Too Scared to Love

by Cathy Williams

  His arguments rang in her ears as though they had been spoken just yesterday instead of three months ago.

  And she had fallen for them.

  ‘You make the cheque over to me,’ he had told her. ‘I have some money of my own in savings. I’ll make one cheque out to the solicitors. No point in creating unnecessary paperwork.’ He had worked out in detail how much money they jointly had, and his tone of authority, his tender, clucking dismissal of her shadowy doubts had persuaded her in a way that nothing else could have.

  The memory of it made her flush with bitter shame. How could she have fallen for someone so obvious? But she had. Like a naïve fool, only realising that she had made a massive error of judgement when he abruptly vanished from her life. She had tried calling him, but the number had been disconnected. She had gone round to his bedsit, but he had flown the coop.

  The new tenants had stared at her and shrugged their shoulders. This was London, they had said, of course we don’t know where he’s gone, we were only happy to have got the flat.

  Disillusionment had given way to anger, and then to bitterness. Of course, she had eventually gone to the police, but by then she had resigned herself to the fact that she had kissed sweet goodbye to her money.

  She could recall the interview with the chief inspector in minute detail, and it still had the power to make her cringe. She had known precisely what had been going through his head. Gullible dupe who has no experience of life, or of men, and gets taken in by the first clever conman who comes along and plays upon her insecurities. He had seen her as pathetic. She was convinced of it and she had looked at herself through his eyes with humiliation.

  But, she now thought, didn’t every cloud have a silver lining? She thought of Grant Adams, and of that glimpse of suffocating charm that had flashed across his face. If there was one thing that Brian had done for her, it was to make her immune to men like Grant Adams.

  Even before Brian, she had always been a self-contained person. Now she guarded herself and her emotions with rigid control. She might have been a fool once, but lessons were there to be learnt from. She would never be a fool again.

  It was late the following morning before she woke up, after the sort of restless night that came from sleeping in different surroundings.

  It was warm in the room, but as she drew back the curtains she could see the cold outside clutching at the trees and buildings.

  Emily burst into the room as she was preparing to get dressed, and Roberta said automatically, ‘There’s such a thing as knocking.’

  Emily’s long black hair had been dragged away from her face and was hanging down her back in a pony tail, but her face still wore that suspicious, defensive expression.

  ‘You work here,’ Emily replied. ‘Why do I need to knock?’

  ‘I wish I could follow that argument,’ Roberta replied, vanishing into the en suite bathroom to wash her face and then reappearing to apply some light make up at the dressing table.

  ‘Anyway, you should have been up hours ago.’

  ‘Should I?’ she asked drily. ‘If I had known that you were that eager for my company, I would have set my alarm clock.’

  ‘Ha, ha.’

  ‘Actually, I got to bed quite late last night. I met your father and we remained chatting for a while.’ Chatting, she thought with a silent laugh. What a way to describe that explosive encounter between them.

  ‘You mean he came home?’ Emily’s voice expressed a cynicism that sounded out of place in someone that young. ‘Before midnight? How good of him. Normally we cross each other in passing. He’s always on the way out somewhere.’

  There was a wealth of bitterness in her voice and Roberta looked at her with surprise.

  ‘Shocked?’ Emily asked. ‘You wouldn’t be if you knew him. I suppose you fell for all that laid-on charm, did you? He seems to have a talent with women, not that I can understand why.’

  ‘That’s a bit unfair.’ Roberta shrugged herself into some clothes, making sure that she had enough underlayers to protect her from the weather outside. ‘And in answer to your question, no, I didn’t fall for all that laid-on charm.’ Not, she thought, that he had used any on her anyway, but she wasn’t going to say that.

  Emily was staring at her suspiciously, as though ready to argue the point, but Roberta wasn’t having it. She switched the subject skilfully away from Grant Adams, and on to the infinitely safer topic of Toronto and what there was to see.

