Too Scared to Love

by Cathy Williams

  ‘All the ones I’ve met.’ She stood up and smiled. ‘Now, get freshened up. Your eyes are red. Anyone would think that you had been crying.’

  At that, Emily sprang out of the bed. ‘Crying? At something my father says?’ she shrieked in horror. ‘Never!’

  But, as Roberta closed the door behind her, she could hear the tap running profusely, and she sighed.

  What a situation. No wonder she had not spared any thought for her own problems ever since she had arrived. She didn’t have the time. She was too busy trying to cope with everyone else’s.

  She unhurriedly got dressed for dinner. There was no leeway with the evening meal. Mrs Thornson made that clear. Dinner was served at seven-thirty because she had to leave very soon after that.

  She was heading for the dining-room when Grant appeared from the direction of the study, impeccably dressed in a dark-coloured suit.

  ‘Have a good evening,’ he said, and she nodded. She had expected that he would be dining with them, something that she had not been particularly looking forward to, so she couldn’t account for the swift feeling of disappointment that flooded through her.

  Where was he off to? Did she really need to ask?

  She didn’t have to, because just then the doorbell sounded and he unhurriedly made his way towards it.

  Roberta automatically hovered to see who would enter, her mouth going dry as a tall blonde entered the hallway. Her hair was long—waist-length—and falling turbulently around the camel-coloured coat draped across her shoulders.

  She glanced towards Roberta, her exquisite features hardly registering any reaction. The glance was part of a brief sweep before her deep navy eyes settled lingeringly on Grant.

  ‘Ready?’ she asked in a throaty voice, and he nodded, sparing Roberta a backwards glance.

  ‘See you later. And make sure that Emily gets to bed at a reasonable hour, would you?’

  ‘Of course.’ Roberta resisted the urge to salute, not that he would have seen anyway. He had already been halfway out of the door when he had addressed her.

  So that’s one of his brainless beauty queens, she thought. And I fancied that I would have to be careful with him.

  She laughed scornfully at herself. You’ll have to put a brake on that imagination of yours, my girl—it could get quite out of control.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS surprising how quickly you became accustomed to different surroundings.

  After five days, Roberta could almost feel her body acclimatising to the intense cold, or maybe she had simply become more adept at protecting herself from it. And London seemed several light years away.

  Had she really wasted all that time torturing herself over her abortive relationship with Brian? She must have been mad. Mad to have been conned out of her money in the first place, and mad to have then proceeded to spend her hours agonising over her stupidity.

  From where she was standing now, it seemed positively easy to be philosophical about the whole mess.

  Her relationship with Emily was still unpredictable, but getting better. The bouts of sulking were becoming less frequent, and conversation was proving less of an enormous effort than she had originally thought it was going to be.

  There was still a lurking suspicion that one hesitant step forwards might be rapidly followed by two very decisive ones backwards, but Roberta was beginning to discover how to handle that situation.

  It really wasn’t difficult. As soon as you remembered that Emily was insecure rather than headstrong and defensive rather than aggressive, then it was fairly easy to go from there.

  And the sheer joy of exploring Toronto in the company of someone who knew it intimately was enough for Roberta to put up with anything.

  ‘But I’ve seen all this stuff before,’ Emily had objected at the start. Roberta had been inflexible.

  ‘I haven’t,’ she had stated firmly, ‘and we’re going to explore this city if I have to drag you kicking and screaming.’

  ‘Some attitude from an au pair,’ Emily had grumbled ill-humouredly, but she had allowed herself to be led, and had gradually taken over the reins of tour guide.

  They braved the cold to travel the city centre in the streetcars, and when the cold became unbearable, they ducked into any one of the massive shopping malls to recuperate in front of cups of coffee and doughnuts.

  Roberta browsed in the shops with Emily, smilingly refusing to be talked into buying anything.

  ‘Why are you so tight with your money?’ Emily asked, as they strolled through one of the department stores. She was still young enough, despite her attempts at adult behaviour, to get away with the most appallingly direct questions.

  Roberta shrugged. ‘I haven’t got a great deal of it,’ she confessed. ‘Not everyone is blessed with a limitless source of funds,’ she added drily, smiling when Emily’s face contorted into a sardonic grimace.

  ‘Blessed? Ha! Dad lavishes material things on me because it eases his conscience.’

  ‘You mean because he spends so much time at work?’ Roberta asked absent-mindedly, fingering the soft wool of a cashmere coat which cost the earth.

  ‘At work and at play,’ Emily replied darkly. ‘You saw the type of woman he goes out with and, believe me, she’s one in a long line of them.’

  Roberta hurriedly changed the subject. She preferred not to talk about Grant Adams. It made her uncomfortable—she could already feel herself getting hot under the collar at the thought of him. Talk about double standards. How could he possibly expect his daughter to be well-behaved and old-fashioned, without a wayward streak in her body, when the only example of behaviour set before her was in the shape of him?

  There I go again, she thought wryly, getting all het up thinking about him. It was just so damned frustrating. She resented the way he had the power to stimulate in her a host of emotions which she had always been quite successful at submerging.

