by Penny Jordan
‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ she heard Cathy telling her almost challengingly. ‘Oh, it’s no use,’ she finished bitterly. ‘Stuart said that you wouldn’t understand, that you wouldn’t want to let go of your resentment against Dad…’
‘Stuart said—’ Abbie snapped off the words and then forced a deep breath before starting again. ‘Tell me about the house,’ she invited, trying to find a less contentious topic of conversation. Perhaps later, when she had calmed down a little, she might be able to talk more rationally to Cathy about Sam’s involvement with her wedding.
‘Oh, it’s perfect,’ Cathy told her enthusiastically, her eyes starting to sparkle again, her voice light with relief. ‘Three bedrooms, and it’s got a huge private back garden. The kitchen and bathroom are pretty awful—’ she pulled a face ‘—but as Dad was saying when he saw it—’
‘Your father’s already seen the house?’ Abbie interrupted.
‘Yes, we took him to see it last night. Well, it was on his way to Charlesford. He had an appointment at the university about this post he’s been offered, and Stuart said why didn’t he come with us so that we could show him the house. Stuart and Dad get on well together,’ Cathy added enthusiastically. ‘Dad was telling Stuart that his father used to be an accountant.’
‘Really? Let’s hope that that’s all they’ve got in common,’ Abbie couldn’t resist saying acerbically. Although she regretted the comment almost as soon as she had uttered it when she saw the look of hurt withdrawal in Cathy’s eyes.
‘I…I’m sorry, darling,’ she apologised huskily. ‘It’s just…’
‘It doesn’t matter, Mum,’ Cathy told her quickly—too quickly? Abbie wondered sensitively as, without giving her the opportunity to explain or apologise properly, Cathy hurried on.
‘I’m longing for you to see the house, only we can’t show you until the weekend. It’s empty, by the way, which is another plus point. We’re taking Dad to meet Stuart’s grandparents tomorrow evening, and then it’s Julia’s little girl’s birthday party the day after and Mama Grimshaw is having the whole family round—’
‘Including your father, no doubt?’ Abbie interrupted through gritted teeth.
Cathy gave her an uncertain look.
‘Well, yes, she has invited him. But how did you…?’
‘I—’
‘Look, Mum, I’ve got to go,’ Cathy told her quickly. ‘But one of the reasons I’ve called round is because Dad said that he wanted, that he needed to talk to you about the wedding reception. He said you’d probably got your own ideas about where it should be held…’
‘Oh, he did, did he?’ Abbie couldn’t resist interjecting. After another quick, uncertain look at her, Cathy continued, ‘I told him that he’d probably get you in any evening because you never really go out much. He seemed surprised.’ Cathy laughed. ‘He asked me if there was anyone special in your life…a man. I told him that you weren’t really interested in men.
‘Look, Mum…’ Cathy paused and gave Abbie a pleading look. ‘When Dad does get in touch with you, you will be…nice to him, won’t you? I do understand how you feel, but it’s like Stuart said—I am only going to get married once and I so much want it all to be right… And what would make it so special for me would be to have you both there with me.’ Her eyes filled with tears and Abbie’s bitterness and anger suddenly melted.
‘Of course it will be all right, and special. Very, very special—just like you,’ she told Cathy emotionally, hugging her tightly.
Was it, after all, so much of a sacrifice to make? Her pride in exchange for her daughter’s happiness on such a very important day? What mattered the most to her? There was really no contest, was there? Abbie acknowledged, which meant that when Sam did get in touch with her she would just have to remember that it was Cathy’s feelings which must come first on this occasion, and not her own.
* * *
‘Abbie.’
She recognised his voice immediately, even though it was distorted slightly by the telephone line: authoritative, compelling and oh, so sensually disturbing. She could actually feel the tiny hairs lifting on her arms as she gripped the receiver and responded jerkily, ‘Yes, Sam?’
‘I was wondering if we could meet to discuss this business of Cathy’s wedding. I take it that she has mentioned my…?’