  By the end of a very tiring day, they were at least on speaking terms, even though it was a case of treading carefully in order to avoid initiating one of Emily’s sulks. Roberta had discovered quite quickly that Emily was adept at them, although they would last only a short while, to be replaced usually by a battery of forthright questions which left Roberta feeling exhausted.

  ‘I thought I was direct,’ she said, as they relaxed later that afternoon in the kitchen in front of a cup of coffee, ‘but you’re leagues ahead of me.’

  That extracted a grin from Emily, which vanished almost as soon as it had formed. ‘I can see why you didn’t go for Dad,’ she said. ‘He’s not into direct women. He likes them coy and brainless.’

  ‘Do I really?’

  ‘They both turned at the sound of his voice. Emily with surprise, and Roberta with an expression of amusement at his daughter’s reaction.

  He walked into the kitchen, slinging his coat carelessly on to the counter and sitting down opposite them.

  Roberta looked at him with detachment, thinking that he really was remarkably attractive. Last night she had been too caught up in her emotional reaction to his behaviour to have really examined him, but she could see now that he was the sort of man who had probably spent a lifetime turning heads. And, she thought, agreeing with Emily, spending his time playing with coy, brainless women. He had a lean, arrogant hardness about him that no doubt attracted hordes of them. She smiled, and he said in a cool voice, ‘What’s the joke?’

  ‘Joke?’ She threw him an unreadable look. ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’

  ‘About Toronto? Or about the brainless women that I go for, according to my daughter?

  Emily was looking between them.

  ‘What are you doing home so early, anyway?’ she asked, her mouth downturned as she stared at him, and he frowned.

  ‘I thought you might have been pleased to see me.’ There was impatience in his voice.

  ‘Why? You think showing up at a reasonable hour now and again helps to remind me what you look like?’

  Grant frowned heavily. ‘I don’t think that remark is called for, young lady, and—’

  ‘And what?’ she muttered mutinously. ‘Are you going to pack me off to bed for punishment? Or tell me that I can’t have any pocket money?’ She sniggered, happily oblivious to the flush of anger that had darkened his cheeks.

  ‘We had a lovely day,’ Roberta said, suspecting that if she didn’t interrupt soon she would be witnessing an almighty clash.

  Grant ignored her completely. He was staring at his daughter and she was staring back at him, her green eyes angry and defensive.

  ‘When are you going to realise, young lady, that being rude isn’t charming or endearing, it’s just aggravating and rubs people up the wrong way.’

  Emily stood up, her face flushed. ‘You should know all about that!’ she shouted. ‘You specialise in it!’ With that she ran out of the room, and Roberta looked towards the door worriedly. She didn’t have a great deal of experience in dealing with adolescents, but she did know that Emily would probably lock herself in her bedroom and burst into tears.

  She stood up to follow and Grant said tightly, ‘Sit down.’

  ‘But—’ she began, and he cut into her with a hard voice.

  ‘I said sit down! I didn’t come back here at this hour to be subjected to my daughter’s ill manners.’

  Roberta sat back down and glared at him. ‘What did you expect? You hardly spend any time with her. You can’t think that the odd ear
ly return from work is going to fill her with delight.’

  ‘And I don’t need you to start preaching to me again,’ he muttered, pouring himself a cup of coffee. ‘She’ll calm down. What did you two do today, then?’

  ‘We went to the Eaton Centre and browsed around. And how do you know that she’ll calm down? I think you ought to go to her bedroom and talk to her.’

  ‘And I think you ought to stop playing at being an amateur shrink. When I need advice, I’ll consult a professional.’

  Roberta looked at him, bristling, and he said with lazy amusement, ‘You’re wearing that school-ma’am look again.’

  ‘Because I don’t happen to agree with how you react with your daughter?’ she burst out.

  Grant’s mouth tightened into a forbidding line. ‘I didn’t employ you to voice opinions. I employed you to make sure Emily behaves herself in my mother’s absence.’

  ‘The two go hand in hand.’ She gave him a conciliatory smile. ‘She’s unhappy, can’t you see that? She’s suffered not having a mother-figure. I’m sure most children do—’

  He slammed his coffee-cup on to the table and the liquid spilled over the rim, leaving a wet patch. ‘She damn well doesn’t need a mother-figure!’ he ground out. ‘She’s already had a mother-figure, enough to last her a lifetime.’

