Roberta

Leigh - Too Young To Love

"Gavin's right about you," Sara's aunt told her. "You don't love him enough.

Maybe you're only in love with the memory of that first love. Perhaps now that

you're seen him again you'll be able to forget him." But Sara knew she

wouldn't. Even at eighteen she had known Gavin Baxter was the one man for

her. Her youth and inexperience had torn them apart. Was she mature enough

now to win him a second time? Or had her lack of trust destroyed his love for

her forever?

CHAPTER ONE

Sara Claremont dropped the letter she had been reading on to her lap and

stared reflectively into space. So her father had finally remarried. She had

expected it for a long time, in fact since Aunt Grace - her late mother's cousin

- had come to live with them five years ago: except that her father had not

married Grace after all, but a young and unknown fashion model called Helen

who had come to promote British fashions at the Embassy and had also, it

seemed, promoted herself to its Ambassador.

"Helen took some persuading to believe she wasn't too young for me," her

father had written, "but luckily I was able to change her mind and we were

married quietly a week ago. I didn't ask you to the wedding because I felt it

would be an embarrassment for you, but once you and Helen know each other,
I'm sure you'll become friends."

There was more in the same vein, but Sara could not take it in. All she could

think of was that Aunt Grace had been left high and dry and that she herself

had been presented with a stepmother only nine years her senior. How could

her father have done such a foolish thing?

"What's up with you?" a matter-of-fact voice demanded, and Sara looked up and
handed the letter to her friend Ann, with whom she shared a room at

Mademoiselle Rose's finishing school in Lugano.

After a short interval Ann stopped reading and pulled a face. "What a ghastly

thing to happen! If it had been my father I could have understood it, but yours

has always been such a fuddy-duddy!"

"It's the fuddy-duddies who generally end up making fools of themselves,"

Sara said darkly. "I can't think what got into him."

"Sex," Ann muttered.

Sara's cheeks flamed, but she was sensible enough to know that other people

did not see her father in the same way she did; to her he was a kindly man in

his fifties; to strange eyes he was a handsome, sophisticated diplomat of

impeccable breeding, wealth and position; an eligible catch at any age.

"It would have to happen in my last term," she said aloud. "Now I'll have to go
home and play gooseberry to a honeymoon couple."

"Why not come and live with me for a while?"

Sara thought of the large stone house on the Yorkshire moors where Ann lived
with three boisterous brothers and her equally boisterous parents, and decided

she would prefer to be a gooseberry.

"I probably won't stay with Father all that long," she murmured. "I'll have to
decide what to do with my life."

"Get married and have fun."

"Shouldn't it be have fun and then get married?"

Ann giggled and Sara joined in, for it was difficult to be in Ann's company for

long and remain miserable.

But later that evening she thought of her future with further misgivings and

wondered whether it might not be better to accept Ann's invitation. Perhaps

she would stay in Paris for a few weeks and then go to Yorkshire. Whatever

she decided to do, she had the feeling she wouldn't want to make a permanent

home with her father now that he had acquired a young wife.

This belief was not quite so firm when Sara met her stepmother for the first

time. She had left Lugano in the morning and arrived in Paris later that same

day, being met :at the airport by Baker, who had been her father's chauffeur

since she was a child.

"Sir William apologises for not meeting you himself," he said as they drove
towards the city, "but he had a meeting with one of the French ministers, and

Lady Claremont had an appointment with some interior decorator from New

York."

"Interior decorator?" Sara echoed.

Baker nodded. "Her ladyship is refurnishing the Embassy. Quite a lot of

comings and goings there've been about it too."

"My father must hate that," Sara smiled.

"I have the impression that Sir William is delighted, miss."

To Sara the words were a clear indication that her father had no regrets about

his marriage, and she felt some of the tension leave her. Perhaps it would

work out well after all. The car swept into the courtyard of a beautiful stone

house, and she mounted the short flight of steps to the entrance and entered

the cool, flower-filled hall. The decor here was the same as it always had been

- formal and functional - hut as she entered the salon her eye was enchanted

by the new soft spring colours of the lemon silk drapes at the tall windows and

the pale green and lilac patterned settees and armchairs.

The young woman who came forward to greet her was in stark contrast to the

delicacy of the room, having matt white skin, jet black hair that silkily covered

her skull and swept forward on either cheek, bright brown eyes with short

thick lashes that marked them without softening them, and a small, full-lipped

red mouth. Beautiful but hard, Sara thought, and could understand why her

father had been captivated. Grace, with her muted appearance and calm

manner, must have seemed dull by comparison with this dramatic-looking

creature.

"Welcome home, Sara." Helen's voice was firm but friendly, as was her
handshake. She might only be ten years older than her stepdaughter, but she

seemed double that in confidence and the air of maturity she exuded. "I

suppose our marriage must have come as a shock to you?"

"A surprise," Sara replied, and saw her young stepmother's mouth part to

show even white teeth.

"You're as diplomatic as your father! You don't look a bit like him, though. I
suppose you take after your mother?"

"I don't look like either of my parents. I think I'm a throwback to some long-

dead ancestor."

"A very pretty throwback too. The picture your father showed me doesn't do

you justice."

"I didn't know my father had any pictures of me," said Sara.

"It was a snapshot taken with Grace Rickards."

Sara deemed it wiser to let this remark pass and looked around the room

instead. "I like the alterations you have made here."

"That's sweet of you to say so." The older girl looked pleased. "I've re-done all
the personal rooms except your bedroom. I thought you might like to do that

yourself."

