Chapter 12

Robin took Lottë to Christopher and Andrea's pub. Lottë was very impressed with the food and the atmosphere.

"A special occasions pub," she said.

"Good thinking, my sweet."

When they got home there were telephone messages from Charles, Annette and Henry. The first two were happy congratulations and promises to ring again. Henry's was different.

"I thought I told you to find someone like him but younger, young lady," he said sternly, "but I've no doubt you'll try and tell me he's unique." His voice softened. "And you'd be right. Well done, my darling, you've caught a good'un." His voice turned stern again. "Mr Stephens, since when has it ceased to be proper and courteous to ask a father for his daughter's hand in marriage?" Once again his voice warmed. "On the other hand, who else but me is going to have his best man as a son-in-law? Congratulations, Robin! May you both be as happy together as you are now for ever. God bless you both and come and see us soon."

They turned to each other with lumps in their throats and smiled tremulously before falling into each other's arms.

"Do you think it's too late to ring them, Uncle Rob?"

"Quarter past ten? I'd've thought so, my darling."

"It's so old fashioned but I love it when you call me your darling."

"Well you are, aren't you?"

Lottë nodded vigorously, "And it thrills me to hear it."

"It thrills me to say it and know that I've found the love of my life."

"Oh, Uncle Rob, my darling, my..."

Her head went back against his chest and she pulled herself to him fiercely. He stroked her hair and she hummed with pleasure.

When they broke she looked up at him. "Coffee?" she asked.

"No, darling, thank you. We had some at the pub so I don't think any more would be a good idea."

She nodded. "I don't want any either actually."

Her look became anxious. "Um, Uncle Rob, um, are we going to sleep together?"

"Only if you want to, my darling, and if you do I won't do anything you don't want to do."

"You are a very sweet understanding man."

"Lottë darling, I know what happened and that it still troubles you. When you decide you can join me in bed I shall be thrilled and delighted. We've fallen in love without any physical stuff so far, so we can go on doing without until you want it."

"Oh, Uncle Rob," she reached up and pulled his head down to give him a kiss, a real one. "We have started on the physical stuff. I love your kisses and kissing you. It's just I'm not sure I can go any further yet."

"I know and understand, my precious one, and I am not going to risk upsetting you. I love you and I also find you very attractive. What man in his right mind wouldn't when you take off those awful glasses and wear clothes that show your pretty figure off? But, and it's a big and important but, I am not going to do anything that upsets you."

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I want in so many ways to make love to you fully but I ... I can't. I just can't."

Robin touched his lips to hers. "I understand, my sweet. I really do. Go to bed, my darling. Sleep tight and I'll see you in the morning."

Lottë did not sleep tight. She was unable even to get to sleep. 'If I love him so much why am I so frightened? I know he won't rush me. He's said so and Mum said he would be gentle and loving and I know he will. So why am I being such a wimp because that's what I am? People say that making love is special and fulfilling and fun. Bloody Lawrence Baptistson was none of those! Those slobbery lips, that foul breath, his hands squeezing my boobs, his fingers groping me and then that great thing being forced into me. It hurt. God, it hurt! But Lawrence Bloody Baptistson wasn't Robin Stephens, my sweet, gentle, loving Robin. He won't treat me roughly. He won't hurt me. I know, I know, I know but I'm still frightened. I'm still revolted by the thought even though I know that's why I was born.'

That triggered further thoughts. Her parents had done it, at least three times, and she had seen Daddy fondle Mum and they had loved it. Her psychiatrist had said the same and yet ... and yet. She thumped her pillow in exasperation.

'Stop it, ' she thought. 'Stop it and think of how much you love him and how much he loves you. I know, I know but I can't, I can't."

That was too much for her and she started to cry. She stifled her sobs in her pillow but they were painful, gut-wrenching sobs. Finally she fell asleep but not for long: just three hours. She had dreamed again in the last few moments of a man pinioning her against a wall, his hand over her mouth almost suffocating her and driving relentlessly into her. She screamed.

Robin heard it and it woke him from a deep sleep but nevertheless he was immediately alert and ran wearing only his pyjama trousers to her. He knelt beside her bed and touched his hand to the side of her head.

"What is it, Lottë darling?" he asked gently.

She shook her head violently still gasping for breath.

Robin, still holding her head, caressed her cheek softly with his thumb.

"Tell me, darling."

She shook her head again.

He spoke more firmly. "Tell me, Lottë.

"That man ... That Lawrence Baptistson. I could feel him ... doing it to me."

"It was a dream, my precious one, and it's never going to happen again."

"I know. I know but I haven't had that dream for ages. Oh, Uncle Robin! What do I do?"

He shifted so that he was sitting on the bed. He gathered her up and sat her on his lap with his arms round her, nestling her like a small child.

"Nothing, my darling Lottë. Just wait in my love for you, no, our love for each other, and it'll all become clearer. You'll come to want me to touch you and want to touch me and that will lead to us making love, not 'having sex' but making love to each other, slowly and gently or passionately as the mood takes us."

She looked up at him, her face still blotched and wet with her tears.

"Yes," she whispered. "Oh, my darling Uncle Rob."

"Right, little one. You need comfort and cuddles. Your bed is too small for both of us so come back to mine."

She looked apprehensive, more than that: frightened.

"Relax, my precious. All you're going to do is sleep with me holding you to stop any more horrid dreams."

She nodded. Her trust in him was total.

He stood up and carried her to his bed and laid her down. He walked back round the foot of the bed and climbed in.

"Come to me, Lottë darling," he said softly and she shifted over to him.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much and it was you, my darling girl, who made me realise. Thank you, my darling. Now snuggle up and go to sleep."

He lay half on his side with Lottë's head on his shoulder and his arms loosely round her his right hand gently stroking her head. It took time but he felt her body relax. He smiled in the dark. 'Poor little darling, ' he thought. He was not entirely comfortable. His left shoulder felt a bit stretched but that did not matter. His Lottë was at peace.

Lottë woke with a start in the small hours. She was in a man's arms and her first instinct was to scream and fight him away but she realised almost immediately that the man was her beloved Uncle Robin. She calmed down and thought about it. The man she loved was holding her. He had comforted her and had made no effort to take advantage of her unhappiness. Rather, he had been love personified.