Too Scared to Love

by Cathy Williams

Quite self-possessed and, as she had expected, on the defensive.

  ‘It’s you,’ she said, throwing herself on the bed and subjecting Roberta to a baleful glare, ‘and I suppose you’ve come up here to have a go?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, it seems to be my day, doesn’t it? Dad flying in here like a tornado, whipping out my friends as though they were armed robbers.’ She gave a dour laugh. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t put them under house arrest and get the police involved. It wouldn’t have surprised me.’ She looked at Roberta sullenly and her bottom lip quivered for a second.

  ‘You have to try and understand it from his point of view,’ Roberta began, tentatively trying to feel out a good middle ground.

  ‘Why? Why should I? He didn’t see it from my point of view. In fact, he just stormed in here and yelled as though I were a five-year-old kid wrecking the furniture with her box of paints. That’s always been his style, though. He lays down the law and people follow it.’

  Two bright spots of anger had appeared on her cheeks just from the experience of reliving her father’s reaction.

  ‘There was an awful lot of mess,’ Roberta said quietly. ‘Glasses everywhere. Ashtrays filled with cigarette butts. I didn’t know you smoked.’

  ‘And that’s another thing,’ Emily burst out. She clearly had a lot to say on what had happened and, now that she was being given a hearing, couldn’t wait to create her own minor explosion. Roberta suspected that she had been so cowed by her father that she had taken refuge in sullen silence, which of course would have just stoked his fury further. ‘He came on strong, yelling and shouting about smoking under his roof, that it was disgusting, that if that was what I learned from boarding-school then he would damn well make sure that the next one was as disciplinarian as a prison. He didn’t stop to ask whether I was the one smoking or not.’

  ‘And were you?’ Roberta asked interestedly.

  ‘Of course not! I wouldn’t touch the stuff. Ugh!’

  ‘So what exactly happened?’

  Emily gave the matter some thought, as if debating whether Roberta was on her side or on the side of the enemy. ‘When Dad phoned,’ she finally said, ‘and told me that you two were stuck in his cabin, I decided to have a couple of friends over. Just to watch a video or something. Except, things got out of hand. One of my girlfriends brought her brother, who brought some of his friends, who brought some bottles of wine and some cans of beer and before I knew it the place was being turned upside-down. I really did try to get them out...’ Her voice trailed off and Roberta nodded.

  ‘I believe you.’

  ‘You’re just saying that!’

  ‘I’m not. Honestly. I know that you’re a horrible little thing, but I would never have believed you to have any part in an evening of smoking and drinking.’

  ‘Horrible little thing?’ Emily’s face relaxed into the shadow of a grin. ‘That’s rude!’

  ‘Oh, but I can afford to be rude,’ Roberta said with a smile. ‘I’m only the au pair.’

  ‘Anyway, those two friends that Dad dragged out of the house were as innocent as I was. They probably don’t know what hit them. They’ll never speak to me again.’

  ‘Course they will. You just said, they’re your friends.’

  Emily looked at her seriously. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said with touching honesty. ‘At least I have someone between me and Dad.’

  Roberta laughed. ‘Is that part of my job description? Buffer? I’ll have to give the matter some careful thought. You should try and explain things to your father, you know.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because,’ Emily said patiently, ‘he never listens to me. He never has, and I’m not going to apologise.’

  ‘And what if he does?’ Roberta asked curiously, and Emily stared at her as if she had just announced that she were a fugitive from the planet Mars.

  She stood up and ruffled Emily’s hair playfully.

  ‘Will you be emerging from this hiding-place for lunch?’ she asked.

  Emily shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. Not if it means eating with Dad.’

  ‘He’ll probably be off to work.’ Let’s keep our fingers crossed, she thought.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ll stay put.’

  Roberta looked at her gravely, her eyes twinkling. ‘Well, in case you’re interested, there’ll be a plateful of food in the fridge,’ she said, and Emily threw her a watery grin and mumbled something that sounded like thanks.