Sara was touched by the suggestion but said she wasn't sure it would be

worthwhile doing, since she did not know how long she would be staying in

Paris.

"Your father is hoping you will make your home with us," Helen said. "And I'd
love it if you did. You'd at least bring some young people into the Embassy

instead of a lot of middle-aged bores."

"My father is middle-aged," Sara blurted out.

"I don't think of William in that way. It's only when I see him with his friends
that I realise how much older than me he is. Once he sits down at the bridge

table the generation gap rears its head!"

"I play bridge," Sara smiled.

"You're a diplomat's daughter. I'm sure you do many things I don't do."

Sara could not think of any until Helen elaborated. "You know how to ride and

to play tennis. You speak French like a native and probably Italian too, and I

bet you never get fussed by protocol."

"Those are all very unimportant things," Sara assured her. "I'm sure you could do
them too if you wished."

A sound behind her made Helen turn and she moved forward as the door

opened and her husband came in.

Sara's first thought was that he looked exactly the same as ever, and her

second was wry humour at herself for thinking he might not have done. What

had she expected him to do? Dye his grey hair black and sport coloured shirts

and corduroy suits? She should have known that even marriage to a girl young

enough to be his daughter would not change her father's outward appearance.

Tall, suave and distinguished, he was every inch the successful diplomat, a

success he would have achieved, she was sure, even had he not come from an
ancient and illustrious family with an ancient and illustrious fortune to boot.

He kissed his wife briefly and then turned to his daughter.

"Sara, my dear, welcome home. Forgive me for not inciting you at the airport."

Sara hugged him and blinked back the tears. "It's lovely to be home, Father."

"Have you had a chance of getting acquainted with Helen?" He drew back and
held out his arm for his wife to join the circle.

"We haven't talked much," Sara said. "I only arrived a few minutes ago."

"Luckily I've managed to keep tonight free, just for the three of us," Sir William
said. "I thought it would be nice to have a family get-together."

"I wish you'd warned me, darling," Helen intervened. "I asked Mike to dine with
us. I thought it might be amusing for Sara to have a man nearer her own

age around."

"If that was in your mind, my dear," her husband replied, "it would have been
more to the point to have asked Gavin. He at least is unattached."

"So is Mike."

"Only because his wife is with her parents in Yorkshire."

"I can easily ask Gavin to join us," Helen said swiftly.

"I have an idea he's already engaged for dinner. I'll have a word with him

myself and suggest he comes in for coffee, if he can get away early enough."

"You don't need to go to such bother for me," Sara protested. "I'm more than
happy just to be with you." She squeezed her father's arm and was warmed by

its echoing pressure. Despite his marriage she felt as close to him as ever. It

had been silly of her to have such fears for the future. "I'd like to go to my room
and unpack," she murmured.
"I daresay you'll want to buy yourself some new clothes now you've left your

schooldays behind you?" her father teased.

"I have masses of clothes."

"I've never known a girl turn down the chance of having more." He glanced from
his daughter to his wife. "Helen, for instance, is always complaining she never
has a thing to wear, yet to my knowledge she averages one new dress a

day."

"You're exaggerating as usual," Helen said. "Anyway,

I get my clothes at a massive discount." The dark eyes fixed themselves on

Sara. "I'll be able to arrange it for you too. Being in the business, so to speak, I'm
well in with all the top houses. They're more than pleased to give me a

special price so long as I can guarantee to get myself photographed in their

clothes."

"I don't think I can guarantee that," Sara said. "I'm just the Ambassador's
daughter."

Helen looked so pleased that Sara wondered if her stepmother was conceited.

If she were, it would be as well to pander to it, for it might smooth the path of

their relationship.

"We can go shopping tomorrow," Helen said. "I'm sure Jacques Domas does the
right sort of clothes for you."

Smiling her agreement, Sara went to her room. It was difficult to believe she

was not home merely for the holidays but for as long as she wished to remain.

The need to stay with Ann in Yorkshire did not seem quite so pressing and, if
she could maintain the status quo with her stepmother, might not arise at all.

Sooner or later she would have to make a decision about her future, but for

the moment all she had to do was enjoy the fact that school wan behind her.

From now on she must think of herself as an adult.

The dress she chose did everything possible to enhance this status. Of cream

silk jersey, it folded itself around her tall slender body and gently defined the

outline of breasts mid hips. The neckline was softly cowled and her shoulders

rose in a perfect curve from it, the skin as satiny in texture as her toffee-

coloured hair which fell dramatically straight from a centre parting. Thick

golden eyelashes, the ends sable dark, curled round large smoky-grey eyes,

their irises rimmed with darker grey. They were astonishingly beautiful eyes,

silver in colour when she was excited or angry and the grey of woodland

smoke when she was sad. Now, with her mood indefinable, the grey irises

were flecked with light, the pupils wide and dark. Her delicate features were

saved from indistinction by the slight tilt of her straight nose and the

passionate fullness of a mouth whose pink colour drew attention to its

delightful shape. In a room of vividly coloured beauties like her stepmother,

she would pass unnoticed, though the discerning eye would see the promise of

the greater beauty to come.

Sara was downstairs before her father and stepmother. Normally she would

have gone into her father's room to chat to him while he finished brushing his
hair and putting on his jacket, but tonight she had not done so, knowing that

his room was no longer hers to enter freely. It brought with it a momentary

droop to her mouth and she was toying with the idea of taking a drink to

revive her spirits, when a man came into the room. He looked so much a Mike

that she knew he was. He was slightly above average height with rugged

features, lightish brown hair and a skin that spoke of outdoor living. He looked

as if he would be more at home on the rugger field than in diplomatic circles

but his manner, as he came forward to greet her, was as impeccable as his old

school tie accent.

