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More likely, Kyle hadn’t told her because he knew quite well that she would refuse to join in with his plans, Heather thought angrily.
‘Come on, Mum, you might as well tell me now,’ she insisted, trying to look excited and pleased.
‘Well, promise me you’ll try and look surprised when Kyle tells you?’
‘Yes…yes, of course. Now, don’t keep me in suspense any longer. What “do”?’
‘Well, it seems that Kyle has been invited to a very grand masked ball to be held at a private house just outside Bath on New Year’s Eve. It’s something to do with the fact that his firm did most of the restoration work on it. Anyway, everyone has to wear period costume, and Kyle said that in view of the fact that his house was built in the Elizabethan era he thought he would hire a costume of that age. He asked me for your measurements so that he could hire a costume for you…’
Heather fought back the jolt of anger that burned deep inside her. Her mother looked as pleased and excited as a small child. How could Heather explain to her how angry and resentful she felt at Kyle’s high-handed action? Where she saw his behavior as superior and interfering, her mother plainly saw it as generous and thoughtful.
Kyle Bennett was someone they would never see eye to eye on, and for the sake of her parents’ peace of mind she would just have to pretend that she thought he was as wonderful as they did.
‘Promise me that you won’t let him guess that you know,’ her mother begged. ‘I think he wants it all to be a surprise for you.’
‘I shan’t say a word,’ Heather assured her, mentally deciding that there was no way Kyle was going to force her into going with him. No way at all. ‘I’m surprised that Kyle isn’t going away for Christmas,’ she remarked casually, changing the subject. ‘It seems rather dull for such an eligible and wealthy bachelor to stay at home. Unless, of course, he’s having guests.’
‘Not as far as I know.’ Her mother responded innocently to Heather’s probing. ‘He did say that as this was the first year he’s owned the house, he wanted to spend Christmas in it. Is it as lovely as it sounds?’
‘Yes,’ Heather admitted rather shortly. In fact, although she wasn’t going to say so, the house came so close to the sort of home she had always dreamed of owning herself that it was hard not to feel envious of Kyle for owning it.
‘Kyle did mention that he was anxious to do justice to it with his Christmas decorations,’ her mother continued uncertainly. ‘I did suggest that you might be able to give him a hand?’
It was plain from her expression that she was faintly apprehensive of Heather’s reaction.
It hurt to discover that her parents still thought that she had to be treated like spun glass, that they still felt they had to walk on tiptoe around her in some instances.
‘It’s the least I can do to repay him for putting me up,’ Heather responded evenly. ‘In fact, the house is so lovely that decorating it for Christmas will be much more of a pleasure than a chore. It’s hard to believe that it’s less than a month away.’
‘I know…the specialist was saying that once he’s sure the operation’s a success your father can leave for Portugal almost straight away. Kyle’s already checked, and apparently there’s a first-rate American hospital not far from the villa and he’s already arranged all your father’s aftercare.’
It was all wrong that she should feel this helplessness, this feeling that time was rolling back and that she was once again tongue-tied and resentful in the face of her parents’ obvious love for a boy she could only hate.
This time, it wasn’t going to be like that. Kyle could never usurp her own place in her parents’ hearts, nor did he want to.
As she held hard to that thought, mercifully Heather felt the red mist of mingled pain and misery fade. Shakily she drew in one breath and then another, a dizzy, giddy feeling of release.
Pleasure filled her and she felt so light with it that she could almost have floated up to the ceiling. It worked; she had used her own willpower, her adult conception of the past and present, her own self-control to beat back the demons of her childhood, and she had won. It wasn’t Kyle who was her enemy, she recognised, but her own deep-rooted insecurity.
Her counsellor had told her that years ago, and she had accepted his word, but there was a vast difference in being told where the problem lay and in accepting and knowing it for oneself.
‘You look as though someone’s just given you the stars,’ her father commented.
‘Nothing so mundane,’ she teased him with a grin, refusing to be drawn, despite his curious questioning. And then, because she could see her father was getting tired, and because a part of her wanted to be alone so that she could savour her first true victory over the misery of her insecurity, she bent and kissed him swiftly and then turned to her mother.
‘It’s time I left. I’ve still got some shopping to do, and I don’t want to leave it too late. The sky looked very ominous this afternoon.’
‘I don’t like the thought of you driving that van in bad weather conditi
ons,’ her father fretted, frowning.
‘I’ll be perfectly all right. You know how careful I am,’ she soothed him.
‘Ring us when you get back,’ her mother suggested quietly. ‘That will put your father’s mind at rest.’
It was only later, as she drove back through the darkness, that she realised that for a girl of her age she was, perhaps, a little too close to her parents, a little too cherished and protected.
Now where had that idea come from? Did she really need to ask herself? Kyle, of course; that look of his, that suggested that she was wrapped up in protective cotton wool, safe from the realities of life and its pains, had found its mark.