  Not even Brian had had that effect on her. Which, she now thought, strolling away from the cashmere coat in case Emily produced another quip about her stinginess, just went to show how much she disliked the man.

  Her feet were killing her by the time they made it back to the house. Shopping in a mall in Toronto, she had decided several days ago, was similar to walking ten times around Hyde Park. Except infinitely more lethal on the bank balance and, in weather like this, far more comfortable, which made it even worse.

  To cope with the cold, shopping was an enclosed affair. A vast quantity of shops, all under one roof and, she had soon discovered, all linked by the underground system.

  Now, as she eased her weary feet out of her boots and lay back on the bed, she decided that bankruptcy could be very easy to achieve. A cashmere coat here, a pair of trousers there, some bits and pieces of underwear, and before you knew it you were on the quick road downhill.

  There was a knock on her door and, without getting up from the bed, she yelled, ‘Come on in,’ only sitting up abruptly when she realised that it wasn’t Emily or Mrs Thornson, but Grant.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, shifting off the bed and on to one of the chairs in the room.

  He leaned against the door-frame and looked at her.

  ‘Hard day?’ he asked.

  Roberta nodded, wondering what he was doing in her bedroom and wishing he would clear off. Something about that tall, lean frame sent prickles through her. ‘Yesterday we went to the harbourfront, and today we went to some of the malls.’ She paused. ‘I feel as though I’ve left my legs behind somewhere. I’m only now beginning to realise how unfit I am.’

  He moved across to the window and she followed his movements, noticing how gracefully he moved for someone so powerfully built. He had clearly just returned from work, was still in his suit, and she thought, another early day? What was the significance of this one? She had seen nothing at all of him recently, ever since his leggy date had shown up at the house, and she was beginning to believe Emily when she had said that her father played as hard as he worked.
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br />   Men, she thought acidly—weren’t they all the same? Out to enjoy themselves, whatever the cost? And looking at him now, framed by the window, the bedroom light throwing the sharp contours of his face into relief, she told herself that he was a typical male, but more so. He had limitless women at his disposal, and he took every advantage to exploit that fact. How long had Miss Legs of the Year been on the scene? she wondered. A few weeks? Maybe longer? Only to be discarded when another model took his fancy? She decided that she heartily disapproved of him, and right now she particularly disapproved of him standing there by the window without showing any signs of leaving.

  ‘Don’t you exercise?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  ‘Have you come to make polite chit-chat?’ Roberta asked. ‘If so, I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘You certainly know how to get to the point, don’t you?’ he said drily, not budging.

  ‘I just think that this isn’t exactly a suitable place to conduct a conversation.’

  There was the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he looked at her, and she flushed.

  ‘Emily seems to have taken to you,’ he commented. ‘I’ve just come from chatting with her, and she tells me that you’re all right, she supposes, which is tantamount to a eulogy.’

  Roberta smiled. ‘She can be charming when she forgets that rebellious image she’s trying to cultivate.’

  ‘You’ll have to let me in on your secret,’ he drawled, but there was enough of a hint of seriousness in his voice to make her look at him sharply.

  ‘No secret,’ Roberta responded lightly. ‘I just take time with her. If she throws a sulk, I let her, but I don’t let it affect me. It’s difficult to be constantly ill-mannered to someone when they don’t respond.’

  ‘You think I don’t handle her correctly, then.’

  ‘I never said that.’ She stood up pointedly and walked towards the door, hovering once she had reached it.

  ‘You seem to have mastered the art of not saying anything, but nevertheless making your meaning perfectly clear. I suppose you disapprove of my lifestyle, and I’m sure Emily hasn’t been backward in supporting that.’

  Roberta stared at him, unsure whether he expected an answer to that one.

  ‘She doesn’t mention it, really,’ she hedged, feeling quite awkward now that she had got to her feet, but had found herself unable to actually leave the room.

  ‘I don’t believe that for a minute,’ Grant remarked lazily. ‘The child barely utters two words to me, but she makes herself perfectly clear on the subject of my women.’

  Roberta didn’t say anything. Suddenly the room was feeling very small, and images of Grant with his women flashed through her head with such graphic detail that she was alarmed. Why was it that whenever she was in his presence, it was always so damned hard to draw the line between her professional status and her private one? Much as she disliked it, he made her conscious of the fact that she was a woman.

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ she murmured vaguely.

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’ He strolled across to where she was standing, and as he looked down at her she realised that the room was feeling much smaller now. In fact, it was difficult to breathe evenly.

  ‘I think we ought to go down for dinner,’ she said as firmly as she could. ‘Mrs Thornson gets quite upset if we don’t eat on time. She likes to get away at a reasonable hour, especially as she has to use public transport to get back to her house. She says that winter’s a dreadful time to be standing in a bus shelter waiting for a bus.’

  ‘Perhaps I should get her a car.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be cheaper just to make sure you eat dinner on time?’

  Those amazing green eyes were pinning her against the wall. She felt very much like a helpless moth fluttering too close to an open flame. It wasn’t a very pleasant feeling. Remember, she told herself, what happened the last time you got too close to an open flame.

  ‘I make money,’ he said coolly. ‘But once it’s made, I don’t count it.’

