Too Scared To Love

‘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?’

‘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.

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.