  Would I have accepted this job, she wondered, shutting the door behind her, if I had known that I would have been flung into this muddled, strained situation? She tried to picture what she would be doing now if she were in England, trying to conjure up a more normal family of two parents and a toddler, and failed.

  It was as if Emily and Grant had both ingrained themselves into some sub-layer of her skin, as if they had been part of her life forever.

  She frowned, not liking the thought. She didn’t want to become too involved with them; she especially didn’t want to feel that strange frisson when she thought of a life without Grant Adams. The man hadn’t got a thing going for him, apart from the obvious, she told herself. He wasn’t kindly or gentle. She would bet a million pounds that he had never dressed up as Santa Claus and handed out presents at a Christmas party.

  Although who knew what he had been like when his wife was alive?

  That thought was even less to her liking. It made her feel slightly sick, in fact.

  She frowned, only aware that Grant was standing at the bottom of the staircase when she almost bumped into him.

  She got the impression that he had been waiting for her, but when she asked him he denied it, saying abruptly, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I was on my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.’

  ‘In that case, don’t let me stop you,’ Roberta said.

  He remained where he was, his forehead furrowed in a frown.

  ‘Did you talk to Emily?’ he finally asked, in a casual voice, and Roberta nodded.

  He had changed into his suit. There would be no problem about him getting to work. It had hardly snowed at all in Toronto. It had all saved itself for where they had been going.

  ‘What did she have to say?’

  ‘I think that’s something she ought to tell you herself,’ Roberta said, edging past him to get to the lounge, her heart sinking when she realised that he was following her.

  Every time he was around, her damned heart seemed to take off on a different tangent. Then she had to start re-erecting her stupid defences, anxiously praying that he wouldn’t knock them down with a smile or a look or a touch. God, she thought. I’m such a fool.

  Why doesn’t he just leave? If he was intending to go to work, why couldn’t he just leave now?

  ‘I suppose she gave you a litany of excuses,’ he carried on, as if she hadn’t spoken, and she rounded on him angrily.

  ‘I have no intention of telling you what she said. It’s up to you to listen to what she’s got to say—’

  ‘As I thought, she ran to you with stories about how I didn’t listen to her!’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘I acted in the manner I thought best,’ he said, with the slightest edge of discomfort in his voice.

  ‘In that case, you have to excuse me if I don’t agree with your behaviour.’

  ‘What...!’ He was lost for words.

  ‘If you’re not careful, this rift between the two of you will harden, and in the years to come you’ll turn around and ask yourself how it happened, but by then it’ll be too late to do anything about it.’

  ‘Philosophising again?’ he mocked.

  ‘You can do as you like,’ she said, meeting his brilliant green eyes levelly, ‘but if I were you I’d go up to Emily’s room and talk things out with her.’

  ‘Well, you’re not,’ he said flatly, and Roberta shrugged.

  She had switched on the television and sat down, and he s
tood between her and the set, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘Don’t watch television when I’m talking to you,’ he barked out.

  ‘How can I watch anything? You’re standing in front of me.’

  ‘And spare me your wit. I just want to know what sort of state my daughter’s in.’

  ‘And as I’ve already said, you must go and talk to her to find out. She’s in her bedroom.’

  It was difficult to focus on something else when he was standing there in front of her, aggressive and disturbing. Her mind was cool, but just under the surface her emotions were soaring wildly out of control.

  ‘I’m on my way to work,’ he said, as if she hadn’t noticed his clothes. ‘I’m in a bit of a hurry. I have to clinch the Japanese deal today if we’re to keep any sort of confidentiality in the market. It’s just too sensitive, and—’

  ‘Then you’ll just have to postpone it, won’t you?’ Roberta murmured, and he gave her a black look, as if he had known exactly what she had been going to say but didn’t like it nevertheless.

  ‘You’re damned stubborn, do you know that?’ he asked softly, but his features had softened and his glance, when it fell on her, made her body go hot.