‘She has told me that you’ve offered to pay for the reception,’ Abbie agreed, her feelings getting the better of her as she added under her breath, ‘Amongst other things…’
‘What other things?’ Sam probed, his hearing rather more acute than she had expected.
‘The fact that you’re apparently considering moving back here…back “home“,’ she emphasised with heavy irony. ‘Why—?’
‘Why didn’t I tell you first?’ Sam interrupted her, and continued before Abbie could tell him that that had not been what she had been about to say. ‘You didn’t really give me much opportunity, did you? And besides—’
‘What you do with your life is none of my business,’ Abbie finished grittily, before adding fiercely, ‘Just as Cathy is none of yours.’
There, it was out. The words and the hostility she knew she had revealed with them exposed, in spite of all her good intentions not to quarrel with him for Cathy’s sake.
‘She is our daughter,’ Sam pointed out quietly, adding, ‘Look, I don’t want to quarrel with you over this, Abbie.’
‘You don’t want to quarrel with me… Oh, I know that,’ Abbie agreed bitterly. ‘Just like I know that given the choice you’d rather not have anything to do with me at all. What you want, the person you want, is Cathy. Not me. Don’t think I don’t know that, Sam. I’m not a complete fool, you know… not any more.’
‘No, you’re wrong,’ Sam told her grimly.
‘Am I? Then why are you so determined to force your way into her life?’ Abbie demanded scornfully. ‘And don’t try to tell me that that’s not what you are doing. Why else would you offer to pay for her wedding reception? Why else have you come back here? Why else are you planning to move back here permanently? It has to be because of Cathy, Sam. There isn’t any other logical reason.’
‘No other logical reason, perhaps not,’ Sam agreed, his voice suddenly oddly heavy, weary almost. ‘But then where emotions are concerned none of us tend to behave very logically, do we?’
Abbie sniffed suspiciously.
‘What are you trying to say?’ she demanded.
‘Is it really my presence in Cathy’s life you are so antagonistic to?’ Sam challenged her softly. ‘Or do you fear that somehow that might involve me in your own? We’re both adults, Abbie, and we both share a responsibility towards our daughter…’
Abbie caught her breath on a swift shock of anger at the barefaced injustice of his remark.
How dared he talk to her about responsibility? Him of all people!
‘No matter what our private feelings are,’ he continued firmly, ‘it’s Cathy’s feelings that are paramount here. She wants us both to be at her wedding; she wants us both to be involved. She wants—’
‘I know what Cathy wants,’ Abbie interrupted him curtly.
‘Then you’ll agree that for her sake we need to meet—to discuss not only the wedding but also a way of finding some middle ground between us, at least until after the wedding is over.’
Abbie was suddenly too tired to argue any further, and besides, what was the point? She knew that he was right and she suspected that Cathy would never really forgive her if she didn’t go along with her daughter’s desire to have them both involved in her wedding.
‘If you’re free this evening I could come and pick you up,’ she heard Sam saying, patently taking her silence for agreement. ‘I thought it might be preferable from both our points of view if we were to talk in neutral surroundings. Unless—’
‘Yes…yes, I agree,’ Abbie cut in tiredly. ‘But there’s no need for you to go to the trouble of picking me up. I can meet you.’
‘If that’s what
you prefer,’ Sam agreed cordially.
As they arranged to meet, at a small local pub which had a famously excellent restaurant, Abbie wondered why she had expected Sam to try to persuade her to let him pick her up, and why she felt so disquietingly disappointed that he hadn’t. Surely the last thing she wanted was to spend any more time in his company than was absolutely necessary?
‘Eight o’clock, then,’ she heard him saying.
‘Eight o’clock,’ she agreed.
* * *
Was a fine cream wool cocktail suit worn over a silky camisole rather too over the top for a midweek meal in a pub restaurant? Even if it did have the reputation locally as being one of the places to eat? Abbie wondered soulfully as she studied her reflection in the mirror.
The Abbie of old would never have worn cream, considering it too dull and plain. The years hadn’t just brought a few fine lines around her eyes, she acknowledged, they had brought wisdom and a certain amount of self-awareness as well.