"Good evening, Miss Claremont," he said easily. "I'm Mike Evans. I've heard so
much about you in the last couple of weeks that I feel I'm meeting an old

friend."

"Then you must call me Sara," she smiled.

He smiled back, then glanced round as Helen and Sir William came in.

"So you two have met already," the older man said.

"I've introduced myself, sir."

He bowed slightly in Helen's direction and she returned the gesture with a cool

smile. She wore a dress in vivid blues and greens which made her look like

some tropical bird of paradise. Her glance at Sara was friendly but appraising,

giving Sara the impression that she was being carefully assessed.

"What news do you have of your wife?" Sir William asked.

"She called me earlier this evening. She's been in bed with a heavy cold, but

apart from that she's enjoying herself." He looked at Sara. "My wife is very
much a country girl. If she had her way I would have retired from the service

and taken up farming."

"You look the type to have enjoyed it."

"I like the open-air life," he agreed, "but not the dull grind of being tied to the
land."

"Think of all the hunting you could do," Helen said.

Mike laughed. "I prefer to do my hunting in the ballrooms of Paris!"

"There speaks a lonely husband," Sir William commented. "I must warn your
wife not to stay away so long in future."

The younger man conceded the point and then began to talk of hunting

proper, a subject that appeared dear to his heart.

Sara sat back and watched him. Mike had not been at the Embassy the last

time she had come home, which meant he had been here for less than three

months. Yet as the evening progressed she saw how well he fitted in,

displaying the right blend of deference and formality, both towards her father

and his bride. It was difficult to think of Helen as a bride, for there was nothing
romantic in her manner towards her husband and; though Sara had not

expected her father to act the gay lover, she had anticipated some suggestion

of it from his wife. Perhaps Helen was embarrassed to be affectionate in front

of her stepdaughter until she had assessed Sara's opinion on the subject of her

father's second marriage.

"What did you think of the dinner?" Helen asked her as they returned to the
drawing room for coffee.

"It's the best meal I've had here," Sara said truthfully.

"I engaged a new chef. It was quite a feat to get him: two other Embassies

were competing for his services."

"How did you manage it?"

"Bribery and corruption," Helen said matter-of-factly.

"Helen is a meticulous "hostess," Sir William, who was close on their heels, said.
"She has even surprised me by the way she has taken over all the

domestic chores."

"I'm determined to make this Embassy the smartest in Paris," his wife replied.

"I don't see why we should let the Americans have it all their own way. Do you
know I heard that their main rooms are just crammed with Impressionist

paintings?"

"I am afraid I can't oblige there," Sir William said with a sly smile. "French art
was something my family never went in for. However, I can bring over a

Holbein or two."

"I don't think I could bear to have your ancestors staring down at me all the

time - even if they were painted by a genius!"

"Suits me," said her husband promptly. "Family portraits should be kept in the
family house." He looked faintly pensive. "I must say I'll be glad when I can
retire there. Dorset is a lovely part of the country."

"You won't be retiring for a long time yet." Helen seated herself by the french
windows, as if knowing that the lemon silk curtains acted as a foil for her
brightly patterned dress. "Right now I'm concerned with making the most of

living here."

"You've already gone a long way towards doing that," Mike intervened. "You've
worked wonders with the house and if you keep serving up meals like tonight,

people will be clamouring to come to your parties."

"That's exactly what I want," she replied.

"I dare say it will bore you after a time," Sir William said.

"I don't see why. You've been living this sort of life for so long, you've become
bored with it. But I'm only just beginning and I intend to make my mark.

We're going to be renowned for our entertaining."

"I'm quite content to leave things the way they are. The quieter the life the

better, as far as I'm concerned."

"But you are no longer the only one who is concerned," his wife said. "You have
me to consider - and Sara as well."

"I can't see Sara enjoying Embassy dinners - no matter how successful they

are. Isn't that right, my dear?" her father asked her.

Sara longed to say yes, but felt it would be tactless to disagree with Helen at

this stage. She was surprised at the woman's insistence on achieving a social

position, and then immediately acknowledged her own naivety. After all, this

was one of the reasons Helen had married. Much as Sara adored her father,

she could not envisage any girl of twenty-eight wanting to marry a man of fifty

unless social position, wealth and a title were important to her.

She glanced surreptitiously at her father. He seemed content to let his young

wife take over the conversation, and was looking at her with such pleasure

that Sara felt irrationally angry. No middle-aged man had the right to look so

fatuous! She glanced at Mike and saw he was looking at Helen in the same

way too. Were all men susceptible to brittle charm and vivacity? Jumping to

her feet, Sara went out on the terrace that overlooked the formal French

garden. The grass was so green it could have been painted; and the flower-

beds so neat they looked like children's cut-outs.

Behind her she heard her father's voice raised in greeting and she moved back

into the room to see that another man had come in. He seemed the same age

as Mike Evans, but here all similarity ended, for he was extremely tall and

dark- haired and so highly polished - both in appearance and manner - that

illogically she thought how well he matched the geometrically perfect gardens

she had just been admiring. Nothing about him was out of place and he looked

every inch the diplomat she immediately knew him to be.

"Gavin, I would like you to meet my daughter," Sir William said. "Sara, this is
Gavin Baxter."