  ‘Am I?’ she asked in a strangled voice, for want of anything more intelligent to say.

  ‘All right.’ He made it sound as though they had been fighting a battle and he had been forced, to his surprise, to admit defeat. ‘I’ll go up and see her. I suppose it’s either that or having to put up with that silent, aggravating, accusing stare of yours.’ He walked towards her and she shrank back automatically in the chair. ‘Don’t expect me back tonight, and just remember—’ he leaned towards her and Roberta fought to breathe ‘—there’s still some unfinished business between us. See you in the morning.’

  He left the room before she had time to gather her thoughts back into order, and she stared at the television set, her mind a thousand miles away.

  All the confusion of the last few hours had made her think that their lovemaking had been overshadowed, that she could relax a bit on that front.

  She expelled one long, shaky breath. Maybe, she thought, I should just leave, but the prospect left her with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  She felt as if she was in a trap. In desperation, she switched her attention to what was happening on the television, only to find out with disgust that it was a chat show on men who could not commit themselves in a relationship.

  But of course, she thought uneasily, that was hardly her problem, because she didn’t want commitment anyway. She didn’t want anything at all from Grant Adams, except peace of mind.

  So why, a little voice said slyly, do you feel that nervous excitement whenever he’s around? And why, it continued unfairly, can’t you think of him without being emotionally affected?

  The questions kept coming back to her for the remainder of the day, even though she busied herself around the house, cooking and doing some cleaning, and wondering how on earth Mrs Thornson coped without suffering from stress fatigue.

  It really was a massive house, and after Emily’s impromptu gathering the evening before all of the rooms seemed to have enough disorder in them to warrant some sort of attention.

  By the end of the day, she felt physically exhausted, if nothing else.

  Emily, though, she was pleased to see, had recovered from her sulks. Roberta didn’t mention it and she didn’t ask what Grant had said to her either, knowing that direct questioning would be a sure way to ensure total silence on the subject, but over the course of the day she gathered that, if an apology from him had not been forthcoming, then he had come as close as he ever would to one.

  The gesture had been enough to lift his daughter’s spirits, and Roberta had to admit that she did feel vaguely pleased that she had had some part in instigating it. Not that Grant would ever admit as such.

  ‘So he’s not the villain of the piece after all,’ she said to Emily, as she was preparing to go to bed.

  Emily shrugged. ‘Of course, he’s not like normal fathers,’ she said, giving the impression that normal fathers had two heads, or four arms, ‘but,’ another casual shrug, ‘I suppose he did make an effort, surprise, surprise. A first for him.’ She glanced at Roberta coyly. ‘Did you have anything to do with it?’

  ‘Not really,’ Roberta hedged, slipping under the duvet and searching about for her book. She had brought the outdated Western back with her from the log cabin, with some irritatingly stupid notion that she was morally obliged to finish it even though it brought back vivid memories of her night there.

  ‘”Not really”? What does “not really” mean?’

  ‘It means that it’s past your bedtime.’

  ‘You told him to come up and talk to me, didn’t you?’

  Roberta opened her mouth to say ‘not really,’ and then saw from the penetrating look in Emily’s eyes that she wanted a more elaborate answer.

  ‘I did mention that it might be a good idea,’ she said awkwardly. She sincerely hoped that this would not start Emily off on another rousing lecture about her father but, to her surprise, she smiled and looked at her from under her lashes.

  ‘Fantastic,’ she said with a hint of admiration. ‘Even Grandmother can’t get him to do something like that.’

  Roberta pulled out her book and pointedly sifted through the pages, trying to remember which particular shoot-out she had reached.

  ‘Old age,’ Roberta said lightly. ‘I’ve heard it mellows people.’

  ‘He’s not that old.’ Emily stared at her pearly fingernails in concentration. ‘In fact, I phoned Clarissa, that friend of mine, the one who was here yesterday.’

  ‘The one being escorted down the stairs by your father?’