  ‘Lucky old you. How nice to be in that position.’

  ‘I don’t suppose as an au pair that you are,’ he said speculatively. ‘Is that why you took this job? Because it was well paid?’

  Roberta shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Among other things.’

  ‘What other things?’

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said decisively, ‘I’m going downstairs now. I don’t relish the thought of Mrs Thornson’s anger if she’s kept waiting around.’

  She turned to go, and his hand closed over her wrist. ‘Wait just a minute. Forget about Mrs Thornson. You won’t be having dinner here tonight. You’ll be having dinner with me.’

  ‘Is that an order?’ Roberta asked after a while. ‘I wasn’t told that having dinner with the boss was to be part of my duties.’

  Her reply had irritated him. She could see it in the fleeting change of expression on his face, but she didn’t give a damn. She had meant every word that she had said. Why should she have to cope with a man who was so self-confident that he assumed everyone, including her, was somehow programmed to follow his commands?

  At the back of her mind, there hovered another uneasy thought. Dinner with him spelt the sort of dangerous intimacy which she had no intention of succumbing to. She wanted to be in total control of her life from here on in. Why jeopardise that by accepting an invitation to dinner with Grant Adams? He was too damned attractive for his own good, too damned sure of himself. She thought again of Brian, of the pain and humiliation that had arisen from that terrible entanglement, and she had a sudden panicky desire to run.

  ‘Why the hell are you so prickly?’ he asked, with a note of impatient ill-humour in his voice, and she forced herself to smile.

  ‘Was I? I’m so sorry. I was merely being honest.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for your honesty, and I’m certainly not asking you out to dinner. I’m telling you that’s what you’ll be doing. If you choose to think of it as an order, then by all means do so. After all, I pay your salary at the end of the day. And, before you start giving me one of those tight-lipped, prim little glares that you specialise in, I’ll set your mind at rest. There won’t just be the two of us. I have an important dinner engagement with a client, and I have to take someone along.’

  ‘Then I suggest you take the blonde who turned up here the other evening.’

  ‘Vanessa?’ His mouth twisted expressively. ‘No, she wouldn’t do at all, much as she would relish the prospect. This is an important client. I need someone less flamboyant.’

  That hurt. Less flamboyant, indeed. Well, she didn’t need an interpreter to tell her what he meant. She was the sort of ordinary girl who wouldn’t attract much attention. She wasn’t like the statuesque Vanessa, or his exciting wife from the story the portrait had told her, or probably like any of his other women. She was attractive enough in a girl-next-door way, but not so attractive that she hogged the attention.

  Was that how Brian had seen her? As presenting just the right degree of ordinariness that would make her fall for his cheap, well-used charm?

  ‘Thank you for that little bit of honesty,’ Roberta said coldly.

  ‘I take it you’ll come.’ It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact, and she looked at him with dislike.

  ‘Do I have a choice? As you said, you do pay my salary.’

  He gave her a curt nod. ‘Can you be ready in half an hour? You’re not one of these women who spends hours getting dressed, are you?’

  ‘Do I look like that sort of woman?’ She hadn’t expected an answer, but he stared at her assessingly, his eyes roving over her body with the expert appraisal of someone well used to the female form and probably far more in tune with style than she was. They finally returned to her face, which was burning in angry embarrassment.

  ‘No, I don’t think you do,’ he said smoothly. His answer didn’t surprise her, but she felt that same sharp hurt that she had earlier on, and she composed her features into
a deliberately cool, controlled smile.

  ‘I’ll meet you in the hall, then,’ she informed him. He hesitated, as if it were on the tip of his tongue to say something else, but whatever it was it didn’t materialise into words. Instead, he gave her another quick, speculative look and was gone, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

  Roberta closed and locked the door, just in case he got it into his head to reappear with some other unwanted titbit of honesty, and went across to her wardrobe, rapidly scanning her array of unadventurous clothing.

  Not for the first time, it struck her exactly how lacking she was in those little black numbers that most women possessed in ample supply.

  She was not vain and had never been terribly interested in clothes. Some of her friends spent a fortune on attiring themselves in the latest designer wear, but she had always stoutly refused to be swayed into their fervour for spending sprees.

  She had spent all her life having to watch what she spent, saving for the little luxuries which she treasured but, more frequently than not, spending her money on her mother.

  She sighed wearily at the selection facing her and said in a loud voice, ‘You could at least look more enticing.’

  In the end she chose the most passable of her dresses, a long-sleeved jade-green dress that fell to her calves in soft swirls, and after a quick shower stuck it on, with her black high-heeled shoes which had so far not been worn.

  When she was finished, she looked critically at her reflection in the mirror, and an unwelcome thought popped into her head. What would Vanessa have looked like? Vampish, no doubt, in something very costly and very skimpy. Roberta had got the impression that she was a woman who liked to show the world that God had given her a spectacular figure.

  Grant was waiting for her in the hall, his back to her, and she stopped for a second on the staircase to observe him at leisure. The black suit fitted him like a glove, emphasising the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his body. It wasn’t fair, she thought, that one man should be blessed with such physical perfection, and that he should be so casually aware of it.