The man strode forward and Sara felt her hand taken in a firm clasp and then

quickly released. Eyes as intensely blue as a Siamese cat stared directly into

her own, though she had the distinct impression he was aware of every part of

the rest of her. He had a dynamic quality that made her feel breathless, as if
she had run full tilt against his personality, and she straightened her shoulders

and stared back at him with deliberate coolness, though she inexplicably felt a

gauche eighteen.

"Hello, Sara. Welcome home."

His voice was as striking as his appearance: firm yet quick and unexpectedly

deep. He was also the tallest man Sara had ever met. Five foot eight inches

herself, she was more used to men being slightly above her own eye level, and

found it strange to have to tilt her head in order to look into this man's face. It
was a face one could enjoy looking at, with narrow slanting eyes, a long

straight nose down which he could no doubt stare superciliously, and an

extremely determined jawline redeemed from harshness by an unexpected

dimple in his chin. His mouth was thin but well-shaped, and curved in a smile,

though she could imagine it becoming as uncompromisingly hard as the rest of

his features if he were displeased. He was tanned a rich golden brown, and she

thought fancifully how well his face would have fitted on to the prow of a ship.

As if aware of her scrutiny he smiled slightly sardonically and stepped away

from her to greet Helen. It gave Sara a chance to study his profile which,

without the humorous glint in his eyes being visible, made him appear tougher

than a man of his age should be.

"How was your dinner party?" Helen asked him.

"It was a working dinner, Lady Claremont, not a party. But it was a great
success. I was agreeably surprised."

"I don't believe anything could surprise you. You work everything out far too

carefully."

"I try to take account of every obstacle," he conceded.

"If you didn't," Sir William said mildly, "you wouldn't be my First Secretary.

Which reminds me, we have an early appointment tomorrow with the

Russians. Each time I meet them, I'm delighted I never ended up in Moscow

instead of Paris."

"So am I," Helen cut in. "Nothing could induce me to live in Moscow."

"I'm sure you don't mean that," Gavin Baxter protested suavely. "You would
have added sparkle to the cold Russian winters. I can see you trekking after

Sir William even if he were posted to the North Pole!"

Helen laughed prettily and Sir William looked pleased.

"And what about you?" Gavin Baxter fixed Sara with a bright blue gaze. "Are
you going to stay here and enjoy Paris, or do you have some deep ambition to

fulfil?"

"At the moment I plan to stay here and enjoy myself until the autumn," she told
him.

"Are you interested in getting your M.R.S. degree?"

It took her a moment to realise he meant marriage, and red colour stained her

cheeks. "Certainly not, Mr. Baxter. There's more to life than getting married."

"You surprise me." There was no question but that he was teasing her. "You're so
young and lovely that I see no point in your bothering to educate yourself
further."

"You mean any fool can get married 1"

"Any fool can marry," he agreed, "but it takes a wise person to remain in that
state!"

"Did you get your degree in philosophy, Mr. Baxter?"

"Only diplomacy, Sara. But sometimes I think a philosophical outlook would

help me immeasurably."

"Gavin is a man of many parts, my dear." Sir William joined them, brandy

glass in hand, and Sara moved close to him and linked her arm through his,

suddenly happy to be home with him and wishing with all her heart that there

were just the two of them, the way they had been for so long. Fleetingly she

thought of Aunt Grace, whose presence had never been disturbing or intrusive

- which was probably the reason why her father had not seen her as anything

more than the efficient woman who had run his home after his wife's death.

"I must go and see her when I'm in London," Sara thought, and then

concentrated on what was being said, confessing that she had been miles away

and not heard her father's last remark.

"I was telling you that Gavin is a man of many parts."

"I didn't think there were many parts to a diplomat," Sara replied, not looking at
the young man beside her.

"But Gavin hasn't always been a diplomat," her father said.

"I'm sure your daughter isn't interested in my past, sir."

"But I am," Sara retorted. "Were you a business whiz kid or an intellectual
boffin?"

For an instant a spark lurked in the depths of the bright blue eyes, then it died

and they became enigmatic.

"The only thing Gavin has ever built up," Sara's father said with a laugh, "is a
daredevil reputation. He was a test pilot till a bad crash five years ago."

Sara felt foolish, which she knew Gavin had wanted, but she faced him boldly.

"Only a diplomat for five years, Mr. Baxter. You've done amazingly well."

"Opportunity and aptitude, Sara," he said easily. "One I was given and the other I
had."

"It takes intelligence to see an opportunity," Helen said.

She had sauntered over to join them and, standing beside Gavin, Sara noticed

that their hair was the same jet black. They both had a similar personality too,

being vivid and intense and exuding an aura of controlled vitality. Yes, it was

this vitality which would make both the man and the woman stand out in a

crowd. This was what had attracted her father to Helen and what most women

would find attractive about Gavin Baxter, providing they could penetrate

beneath the barrier he put up around himself. She was surprised at her use of

the word "barrier" and looked at him covertly. Yes, despite the charm he

exuded, there was an air of guardedness about him.

"You promised to go riding with me, Gavin," Helen was saying, "but for the past
week I've had to make do with Mike."

Only because she was standing close to Gavin was Sara aware that he had
stiffened. "I told you I wasn't sure I could make it last week, Lady Claremont."

"I don't believe you even tried to get away. But it doesn't matter. Mike and I have
got into a routine."

"So my services are no longer required?"

"I'm afraid not."

