They took a long, refreshing walk around the lake, had drinks before dinner, and then ate an exquisite ten-course Japanese meal, and all the while Grant maintained his easy, assured conversation. No one would ever have guessed that he wasn’t as charming to her in private as he appeared to be in public.
But she knew. She could see the impenetrable ice in his eyes where their hosts could not, and she could hear the lurking coolness in his voice when he addressed her. He had said his piece and he had nothing left to add. That was the impression that she got.
It was after midnight when Mrs Ishikomo correctly interpreted Roberta’s stifled yawn as weariness, and she stood up with a smile.
‘You are sleepy. We all are. Cold weather can be as tiring as hot. Let me show you to your bedroom.’ Roberta obediently followed her hostess to a large double room, and was about to say goodnight when Mrs Ishikomo said coyly, ‘You are in the same room, you two. Mr Ishikomo says that I must follow your more liberated tradition over here between engaged couples.’
Roberta’s mouth dropped open in dismay, then she said quickly, ‘Of course you don’t. I’m happy to sleep in a different bedroom.’ She saw Grant’s mouth twist into a cynical, knowing smile, and she carried on resolutely, ‘I wouldn’t want to offend you. In fact, I think your way of doing things is very good, in fact—’
‘No,’ Mrs Ishikomo said with a smile.
‘No?’
‘No. You two have a good night and we will see you in the morning.’ She gave a half-bow, which Grant returned, and quietly left the bedroom.
‘Relax,’ he said to her the minute Mrs Ishikomo was out of the room. ‘I have no intention of jumping on you.’ The charming mask which he had worn all afternoon was gone, and in its place was the hard expression which she had seen in the car on the drive up. ‘I’ll sleep on the floor.’
‘Fine.’ Her voice was as clipped as his was, and she watched silently as he removed his pillows and a blanket from the bed and carelessly tossed them on to the floor. She wasn’t going to argue with his decision. In fact, she would have suggested it if he hadn’t.
She got undressed in the bathroom, and by the time she re-emerged he was lying on the floor, his broad shoulders exposed over the blanket. Roberta switched off the light and waited for sleep. But none came. She had slept on the journey and now she was paying the price. She stared into the darkness, her eyes gradually adjusting until she could easily make out his form on the ground. And she looked at him. Without the distraction of other people around, she faced the frightening truth that, despite everything she had said, despite all her resolutions, she still wanted him. She looked at him on the floor and a desperate craving began to consume her until it filled every inch of her body.
She shoved aside her duvet and slipped out of the bed, tiptoeing across to where he was sleeping. Only to look at him, she told herself, only to appease some of this dreadful ache she felt inside.
He looked terribly peaceful lying there. Sleep softened the hard angles of his face and made him look less forbidding.
She bent a little closer and then his eyes opened. Roberta shot back in surprise.
‘I...I...’ she stammered in confusion.
‘Was just passing so you thought you’d look me up?’ He propped himself up by one elbow and surveyed her. ‘Or maybe you were on your way to the bathroom?’
‘Yes,’ she said quickly, ‘that’s it. I was on my way to the bathroom.’ She began to stand up, and his hand flicked out, catching her by the wrist.
‘Funny sort of position to adopt for someone on their way to the bathroom, isn’t it?’ he asked softly.
She could feel her cheeks burning, but what could she say?
‘It’s very flattering to be subjected to this little appraisal of yours,’ he continued in the same smooth voice, ‘but I’m a little surprised after everything you’ve said to me. Or maybe you want to indulge in another huge mistake?’
Roberta was trembling in panic and sheer humiliation.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ he demanded roughly, pulling her forward towards him so that her hair flew across her face. ‘Admit it, you wanted me to wake up, you wanted me to catch you staring at me, you want to make love to me.’
‘No!’ she protested frantically. ‘That’s not it at all!’
‘Isn’t it?’ He released her and lay back down, his hands behind his head, staring upwards at the ceiling. ‘Fine. Off you go to the bathroom, then.’
Roberta remained where she was. Her heart was thumping so loudly that she could hardly breathe. Her mind, which had become sluggish with panic, now shut down completely, and her body took over.
‘All right, I want you,’ she said huskily. With unsteady fingers she unbuttoned the front of her nightgown and he stared at her, then with a low groan he pulled her on to him, his hand seeking and finding the warmth of her breasts.
‘Are you trying to drive me crazy?’ he moaned, and before she could answer that one his mouth met hers in a hard, urgent kiss. The force of the kiss pressed her down against the floor, and the job of undressing, which she had started, he completed, until her nightdress lay in a heap next to her.
He pushed open her legs with his thigh and she gasped as she felt his hand move to explore the moistness between them. There was something shocking and inevitable about what they were doing. It was as if a part of her had known all along that his lean, hard body was just too irresistible.
She caressed his back, arching to allow his mouth access to the swollen tips of her nipples, then her hand cupped the back of his head, her fingers clutching the dark mass of his hair, pressing him to suckle even harder on her breasts.
