‘I know what you meant, Roberta,’ her mother cut in drily. ‘But I know what I meant too...’
A short silence fell, filled with nervous tension brought on by her mother’s unexpected remark and Roberta’s inability to respond to it. Then her father cleared his throat.
‘Er—you haven’t asked us what we’re doing here,’ he prompted huskily.
‘Oh!’ Roberta’s watery eyes widened at the reminder. ‘I thought you two were in Africa?’
‘We were, only...’ Pulling out a chair, he sat down, then casually began to tell her about warring factions and political unrest and confiscated visas. It might not be the most demonstrative way of soothing an emotional daughter down but by the time he got to the part where they ended up flying back out having never left the airport or used a single reel of film she was feeling much calmer, and was able to listen with real if rueful enjoyment to his version of a comedy of disasters. ‘Hence the filthy clothes,’ he concluded wryly. ‘And the definite unkempt and unhygienic look about us. They wouldn’t even let us have our luggage so we could change!’
‘So.’ Her mother took up the story as she came to sit down with a fresh pot of steaming coffee. ‘Having had to put the whole damned project on the shelf for now, we decided to come straight home, bath and generally make ourselves respectable, then try to book ourselves a holiday. You know, somewhere normal like Majorca or Tenerife. And have the real break we’ve been promising ourselves for years now.’
‘Sounds great,’ Roberta murmured wistfully, wishing she could just take off for two whole weeks to do nothing but eat, sleep and swim—and forget all her problems for a while. But she’d already had her quota of holiday weeks for this year. She had taken them while Mac was in the Caribbean with Lulu, she remembered heavily. She and Jenny had gone off to Italy, doing the sights in Florence and Rome.
‘Come with us,’ her mother invited impulsively. ‘If you’re feeling this low, darling, it would do you good to have a complete break.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she refused. ‘But I can’t.’ And she was genuinely regretful. ‘I’m pinching time off work by being here now. If I’m not back at my desk by Monday, the company would have every right to dock my pay.’
‘Don’t you think you’ve earned the right to take a couple of extra weeks off from Maclaines?’ her father said harshly.
‘Joshua!’ her mother gasped as Roberta went pale, the sharp thrust of that remark hitting well and truly home.
‘Well!’ he muttered angrily. ‘I may be better at understanding the habits of wild animals, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognise it when a man is using a woman for his own convenience!’
‘You’re right,’ Roberta agreed, as always ruthlessly honest about herself. And it was that same honesty that forced her to add, ‘But he used me only because I let myself be used.’ Her chin came up, green eyes defying her father to dispute that point.
He couldn’t, and it was he who dropped his gaze first.
Just then the phone began to ring, sending all three of them still. Her father glanced questioningly at her. ‘Could it be for you?’ he asked.
‘Maybe.’ Roberta shrugged. ‘I didn’t tell anyone where I was going but...’ It might be Mac, she thought dully. It might be Jenny looking for her. But...
‘Do you want to talk to them?’
‘No, she doesn’t,’ her mother answered for her. ‘She doesn’t wish to talk to anyone for the next few days.’
Glancing up sharply, she caught the tail-end of a look being exchanged between her mother and father. Whatever it meant, her father nodded grimly, then walked away.
‘Well?’ her mother challenged. ‘You don’t want to speak to anyone, do you?’
‘No,’ she answered huskily.
‘Then you won’t have to.’ With a short pat on Roberta’s shoulder she got up, then paused to look down on her grimly. ‘We may have been rotten parents to you, Roberta,’ she said, ‘but we do love you. And for once we’re going to stay around long enough to prove it—even if that means staying here in Oxford rather than jetting off on holiday.’
‘But I can’t let you do that!’ Roberta cried, not seeing the little trap her mother was coolly setting her. ‘It would make me feel as guilty as sin if you did!’
Her father came back. Roberta looked at him with helpless expectation glowing in her eyes.
‘It was for me, not you,’ he murmured apologetically, and grimly watched the life fade out of her again.
‘Our plans have changed,’ her mother informed him coolly. ‘We’re not going abroad. We’re going to stay here to be close to Roberta instead.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Roberta put in. ‘I’ll come,’ she said dully. ‘I’ll come with you. I’ll come.’
But whether she had changed her mind in sharp disappointment because the phone call had not been Mac trying to find her or whether she had because she was suffering from shock at her parents’ caring attitude Roberta didn’t know.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHICHEVER, it turned out to be the best decision she had made in a long time. Not only did two weeks of complete relaxation help her to get her head and her heart sorted out, but they also gave her time to get to know her mother and father. And the more she came to know them, the more she came to understand just what it was that drove them as hard as it did.