Again Sara saw the man stiffen and, intrigued by it, she covertly studied

Helen, who was looking both mocking and triumphant. Before she had a

chance to think about it, Mike Evans came over to distract her attention, and

she heard herself asking him about his wife and where her parents lived in

Yorkshire, only realising, as Gavin turned to listen, that they were his parents

too. How stupid of her not to have remembered that he and Mike Evans were

brothers-in-law.

"Do you know Yorkshire?" Mike asked her.

"My best friend lives at Polsdon. Ann Rogers."

"I know the Rogers family," Gavin Baxter added. "Not your girl friend, though,
but her older brother. She's still at school, isn't she?"

"She's eighteen," Sara said coldly, "and she left school when I did."

"I was only wrong by a couple of days, then!"

"Some schoolgirl you are!" Mike intervened, grinning at her before she could
reply. "In my days schoolgirls wore gymslips and had buck teeth."

"So did I at twelve." Sara's answering smile showed even white teeth which
belied her words. "Both you and your brother-in-law seem to be outdated

when it comes to the present generation."

"Ouch!" Gavin Baxter rubbed a mythical wound in his chest. "You dig your
knife in deep, Sara."

"I hope I didn't hurt you, Mr. Baxter" she replied, annoyed at his continued use
of her first name. Was it because he considered her a schoolgirl that he

believed he could address her how he liked? That he guessed what she was

thinking was apparent from the gleam in his eyes, but he was too skilled to

make any verbal comment and, as Sara turned her back on him, her father

suggested that the four of them made up a game of bridge.

"Doesn't your daughter play?" she heard Gavin ask.

"Only on sufferance." Sir William's voice was amused. "She isn't fond of cards."

"I'm sure it's something she'll grow into, sir."

Sara's cheeks burned, but she refused to look round and went on talking to

Mike. There was a flurry of movement behind her and she knew the card table

was being set up. It was a good time to retire, and as Gavin Baxter and Helen

sorted out the cards and paper tablets, she kissed her father goodnight and

slipped unobtrusively from the room.

She was not tired and didn't want to go to bed, but she was unwilling to

remain by herself while the others played bridge - a game which she had no

intention of growing into! What an insufferable man Gavin Baxter was. Why

Helen wanted to ride with him beat her. Mike Evans was much nicer.

CHAPTER TWO

Sara spent most of the next week with her stepmother, for her father and
everyone else at the Embassy was preoccupied with a trade delegation.

Helen saw it as an ideal opportunity to take Sara shopping, and derived as

much pleasure from it as if she were buying clothes for herself. She spent

hours over the choice of styles and colours and went from one couturier to

another. She was on first name terms with most of them and Sara was

surprised to learn that she had not only been a model for a big wholesale

house but had been concerned with the designing of the clothes they had

produced.

"If I'd wanted to work hard I could have had my own business," she confided
one afternoon at the end of the week as they drove back to the Embassy,

masses of dress boxes around them.

"I'm sure you would have been very successful," Sara said, and meant it.

"I know. But it would have meant having my nose to the grindstone the whole

time." Helen wriggled her feet. They were narrow and well-shaped and she

looked at them with pleasure. "You have no idea what a luxury it is to be able to
do as I like when I like; not to worry about the cost of things and to have no

fears about your security." The black head tilted. "I suppose you think that
mercenary?"

"Not at all. It makes me realise how lucky I am that I've never had to do the

same."

"But you aren't spoilt," Helen said grudgingly.

"That's probably because of my Aunt Grace. She always made me very aware
of the value of money and - " Sara mopped as she saw a hard look settle on

her stepmother's lace. She had not known if Helen realised that her own

arrival on the scene had put paid to Grace Rickards' hopes, but her change of

expression signified that she did.

"Why do you call her Aunt Grace?" Helen asked. "She was only your mother's
cousin."

"But Aunt Grace was orphaned when she was eight and they were brought up

together."

"I think it's affected to call people aunt or cousin, when you're no longer a

child. Next thing I know you'll be wanting to call me mother I"

"I would never do that; I remember my own too well."

Helen had the wit to look discomfited but not sufficient grace to apologise, and

Sara was glad to see they were turning into the Embassy courtyard and she

could busy herself gathering up the parcels.

"Leave them," Helen ordered as though born to servants, and Sara reluctantly
complied and went into the house empty-handed.

Her father and Gavin Baxter were unexpectedly taking tea in the drawing-

room and Helen moved over to the silver tray with an exclamation of delight.

"A cup of tea - just what I need!" She poured herself one, declining the

sandwiches and cakes her husband offered.

Sara had no such inhibitions and helped herself hungrily. She had eaten

nothing since breakfast, for Helen was very careful what she ate and had
refused to take time off from shopping to have lunch. She swallowed a

cucumber sandwich and bit into another one, then became aware of bright

blue eyes watching her. The plate in her hand trembled and she turned to the

tray and busied herself with the big silver teapot.

"Let me do that for you." The voice, quick and deep, left her in no doubt as to
who it was, nor did the long tanned fingers that took the teapot away from

her.

"There's no need," she said frigidly. "I can manage."

"If there's no need, why try?" A cup of tea was poured and handed to her.

"Had a busy day?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I hope you'll give me the opportunity of seeing the clothes you have bought?"

She gave him a cold stare. "I'll be wearing them around."

His lips twitched. "You don't like me much, do you, Sara?"

"I don't know you, Mr. Baxter."

"I'm willing to remedy that. Let me take you out."

This time her look of dislike was obvious. "I don't need an adult to take me for a
walk!"