Her breathing was coming in short bursts, as was his. She could feel him stiff and hot against her and, as if sensing her need, he entered her with a low cry of excitement.
She closed her eyes and her body responded to his fierce rhythm, until their release was simultaneous and explosive.
‘So glad you were passing,’ he murmured into her ear, ‘or whatever.’
Roberta couldn’t say anything. She was horrified at what she had done, horrified that her body could let her down with such monumental ease. There was no point even saying to him that it had been another mistake. Mistakes happened once.
He caressed her breast and she felt him stir against her.
‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘not again. Not just yet. I’m awfully sleepy.’
She could feel his green eyes on her face, surprised.
‘I must be losing my touch,’ he murmured, and she thought, Oh, no, you’re not losing your touch, I’m losing my mind.
She didn’t dare speak. She didn’t want him to hear the bitterness in her voice, bitterness at herself for her own pathetic fallibility. She just wanted him to fall asleep.
‘Do you mind if I get back into bed?’ she whispered, trying to sound normal.
‘Only if I get back in it with you.’
There was no excuse for denying him that. Not now. She nodded mutely, and their two naked bodies entwined under the duvet. With small, gradual and very gentle movements, she extricated herself from his grasp.
CHAPTER TEN
LONDON felt almost humid after Toronto. The skies were grey and overcast, the rain half-heartedly splattering down, grimly reminding everyone that this was winter, after all, so what else did they expect?
Roberta sat back in the black taxi and closed her eyes for the first time since she had left Toronto.
It had been a flight of panic. She had waited until she was quite sure that Grant was asleep, then she had sneaked out of the house like a criminal, clutching his car keys, looking over her shoulder every minute, praying that her luck would hold. And it had. Fate for once had placed no obstacles in her path. In fact, it had urged her along, making sure that she did not get lost in the great, bitter Canadian blackness, turning all the traffic lights to green to speed up her escape.
In the end, though, it had been a bit of a wasted journey. She had arrived at
the airport, only to be told politely that the earliest flight was at five in the afternoon.
She had returned to the house then, and had packed her bags. Then she had done what she had dreaded doing; she had explained the situation to Emily, telling her that the engagement was a sham, trying not to point the finger of blame at Grant, which had been difficult since, as far as she was concerned, he was firmly responsible for the whole mess.
‘So he didn’t ask you to marry him, then, did he?’ Emily had asked, to which she had been forced to reply that he had.
She tried now not to think of that disappointed, accusing little face. She had seen all too clearly what Emily had been thinking. That, all said and done, her father had proposed marriage to Roberta and she had refused. Young minds thought on simple terms. Emily had grasped what she had considered the essentials and had silently left Roberta to finish her packing, her eyes glassy with tears.
She couldn’t understand that driving need Roberta had felt to get out. How could she? Roberta had held that information to herself, trying to justify her refusal in terms that Emily would be able to understand, but it had been an impossible task. At the bottom of all those anxious pleas for understanding, Emily had just comprehended the stark denial. She was only fourteen, after all.
How much Roberta had wished that she could explain it all rationally, define the grey in between the black and white, but she couldn’t. She was hardly able to come to terms with it herself.
The situation which she had vigorously argued with herself could be controlled had suddenly become overpowering and unmanageable, like some great wild animal that had broken out of its cage and was running amok.
She had seduced Grant and had seen in one dreadful, blinding flash that she could no longer keep up the pretence of imagining that her love for him was something that could be handled with the same aplomb with which she had handled everything else in her life.
Even after her affair with Brian she had quickly picked up the reins of her life, gritted her teeth together, and made a show of carrying on as normal. It had been eating her up inside, but that she had been able to keep to herself.
It frightened her that she was not allowed the luxury of even that with Grant. He had swept into her, minutely burrowing into every pore of her being, until her eyes and actions said what she knew her lips should conceal.
Things, though, always seemed different in the light of day. The frantic nightmares receded, replaced by mundane practicality and logic.
As the taxi fought a losing battle with the traffic, she wondered whether she should have stayed put, grinned and borne it all for a bit longer.
What must the Ishikomos think of her? She didn’t like to imagine. She had left a brief note for Grant, telling him that she had left and that she didn’t want him to follow her. And he hadn’t. No doubt he had provided an adequate explanation to his hosts for her unexpected, rude departure. He was good at lying, wasn’t he?
Then she wondered about Grant. How would he have reacted at her disappearance? He wouldn’t have gone mad, not as a guest in someone else’s house. No doubt he would have viewed it with cold contempt, final proof of her cowardice.
That, more than anything else, hurt. The time had come to put all thoughts of him to the dark recesses of her mind, she knew that, but right now the wound was still too raw, and images of him whirled around in her head until she could have wept with miserable frustration.
She looked around her vacantly. Nothing at all had changed, which seemed odd considering how much she had changed. Life went on, though, didn’t it? She would get herself a job; she might even stop doing au pair work altogether and do a course in something useful like computer programming. It might do her good to hold down a normal job, to work normal hours, to have a normal social life.