Nowadays, she no longer needed her clothes to proclaim her self-confidence for her.
Cream suited her. The suit’s fluid easy lines hinted subtly at the curves of her figure rather than hugging them, and if the skirt, which ended at mid-calf, had caused Cathy to wrinkle her nose and complain that it was too long, then the long slit which divided the back was more than enough to prove that it wasn’t any need to keep her legs hidden from view which had led to her choice of outfit.
Plain gold earrings—a Christmas present to herself the year Cathy graduated and she’d been invited to join the local Chamber of Commerce for the first time—and the briefest touch of a new perfume she had fallen for on an infrequent day out in London. A final glance in the mirror to check that her eyeshadow was immaculately discreet and that her lipstick did not make her look as though she was pouting, waiting to be kissed, and she was ready.
A small, bleak expression crossed her face. There had been a time when the knowledge that the lipstick she was so carefully trying to apply was going to be kissed off by Sam had caused her hand to shake so much with excitement—and not just her hand either, she acknowledged—that her attempts to apply it had inevitably been abandoned. It still hurt even now to remember how happy she had been, how much in love. Was that why she had responded to Sam’s kiss? Did he know? Had he guessed that in all the years they had been apart no one…no one had aroused that kind of reaction in her?
How had he felt when he’d held her in his arms again? Had he, too, remembered how it had once been between them, or had he simply gloated over the fact that she was so unable to conceal her reaction to him? Had he been amused, gratified, his ego stroked by the knowledge that he could still arouse her?
Did he…Cathy…anyone really know or understand how she felt, just what an effort it was for her to see him…to try to behave rationally and calmly? Did Cathy really understand what she was asking of her, or did her daughter simply think that a woman of her mother’s age was past feeling the acute sharpness of emotions she considered the exclusive province of the young?
Emotions… What emotions? Abbie asked herself angrily. The only emotion she felt or wanted to feel towards her ex-husband was one of loathing. That was the only emotion he deserved from her.
* * *
The publican, who was one of her clients, welcomed her with a warm smile as she walked into the busy cocktail bar.
Sam was already there, and Abbie could see him watching them as Jeff gazed appreciatively at her, his conversation that of one business colleague to another but his eyes saying that she was a woman whom he found very, very attractive.
Sam, who had stood up as she entered the bar, put down the glass he was holding and began walking purposefully towards them, leaving Abbie with no option other than to introduce the two men. She could see the speculative interest in Jeff’s eyes—and the male envy—and so, she recognised, could Sam. She supposed she ought to feel pleased that he was being made aware of the fact that other men still found her attractive, especially in view of what Cathy had told him, but she felt far too tense and on edge to want to play power-games.
‘Would you like a drink or would you prefer to go straight to our table?’ Sam asked her.
‘Straight to the table,’ Abbie responded.
As they were shown to their table she realised that the couple seated close to them were one of Stuart’s sisters and her husband. As she acknowledged their smiles Abbie told herself grimly that there was no necessity for her to introduce Sam to them—after all, he would be meeting them soon enough.
She wasn’t prepared to admit, even to herself, that it hurt knowing that he had been invited to Stuart’s family party and she had not.
Not that she would have wanted to be invited, she denied to herself. Stuart’s mother was someone she found it much easier to get on with at a distance, although she had kept her personal views on Cathy’s future mother-in-law to herself, for Cathy’s sake.
‘You seem to be very well-known locally,’ was Sam’s comment as they sat down.
‘I have a lot of business contacts,’ Abbie agreed.
‘And a very successful business,’ Sam commented as the head waiter handed them their menus.
‘You find that surprising?’ Abbie couldn’t resist challenging him.
‘Not surprising…’ he told her, after a small pause, leaving Abbie to probe.
‘Not surprising, but…but what?’
For a moment she thought that he wasn’t going to answer her, but then he closed the menu he had been studying and leaned across the table to tell her quietly, ‘Not surprising, but humbling. That you possess the ability to make a success of your life doesn’t surprise me. The raw material for that was always there, and despite all my other faults I hope I’ve never been the kind of man who can’t recognise and appreciate an intelligent and courageous woman when I see one.