"How about dancing, then?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let me take you dancing," he repeated. "A new discotheque has opened in
Montmartre. How about our going there tonight?"
"You shouldn't bother wasting your time with schoolgirls, Mr. Baxter."

His smile was decidedly devilish. "Don't you know that children are supposed

to keep grown-ups young?"

Furiously she bit back the words that rushed to her lips, but he seemed

unperturbed by her animosity and went on smiling at her, so that anyone

watching them from a distance would have assumed they were engaged in an

enjoyable conversation.

"If you don't want to go dancing," he said suavely, "how about the theatre? I
know it isn't the pantomime season, but I'm sure I could find something to

amuse you!"

"What about a circus?" she said sweetly. "I would enjoy throwing you to the
lions!"

Not a vestige of a smile crossed his face. "You'll have In wait until Christmas for
that. Now, having eliminated both dancing and the theatre, we're only left

with music."

"I'm tone deaf, Mr. Baxter, and anyway, I'm otherwise engaged for tonight."

"If you aren't doing anything this evening, Gavin," Sir William called from
across the hearth, "how about taking Sara out? Helen and I are dining at the

Elysee."

"I would be delighted to comply, sir," Gavin said instantly, "but I was under the
impression that your daughter was going out too."

"You aren't, are you, dear?" Sir William asked her.

In the fact of such a direct question Sara could not lie, though the baleful look
she shot into the blue eyes did, she hoped, warn Gavin Baxter that his evening

with her was not going to be a pleasant one.

"Eight o'clock," he murmured. "We can go out to dinner. I'm hoping that once
you're well fed, you'll no longer bite!"

Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded. Satisfied that he had had the last

word, Gavin Baxter joined Helen on the settee and was still talking to her

when Mike Evans came in. He looked pale and tired and gratefully accepted

the cup of tea Sara poured for him.

"I suppose you must be lonely with your wife away," she said, making

conversation.

"I'm too busy to miss her."

"How long have you been married?"

"Ten years." He saw her surprise. "I'm thirty-five," he added, "four years older
than Gavin."

"You don't look any older," she commented.

"That comes from good clean living." He smiled, though it did not reach his
eyes.

"Is your wife the same age?"

"A couple of years younger."

"Then you were both very young when you married."

"I didn't think so at the time." His tone implied that he had changed his mind
now and, as if aware of it, he said quickly: "It's a good thing to marry young.

One has a better chance of forming the same likes and dislikes. Don't marry a
man much older than yourself unless you're very certain of the way you feel."

Without realising it Sara's eyes moved to Helen and she quickly brought them

back to Mike's face, seeing from the look on it that he had noticed where her

gaze had travelled.

"I'm only generalising," he murmured. "There are exceptions to every rule."

She sought for a way of changing the conversation but could only think of an

obvious one. "I'm surprised Mr. Baxter isn't married."

"He's too keen on his career to tie himself down."

"Wouldn't marriage help him?"

"Only if it was to the right wife. And I can't see Gavin falling in love to order."

It was difficult for her to imagine him falling in love at all and, as she dressed

to go out with him later that evening, she tried to visualise the woman who

might find his Achilles' heel. She would have to be strong-willed and quick-

witted, as well as clever enough to get her own way without his being aware of

it. The prospect of spending an evening in his company was daunting and she

toyed with the idea of leaving a message to say she had a headache. She was

still considering this and rather enjoying the idea of his anger if she did, when

there was a knock at her door and her father came in. His black dinner jacket

accentuated the grey at his temples and he looked so handsome and

distinguished that Sara could understand why

Helen had married him.

"I thought you would be dressed," he said. "After your shopping spree you can't
complain of having nothing to wear!"

"I have too much choice," she smiled.

"Put on something gay - green, I think."

She didn't have the heart to tell him she was contemplating remaining at

home, and she took out one of her new dresses from the walk-in cupboard. It

was in variegated shades of green chiffon and she stepped into it quickly and

turned for her father to zip it up.

He did so and then watched with pleasure as she moved to the mirror to brush

her hair.

This part of her toilet never took long, for she had only to comb it smooth and

let nature do the rest. It lay round her shoulders in a toffee-gold cloud, the

ends curling under. Carefully, she darkened her eyelashes, applying more

mascara than usual, then colouring her mouth a vivid pink.

"I must remember to give you your mother's jewellery," her father said.

"Everything she had was left to you." He hesitated. "I would like you to know
that my marriage to Helen will make no difference to the - er - financial

arrangements I've made for you. When I die - "

"Please don't talk about it." She was embarrassed. "It isn't necessary."

"Yes, it is. Your mother had a considerable fortune of her own and this was put
into a trust for you. My own money will also come to you in due course - apart

from the proper provision for Helen - though if I have any other children it
would be divided equally between you."

"I don't need any of it," she replied.

"You may not need it, Sara, but you're still my child." He went to the door and
turned for a final look at her.

"Enjoy yourself, my dear, and don't give Gavin too hard a time." He saw her
eyes widen. "I noticed the sparks between you," he teased. "Don't let them burst
into flames."

The door closed and Sara stared at it, more concerned with what he had said

about his own future than hers. It was hard to think of him starting another

family without feeling jealous, even though she knew that children was one

way cementing this May/December marriage. She tried to visualise Helen as a

mother and shook her head, then, annoyed by her critical objectivity, she

picked up a chiffon cape and left her room.

As she went down the stairs Gavin Baxter came out of her father's office and

stood by the bottom step waiting for her. He wore a fawn-coloured dinner

jacket which emphasised his bronze skin and black hair. He could more easily

have passed for a Spaniard than an Englishman, and she remarked on it as

she came abreast of him.

