Chapter 10

Robin looked mystified and then slightly worried. "Go on then," he said.

"Well, er, yesterday, on your birthday, you said you'd miss me if I moved out."

Robin's heart sank. "Yes and I meant it too."

"I ... I don't want to move out ever. U-uncle Rob, I love you."

"Phew! That's a relief." He smiled at her. "And I love you too."

"It ... It's more than that. I'm in love with you."

Robin's jaw dropped.

"It happened at Christmas. I ... I was surrounded by family who I love dearly but the only person I wanted to be with was you. Since then it's just grown and grown."

She looked at him imploringly.

"Lottë, dearest, I love you too. Very much I love you but not like that. I'm old enough to be your father. What on earth would your parents say for starters?"

"They know and are happy with it."

"Great Scot!"

"Mum sussed me at Christmas and talked about it with Daddy. She says my happiness comes first as far as they're concerned."

"Great Scot!" said Robin again. "What would Christopher and Daphne think?"

"Probably that you were bonkers," she smiled.

Robin nodded. "Almost certainly. They'd probably think you were bonkers too falling for an old fart like me."

Lottë nodded. "They'd probably be right but I have, Uncle Rob, and I've been thinking about it for six weeks and the feeling's just got stronger and stronger."

"Lottë, my sweet, you're young and want children. You told Daphne you did."

"I would like children and I know what you're going to say: that you're too old to start having another family and that you'll be sixty when they're in their teens and, and, and. If you want to adopt older children OK but I'd much prefer to have my own. If you don't want any I'll just have to lump it."

"No! You said to Daphne that you thought that Pennicot chap had behaved despicably and had no right to deny a woman her principle role in life. Oh, Lottë, I've been watching you come out of your shell these last nine months and hoping that at last you were going to find some young man to have children with."

"Not going to happen, Uncle Rob. It's only you I've been coming out of my shell with because I loved you and trusted you and that love and trust just grew and grew and then pouf I found I was in love with you."

"But, sweetheart, having children means sex and that is anathema to you."

"That does worry me a bit, I admit, but I trust you and I know you would take it slowly and gently and lovingly and I'd probably get to like it with you."

Robin shook his head. "You've given this a lot of thought and come up with all the answers, haven't you?"

Lottë smiled and nodded.

"Sweetheart, I can't give you an answer now. I've got to examine my own thoughts and feelings."

"Right but I'm not going away."

"Perhaps you ought to."

"Not going to happen. Even if you reject me."

"Oh, Lottë, what am I going to do?"

"Give me a kiss for the time being and then go and do some fretting."

"It may take me some days."

"And I'll still be here."

Robin reached for his brandy and took a large sip. He looked at her and shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he said.

Lottë smiled at him. "Are you going to give me that kiss I asked you for?"

He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes where he saw her love for the first time. "Oh Lottë," he breathed. He leant forward and touched his lips to hers. She reached round him and held them together. She pressed her lips more firmly to his. He pulled her head back and softly brushed his lips across hers.

"Go now, sweetheart. I can't think straight like this."

A hint of mischief crept back into her eyes. "Good," she said.

She released him and sat back. "Good night, Uncle Rob, my darling Uncle Rob."

She stood up and touched his cheek. "I love you." She ran from the room.

Robin stayed where he was his mind awhirl. It was madness; madness on her part. What was she thinking of, falling in love with someone half her age again? And yet, he supposed, there was an element of madness anyway about falling in love with anyone. Madly in love. Well that is what she was but it was in the real sense. She was absolutely serious about it though and if he rejected her she would be desolate. But he had to reject her, hadn't he? He needed to talk to Henry about it. That was no good. Henry for Heaven's sake supported this mad idea. So did Matty. Had they both gone dotty?

He took a sip of his brandy and settled back in the sofa gently swirling it.

"Pull yourself together, man, and think," he told himself. "What are your feelings for her? I do love her and have done ever since she was a little kid. Her rape hurt me as much as it did Henry and Matty. It still hurts me when I think about how her life has been screwed up. It's still screwed up despite her brains and ability. She still can't trust a young man. Not even one in his mid-thirties. Actually I don't suppose there are many of them that she meets who are marriage material. They've all been snapped up already."

He smiled. "I bet that was behind her asking me how old I was.

He took another sip of brandy and thought more about his love for her. He had watched her develop into a beautiful girl but had never entertained any lustful thoughts for her not that she had ever done anything to encourage such thoughts in anyone. He had to admit that when Annette gave him one of her hugs he could not help but admit that her lithe, young body in his arms gave him a bit of a thrill but nothing more than that. He also had to admit that he quite often entertained mildly lustful thoughts about some of the young women at the office. Lottë had never done that for him. Even though she never used to hug him, and he had never hugged any of the young women at the office either, he had never thought of her in a sexual way. It was the same as with Daphne. He knew that young men, quite rightly, found her attractive and he was proud of the fact but she was his daughter and no incestuous thought had ever crossed his mind. It was much the same with Lottë.

'Just suppose, ' he thought, 'I agreed to this crackpot idea and had to meet her wish to have children ... Oh strewth! I'd love it. Well, making them.'