‘No, your success doesn’t surprise me, Abbie, neither does the way you’ve clung to your independence, bringing Cathy up on your own, giving her all the love and the security I know she must have had just by looking at her and watching her. Even the way you’ve clung to your…feelings about me doesn’t surprise me. They all of them humble me and yet hurt me as well, because they reinforce the self-knowledge that I have made them necessary, that through my weakness you have had to develop your great strength.
‘When Cathy first told me that there wasn’t anyone…a man in your life, I was tempted not to believe her, but then I realised that what she said was probably true—and why… What, after all, could a man…any man…give you that you haven’t obtained for yourself?’
He gave her an ironic look.
‘Once, a long, long time ago, I believed that I was the stronger of the two of us, that it would be my role to nurture and support you financially, emotionally—every which way—that I would lead and you would follow, that we would be a partnership, but a partnership in which I was the senior partner. How very wrong and self-deluded I was…’
Across the table from him, Abbie discovered that she was having to swallow past the constricting lump in her throat.
‘I didn’t want it to be like this,’ she heard herself whispering huskily. ‘I didn’t want to have to leave Cathy with child-minders, to…to…rely on my parents…to have her growing up going without the things that other children had. If I’ve worked hard, if I’ve struggled to be commercially successful, it wasn’t purely out of ambition for myself… In fact, I didn’t want any of it for myself; I wanted it for Cathy… Why are you doing this, Sam?’ she demanded. ‘Why do you want to undermine me… to make me feel…?’
‘To make you feel what, Abbie? What is it I make you feel?’
Abbie had had enough. Standing up, she pushed back her chair, fighting back the tears that threatened to humiliate her as she told him achingly, ‘You know how you make me feel. You make me feel that I’ve failed Cathy…that I’ve put commercial interest, material gain before her feelings, her needs… Oh, you can say that you admire me, wh
at I’ve done, but those are only words and I can hear what you’re really saying, really thinking. You’re thinking that because of what I’ve done, because of what I am, I’m somehow less of a woman…less female…less lovable—and, yes, it does hurt. Just as it hurts me knowing that Cathy…my Cathy…’
Abbie couldn’t go on, and for the second time in as many weeks she found herself walking out of a restaurant, barely able to control her emotions, whilst all around her the occupants of the other tables were watching with avid but discreet curiosity.
The table where Stuart’s sister and her husband had been sitting was empty, she noticed thankfully, so they at least hadn’t witnessed her humiliation.
Sam caught up with her just as she reached her car, taking hold of her arm in a firm but oddly gentle grasp, swinging her round to face him, his forehead creased in a small frown as he stated, ‘You can’t really believe that, Abbie…that I would deliberately try to hurt you…’
‘Why not?’ she countered, no longer bothering to hide the tears she knew were glittering in her eyes. ‘After all, you did before!’
‘Oh, Abbie…Abbie…’
Before she could stop him he had wrapped her in his arms as though she were a small child, hugging her, rocking her, smoothing his hand through her hair.
‘I never wanted to hurt you,’ she heard him whisper emotionally to her. ‘Not then…not now… Especially not now.’
‘Not now…?’ Abbie looked up at him, trying not to think about how good it felt to be close to him like this and how frightening that knowledge was. ‘Because…of Cathy?’ she asked him painfully.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a couple walking past them to a car parked a few feet away.
‘I’ve done my best for her,’ she told him huskily, part of her shocked at the way she was exposing herself and her vulnerability to him, another part of her in some odd way accepting it as inevitable—as somehow right—causing a conflict of emotion she didn’t dare to analyse.
‘For God’s sake, Abbie…’
The anger she could hear in his voice hurt her. She started to pull away from him, wondering what on earth she was doing, but instead of letting her go he drew her closer to him, the hand still stroking her hair tightening slightly against her scalp as he held her head still and bent his own towards her.