"I have a Cornish mother," he said, "and the Cornish have a polyglot ancestry.

I number several well-known pirates among my forebears."

"You could pass for one yourself."

"I feel a bit like one tonight." He opened the front door and guided her to his car.
"Why?" she asked as she slipped into the front seat.

"Because I feel I'm taking you out against your will — abducting the beautiful
damsel, so to say."

"I'm sure you're far too much of a gentleman to ape your dear departed

relatives."

"Don't be too sure of that," he said darkly, and took his place behind the wheel.
He drove with speed and Sara was glad of her seat-belt, for the traffic

was fierce and French in its temper.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To a little place in the suburbs. They have the best Italian food in Paris."

"Italian food!"

"Since Helen has acquired a marvellous French chef, I felt you might like a

change from French cooking."

"I would," she said, and was surprised he had been perceptive enough to

recognise it. "Do you live with your brother-in-law?" she asked.

"We share a large apartment on the Left Bank. Often we don't see each other

except at the Embassy."

"Do you only have one sister?"

"Three," he replied. "But I'm the only son, so the effort of retrieving the family
fortunes rests on me!"

"You won't make a fortune in the Diplomatic Service," she remarked.

His teeth flashed in a smile. "I should have gone into big business, shouldn't I?"
"That was rather rude of me, wasn't it?" she murmured.

"Yes, it was. But don't worry about it. I forgive you."

"I wasn't apologising, Mr. Baxter, merely stating a fact."

He chuckled. "You really are a naughty little girl!"

Angrily she stared out of the side window, giving a nervous start as his fingers

touched her bare arm.

"Don't try to open the car door while we're moving at speed, Miss Claremont,

because you'll hurt yourself."

"I have no intention of jumping out. I've been obliged to go out with you and I
intend to weather the evening as best I can."

"Don't make it stormy weather. I'm susceptible to chills!"

She tossed her head and her hair swung back from her face to show the

graceful stem of her neck. He made no more conversation and was silent as

they drove through the dusk-filled streets. At last he stopped in a narrow

cobbled road lined with old houses and small shops. One of the shops had been

turned into a restaurant, its bow- fronted windows draped with red curtains.

Inside it was unpretentious but clean, with some dozen tables covered with red

cloths, straight-backed wooden chairs with red velvet squabs and cheery

lighting.

A plump woman greeted them, her face breaking into a smile as she

recognised the man. This was followed by a spate of Italian too fast for Sara to
follow, though she was able to guess from it that this was the patrona and that

her husband - who was the cook - was at this very moment preparing the meal

which the signore had rung up in the morning and ordered for tonight.

"This morning you didn't know I would be coming out with you tonight," Sara
commented as they took their places at a table in the corner.

"I'm a great gambler!"

"I wouldn't have come with you if it hadn't been for my father. Then what

would you have done?"

"There are lots of fish in the sea," he said laconically.

"You're very rude, Mr. Baxter."

"I thought you liked it, Miss Claremont."

"You know I don't."

"Then why not be friends?"

"I wasn't the first one to be rude," she reminded him. "You talked down to me
the first time we met."

"Due to shock," he said, and leaned back in the chair to survey her. "Your father
led me to believe his little girl was coming home from school and in I

walked to find a soignee and sophisticated beauty. I'm afraid my reaction was

a defensive one."

She was surprised. "Why defensive?"

"In case you got under my guard," he said softly.

"I can't imagine you letting any woman do that."

" I haven't done until now." He did not elaborate and she pretendcd to look
around her, glad when the patrona came over to them with a bread basket.

She informed them that the first course would be ready in a few moments and

offered them an aperitif on the house. Sara felt Gavin Baxter's eyes on her

and shook her head.

"Just wine for me, please."

He nodded but accepted a whisky for himself and sipped it slowly, his long

hand cradling the glass. Sara tried to think of those hands on the control stick

of an aircraft and would have liked to talk about that part of his life. But she

was not sure if it would bring back unhappy memories lor him. There was

nothing else she could think of saying and she remained silent, tongue-tied

and embarrassed because she was. It was not like her to be lost for words, for

all her life she had been surrounded by people who had made her feel

welcome. But with this tall, debonair man she could think of nothing to say

that would amuse him.

"You look very beautiful tonight, Miss Claremont."

"Do stop calling me that!"

"But you are beautiful."

"I mean 'Miss Claremont'."

"You didn't like it when I called you Sara," he pointed out.

"Because I hadn't asked you to. But now I am."

"Thank you, Sara, and I hope you will call me Gavin."

"I've never known anyone of that name."

"It's the only unique thing about me!"

She was sure this was not true, but did not say so, for he was sufficiently

conceited. "Where were you before you came to Paris?" she asked.

"In London and then Helsinki."

"You've had a meteoric rise. Most people don't make First Secretary so

quickly."

"Put it down to my great influence," he said, straight- faced.

She was not sure if he was teasing but would not give him the satisfaction of

seeing her doubt. "What future ambitions do you have?" she enquired.

"For you to smile at me as if you mean it!"

The answer was unexpected and it was all she could do not to comply

immediately with his request. He really was a disconcerting man. "I do wish

you would be serious."

"I am serious. I want to be friends with you, and that means I must make you

forget how inauspiciously we began. Look on tonight as our first meeting." He

held out his hand. "Good evening, Sara Claremont. I'm Gavin Baxter. How do

you do."