  Roberta’s eyes widened at his tone of voice. She had touched on a raw nerve here. Her mind flashed back to his reaction to her when he had spotted her physical resemblance to his wife. Was that why he filled his time with women? Because no one could ever live up to the woman he had married and loved?

  What had she been like? She bit back the compulsive desire to ask, knowing that that would definitely cause a major explosion.

  ‘And I hope you’re not entertaining any thoughts of putting yourself in that position,’ he said tersely.

  She looked at him with bewilderment. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Don’t give me that innocent stare. You already know that my wife and you share certain physical attributes, even if they are only superficial—’

  The gist of what he was saying became patently clear and Roberta felt a rush of blood to her head. ‘You may think so!’ she snapped. ‘Emily has made no mention of any similarity!’

  ‘Emily rarely notices anyone but herself. Subconsciously, I’m sure she’s drawn the inevitable comparisons. All I’m saying is that I hope you don’t intend to exploit that fact. I hope you don’t let it slip your mind that you’re an au pair and not a prospective mother-figure for her.’

  ‘Is that a warning?’

  ‘It’s a piece of advice. You may have come here in good faith, but now that you know the situation there’s nothing to stop you from manipulating it to your own advantage.’

  ‘Nothing except a few principles,’ Roberta informed him coldly. She could have laughed aloud at his train of thought if she wasn’t so damned angry at his assumption. Involvement with a man? Good grief! She had had enough of the male sex to last her a lifetime.

  ‘Principles can become very elusive when there’s financial gain in the offing,’ he said with infuriating calm. ‘I’ve seen it in action and, believe me, it’s not a pretty sight.’

  ‘Well, you can rest assured that I have no intention of doing any such thing,’ she said briefly, thankful that the hot emotion which he seemed to arouse in her had not deprived her of her power of speech. ‘I’m not after your bank balance. In fact, I don’t find you or your money the slightest bit appealing.’

  Her words seemed to echo in the kitchen, and she could have kicked herself. She didn’t want to indulge in any conversation that strayed from the strictly professional subject of his daughter with this man, yet here she was, saying the first thing that came into her head.

  ‘Now there’s an admission,’ he drawled, his green eyes flickering with faint mockery. ‘I was wondering what sort of man appealed to you.’ The savagery had left his face completely. Now she wished heartily that it was back there because it was far easier to handle.

  ‘Were you?’ Roberta said, pink colour creeping up her cheeks. Her power of speech didn’t seem nearly so reliable now. In fact, she was totally lost for words as he looked at her curiously.

  ‘I was,’ he murmured softly, ‘so why don’t you tell me? Not afraid, are you?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Roberta denied with a vigour she was far from feeling.

  ‘Then please fill me in. I’m interested.’ He leaned back in the chair, his hands clasped behind his head, and continued to survey her through narrowed eyes.

  At this point, she thought, I should have some freezing retort on my lips. But nothing came to mind. All she could see was his overwhelming sexiness. The silence stretched around them until she was suffocating in it. Finally she gathered her wits and said with composure, ‘I don’t like men who are smooth and charming.’

  A picture of Brian flashed into her head, and she found herself describing him in minute detail. She was hardly conscious of the edge of jaded disillusionment that had crept into her voice.

  ‘And are you going to tell me who he was?’

  Grant’s question caught her by surprise and she stared at him and blinked. Everything settled back into perspective, and she recalled with horror what she had told him. She had not mentioned names, but she had nevertheless found herself imparting personal information without even realising it. Either she had suffered some bout of temporary insanity, or else he was more adept at listening than she had given him credit for.

  ‘No one,’ she said, standing up, furious with herself for dropping her defences. ‘I was generalising.’

