick, and hoped she looked both capable and mature. Most fourth year students would be a little older than she was.

  When she gave her name to the receptionist at Grant’s office, the woman said, “Yes, Miss Langwell. Mr Morrison is expecting you. Come right on in.”

  She got up to open the door, withdrawing and closing it behind Rennie when she had entered the room.

  Grant rose from the desk and said, “Come in, Rennie. Have a seat.” He had glanced at her briefly, but now he didn’t seem to want to look at her.

  “Thank you.” She sat on the edge of the chair he indicated. “But I can’t stay. I don’t want to be late.”

  “No, I understand. You don’t want to make a bad impression. You may want to read what I’ve said about you, though.” He took a piece of paper from the desk, and got up to come round and hand
it to her, leaning back against the desk while she read.

  “Thank you,” she said. “It’s very — flattering. Glowing was hardly the word for it. Trying to smile, she added, “You’ve made me sound like a cross between Florence Nightingale and the Angel Gabriel.”

  Grant laughed. “Every word is true. I hope it gets you the job,” he said, taking it from her and folding it into an envelope.

  She stood up quickly, holding out her hand, expecting him to move aside as he gave her the envelope.

  But he didn’t. And that made them very close. So close she could smell his masculine scent, see the fine lines about his eyes, hear his breathing. Outside the traffic hummed, and someone put on their brakes with a protesting squeal. But the room seemed locked in stillness and quiet.

  “Rennie?” His hand came up and brushed her cheek. “Are you really all right?”

  His hand was resting lightly on her neck now, his thumb lifting her chin. She thought what she saw in his eyes was some kind of longing, but she reminded herself of the way he had flayed her last time they met, of what he thought of her, really. Does that please you? he’d asked bitterly, as though she was a shallow tease who had led him on for some kind of teenage ego-trip of her own. And he had described his own feelings minutely enough. Lust, for which he despised himself. Something he thought of ugly and unworthy. Because he was a man on the wrong side of thirty-five, with two children, and she was — had been — an attractive nineteen-year-old with an undisguised passion for him.

  “Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?” Her voice was brittle. She wished he would stop touching her….No she didn’t. She wished he would go on touching her and never, never stop…

  He shrugged, and dropped his hand. “I just wondered if you … I thought … you look thinner.”

  “Do I? Maybe it’s the hairdo. You’ve no need to worry about me.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t help being … concerned for you.” He looked down and said huskily, “Rennie, let’s stop pretending. I hurt you, and you don’t know how deeply I regret that.”