Her friends, at any rate, would be pleased. She never seemed to see as much of them as she wanted to.
A fortnight later, she was beginning to wonder whether changing jobs had been such a good idea after all. For starters, she had not made much of a hit at the employment agencies with her lack of experience. They had all said the same thing—leave it with us, we’ll try our best—but in these days of recession companies were cutting back, they were shedding staff, and the few vacancies going in the areas she had specified were for experienced people.
And Roberta had been in no mood to sell herself to reluctant men and women in starched suits who read her CV with rueful expressions.
The fact was that she had lost interest in everything. She cleaned the house when she could no longer put up with accumulated layers of clothing listlessly dropped on the floor; she snacked on whatever she happened to chance upon whenever she happened to be hungry, and was losing weight, and the friends whom she had promised faithfully to call as soon as she returned to England were still on her list of those things to do which never seemed to get done.
Today, at least, had been better than most. She had been to an interview for a job as a trainee computer operator. The pay was hardly staggering but, in view of her lack of choice, she knew that she would have to accept the post should it be offered to her. The thought depressed her.
She opened her front door, not bothering to switch on the lights, and walked towards the window, pulling shut the curtains, then sank on to the sofa and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she thought. I’ll definitely ring Amanda. Staying in every night, trying to watch television, was beginning to drive her mad.
She remembered that she had forgotten to buy anything to eat and groaned.
Then he spoke, his voice cutting through the room like a pistol shot, making her sit bolt upright in stunned surprise.
‘You hardly seem on top of the world.’ The same laconic voice that had been playing mercilessly in her head ever since she had arrived back from Toronto.
Roberta ran to the switch and turned on the lights; then she stared, not believing her eyes.
‘I can’t be seeing this,’ she muttered, blinking, and he drawled drily,
‘Depends. Tell me what you think you’re seeing and I’ll tell you whether you’re hallucinating or not.’
But she knew exactly what she was seeing. Grant was just as she had remembered him. He was dressed casually in dark trousers and a dark, thick jumper and he was sitting on the armchair in the corner of the room.
She should have seen him as soon as she had entered the house, but she hadn’t even looked in that direction. In fact, she had been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doubted she had seen anything. Her instinct to draw the curtains together was automatic.
‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered, walking uncomfortably towards the sofa, over-aware of those unforgettable green eyes on her, and perching uncomfortably on the edge. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Your neighbour let me in,’ Grant said smoothly. There was some underlying hesitation in his manner, which she guessed at rather than saw, as if he was not quite as controlled as he was trying to make her think he was.
He stood up, flexing his arms, and began to prowl around the room, and suddenly Roberta’s shock gave way to anger.
Why had he come? Did it matter, anyway? Maybe he was in London on business and he had thought that he would look her up for old times’ sake. He had mentioned once that he was quite often in this part of the world.
Whatever the reason, she had not invited him here, and she didn’t want him in her house. This was her sanctuary. He would taint it with his presence. She would never be able to look at the ornaments, the bric-à-brac, without her head filling up with images of him inspecting it all.
‘She had no right,’ Roberta informed him in a high, tight voice. ‘She can’t just go letting any and everybody into my house. I’ll speak to her about that!’
‘I explained who I was,’ Grant pointed out, inspecting the pictures on the walls, the books on the bookshelf, then moving across to the window against which he proceeded to lounge indolently and resume his inspection of her.
‘I don’t care! That’s not the point!’
‘No, it’s not, is it?’
There was a thick silence in the room, and Roberta met his stare with a slightly frantic expression. The palms of her hands were damp with perspiration and she wiped them against her skirt.
‘Then what is?’ Why had she asked? He had been waiting for that question; she could see it in the flicker of his eyes.
‘Why did you run out on me?’
She had known that he was going to ask her that, and she had no answer to it, so she stared at him in silence, drinking in the long lines of his body, feeling like someone who had suddenly come upon an oasis after weeks of wandering in a desert.
She didn’t want to feel this way, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘I asked you a question,’ he said softly, folding his arms across his chest.
Roberta’s fingers twined together on her lap. ‘I couldn’t put up with...things...any longer.’
At that his face hardened. ‘You mean you found me that unbearable to be with? You could bring yourself to make love to me, but you couldn’t bear the thought of waking up to me?’ She didn’t answer and he continued harshly, ‘Emily misses you. She hasn’t said so, but she’s withdrawn into her shell. She hardly speaks to her grandmother and she doesn’t speak to me at all.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Roberta whispered.
He moved towards her swiftly and sat down on the sofa next to her.
‘Is that all you can say?’ he demanded grimly. ‘You’re sorry?’
‘What else do you want me to say?’ She looked away uncomfortably and he dragged her face towards him, forcing her to look at him.
The feel of his fingers on her skin was like little electric currents and she winced.
‘Marry me.’
‘For Emily’s sake?’
He looked away and nodded. ‘Something like that,’ he muttered roughly.
‘I can’t.’ Her voice was steadier now, even though her heart was still thumping madly in her chest.
Too Scared to Love Page 15