  ‘Were you?’ His eyebrows shot up in disbelief and she had an urge to throw her coffee in his face.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, ignoring his question and shifting her eyes away from the mesmeric lines of his face, ‘I think I’ll head upstairs now and check on Emily. It’s been a long day. I want to have a bath before dinner.’ Her voice faded into the silence, and she pursed her lips tightly.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, not pursuing the topic. ‘Toronto can be exhausting. Particularly the Eaton Centre. A marvellous place to shop, so I hear, but very tiring on the legs.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Roberta replied politely. She wanted to get away now. As soon as his attention was off her, as he reached to pour himself another cup of coffee, she quietly slipped out of the kitchen, her face thoughtful as she headed towards Emily’s bedroom.

  She had made a mistake bracketing him with Brian, she decided. There really was no comparison. Brian’s charm was all superficial. She could see that now, and quite probably she would have seen that at the time, had she not been so wrapped up in her own personal misery.

  But Grant Adams... She frowned. He was a different cup of tea altogether. He possessed that rare, innate ability to get people to talk, to make them respond to his magnetism, and she knew that she was a novelty to him.

  There was no doubt that women were attracted to him in droves, and there was also no doubt that men who could get what they wanted frequently pursued the things that were inaccessible.

  He might warn her off, but there lurked a niggling thought at the back of her mind. What if, despite everything he had said, her resemblance to his wife succeeded in whetting his appetite?

  You’re being over-imaginative, she thought with a little laugh. Playing amateur shrink, as he had put it. It was a game she would do well to refrain from.

  Emily was lying on her bed when Roberta entered, her eyes red. She immediately sat up and scowled.

  ‘Who asked you here?’ she snapped, and Roberta sat on the edge of the bed with a little shrug. ‘Did he ask you to follow me up here?’

  ‘No,’ Roberta replied truthfully.

  ‘Then why have you come?’

  ‘To see how you were, of course. I know that you were upset, but—’

  ‘I wasn’t upset,’ Emily denied, pushing her hair out of her face. ‘I was annoyed. How can he carry on about me when he’s th
e same? He’s rude, arrogant...’ She spluttered speechlessly and her ferocious scowl deepened.

  ‘You are quite similar, now that you mention it,’ Roberta agreed drily. ‘Does he sulk as well?’

  ‘I never sulk.’ Emily’s lips twitched in the glimmer of a smile. ‘I react to situations.’

  Roberta laughed aloud at that one. ‘You’re made to be a politician with statements like that,’ she said with a grin, and Emily relaxed.

  ‘I picked it up from him,’ she stated. ‘He always becomes evasive when he doesn’t want to talk about something. For instance, did he admit to you that he went with brainless beauty models?’

  Roberta shook her head. ‘Why should he? It’s none of my business.’

  Emily propped herself on her elbows and surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘I can’t stand them,’ she confided, sliding a sidelong glance at Roberta, ‘they’re awful. They giggle too much and half the time pretend to be fascinated by everything he says.’

  ‘Maybe they are.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I can’t see why, though—nothing he ever says to me is fascinating. No, they’re just interested in netting him. You can see it written all over their faces. It’s laughable really.’

  ‘Law of averages says that one day one of them will succeed,’ Roberta said lightly.

  ‘Not if Grandmother has her way. She finds them as dislikeable as I do.’

  ‘It’s understandable that you view it like that,’ Roberta said, and then she grinned. ‘Lord, here I go again, trying to analyse.’

  ‘And wrong, too. I have no objections to a stepmother, just so long as it’s someone who doesn’t simper.’

  ‘What are we going to do tomorrow?’ Roberta asked, not liking the sly look that was being directed at her.

  ‘You don’t simper,’ Emily said. ‘In fact, you don’t seem at all impressed by all this.’ She waved her hand grandly around the room.

  ‘I’m not,’ Roberta said hurriedly, uneasy at this turn in the conversation. ‘Nor am I looking for a mate, if that’s what this little conversation is leading to.’

  Emily’s green eyes widened in innocent shock. ‘Oh, no, of course not! I never said you were. All I’m saying is that it’s nice to meet someone who has their feet firmly planted on the ground. Are all English people like that?’