  Emily nodded. ‘She said that she was pretty shocked by Dad’s behaviour—you know, all that ranting and raving. Her parents are both teachers, and pretty old. They never rant and rave.’

  Roberta resisted the impulse to smile. Poor teachers. Emily made them sound like an unfortunate species of robot.

  ‘Anyway, get this—she thought Dad was pretty cool. Can you believe that?’ She broke off her inspection of her fingernails to look at Roberta. ‘In fact,’ she said, ‘Clarissa thought Dad was really keen-looking.’

  ‘Did she, now?’ Roberta tried concentrating on her book.

  ‘She did.’ Emily nodded vigorously. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Do I what?’

  ‘Think that Dad’s good-looking.’

  Roberta placed her book carefully down on her lap and folded her hands over it. ‘Your father is certainly a good-looking man,’ she ventured.

  ‘Attractive?’

  ‘Moderately.’

  ‘Are you attracted to him?’

  Roberta gave her a shocked look, and felt betraying colour flood her cheeks. ‘Now, look here, young lady,’ she said firmly ‘it’s way past your bedtime. If you don’t get going, there’ll be some more ranting and raving pretty soon, and I’ll be the one doing it.’

  Emily sprang off the bed, grinning, and left the room, slamming the door behind her with her usual lack of delicacy.

  This, Roberta thought, giving up on the shoot-out, has been a long day. A long two days, in fact.

  She switched off her bedside light and fell asleep almost immediately, only waking up the following morning when Emily brought her a tray of breakfast in bed.

  Was this the same girl who had told her in no uncertain terms when she had first arrived that there was no way that they would ever be more than two strangers forced to live under the same roof?

  Her moods were as changeable as the weather, but Roberta knew that they had forged a friendship which she hoped would last beyond the Atlantic.

  They spent the day sightseeing and browsing in one of the bookstores, immodestly called The World’s Largest Bookstore. Roberta noticed, with amusement, that the author of her Western was an amazingly prolific writer, with several dozen other titles to his credit, and she shared the joke with
Emily.

  It was an enjoyable day, spoilt only by the fact that, on their return, Grant’s car was parked in the courtyard.

  ‘You’re home early, Dad,’ Emily greeted him in the lounge where he was having a drink. Her voice was nonchalant enough but her cheeks were pink with delight.

  He looked past her to Roberta and drawled, ‘I must be getting senile. I’ve never had so many early evenings in years.’ Then he quickly reverted his attention to his daughter, asking her about their day, his face interested as he listened.

  He was a good listener. He asked questions, offered information about some of the places they intended to visit, and Roberta watched from the sidelines, hardly hearing what he was saying, only seeing the sensual cast of his features, trying to slap down her imagination which had sprung into life with a venom and was taking her down paths that made her skin burn.

  She was about to excuse herself for a bath when he shot her a direct look and said, ‘What are you doing tomorrow evening?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Roberta answered, frantically trying to think of something she could be doing that could come in handy as an excuse, should one be needed.

  ‘Tomorrow evening. What are you doing? Both of you?’

  Was there amusement in his voice there? Roberta didn’t know, but she did sigh with relief, since whatever was involved would include Emily.

  ‘Nothing,’ Emily said promptly on her behalf. ‘Why?’

  He drained his glass. ‘Because my Japanese deal is all wrapped up. Signed, sealed and delivered, and Mr. Ishikomo’s throwing a celebration party at one of the hotels. He’s asked you both along.’

  ‘Me?’ Emily frowned. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure, darling. He wants to meet you.’ Grant looked at Roberta. ‘And you, too. I think he was quite taken with you when you last met.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ she said politely. ‘We’d love to come. Is it a dressy affair?’

  ‘I haven’t got anything to wear,’ Emily put in. ‘Can I buy something wildly expensive tomorrow?’

  Grant smiled indulgently at her. ‘I think I can see my way to allowing that,’ he said, then he glanced at Roberta. ‘And that goes for the two of you.’