She smiled and quickly touched her hand to his.

"You look even more beautiful when you're relaxed," he said. "I must see what I
can do to make you relax with me all the time."

Embarrassed, she looked away from his intense blue gaze, glad to see

steaming plates of cannelloni set before them. It was the most delicious she

had tasted: the pasta home-made and filled with a delicate farce of ham and

veal, topped by a creamy sauce. This was followed by thin slices of liver fried

in butter and served with a tangy green salad and the meal concluded with

luscious flaky pastry filled with whipped cream and raspberries.

By the time coffee came, Sara's antagonism towards her escort was beginning

to dissolve, due as much to the excellent meal as to Gavin's charm, from which

she deliberately tried to hold herself aloof.

It was ten o'clock before they drove towards Montmartre. Here the streets

were noisy, music blared and people jostled one another on the sidewalk, but

the discotheque they finally entered was unexpectedly quiet, the music soft

and languorous, the couples young and all appearing to be in love, if the way

they clasped each other as they danced was anything to go by.

If Gavin noticed her staring he made no comment, and as soon as they had

left their things at the table he led her on to the floor. For a brief instant he

stood next to her without touching her. There was so much intimacy in his

glance that she trembled, then his arms drew her close and her trembling

ceased as she fitted her steps to his. He was an easy and effortless dancer,

moving with none of the tenseness she had anticipated. Normally Sara found
her dancing partners uninspiring, not allowing her to offer any of the intricate

steps she had learned at the dancing c lasses she had attended. But Gavin was

different; he danced as if he thoroughly enjoyed it, using his body as a

violinist used the bow of his violin. Sara gave herself up to the pleasure of

movement; her skirt floated around her and her hair splayed out across the

top of his jacket as her cheek rested on his. Because she was so close she

could not see his expression, but she felt the smoothness of his skin and the

hard bone of his cheek. She moved her head slowly and saw his crisp black

hair skimming the collar of his white shirt. He wore his sideburns unusually

long and she was surprised her father allowed it. But then one would not

lightly give orders to a man like Gavin.

For nearly half an hour they danced, then Gavin led her back to the table.

"Coffee, Sara, or something long and cool?"

"Both," she said, and he smiled and gave the order. Almost at once tall glasses of
fresh fruit juice were set before them and she sipped hers and wrinkled her

nose with pleasure, for it was a delicious concoction of peach and grape.

"You're an excellent dancer, Sara. Most English girls aren't."

"Nor are most Englishmen!"

"I think they consider it indecent! You can put the blame for my prowess on to
my Cornish ancestors."

"Cornwall is part of England," she protested. "Or do they want Home Rule too?"

He grinned and, standing up, pulled her back on to the dance floor, moving his
hands slowly down her back to clasp her waist.

"In that dress you look as if you should be dancing in Giselle," he murmured.

"One of the Wilis?" she questioned. "Or Giselle herself?"

"I see you know your ballet."

"All part of a finishing school education!"

"What else did they teach you there?"

"How to be a lady," she said demurely.

"I'm sure they wouldn't have to teach you how to be a woman," he said

huskily. "You do that automatically."

Nervously she stiffened and he gave her a gentle shake. "Don't be scared of

me, Sara, I'm only flirting with you."

"I'm not scared," she said, but knew that she was, for he was clever and

experienced and she was young and foolish; how foolish she was only

beginning to recognise. She must take a hold of herself; she mustn't allow the

insidious beat of the music to infiltrate her emotions. She was simply spending

an evening with her father's First Secretary who was only taking her out

because it was the diplomatic thing to do.

"I'm glad your father made you come with me tonight." His words gave the lie to
her thoughts. "It means I'm the first man to take you out since you've left
school."

She pulled slowly back to look up at him. "Does that make you something

special?"
"I hope so. They say a girl never forgets her first man."

Her face flamed with colour and she quickly lowered her head. "That remark

doesn't usually apply to a date!"

"Hut I meant it to," he said quickly. "I didn't intend it as… Heck, I'm getting into
deep water!"

His discomfiture eased her own and she giggled. "You'd better be careful what

you say to me in future."

"I enjoy being honest with you, Sara. But if you find it embarrassing, I'll try not
to be!"

"I like honesty," she said. "I hate people who pretend." She gave him a
provocative look. "I suppose that's what you mostly do?"

"Of course. I'm a diplomat, remember?"

She laughed. "My father is always honest. I can't imagine him being evasive or
lying."

"He's neither. That's why he's so successful. When he says something, people

know they can believe it. He's wasted in Paris. The French adore a bit of

intrigue and your father isn't cut out for it."

"But Helen loves it here." Sara was sorry immediately she had spoken, she was
afraid the words gave her away.

"Helen would love anywhere where she can be the queen bee," he replied.

"She adores dressing up and showing off."

"What's wrong with that?" Sara asked defensively.

"Nothing, and I'm not criticising your beautiful step- mama." He whirled her
round before he spoke again. "I'm glad you're good friends. I think your father
was worried in case you wouldn't be."

"Even if I hadn't liked her I would have done my best to bide it," she said. "My
father deserves to be happy. My mother was ill for several years before she

died and he didn't have an easy life."

Gavin made no comment and, glancing up at him, Sara saw a brooding look on

his face. It vanished the instant he felt her eyes on him and his lips moved in

a smile, his teeth white in the darkness of his face.

"Why are we wasting time talking about other people when we should be

talking about ourselves? There's so much I don't know about you, Sara. What

have you been doing with yourself for the last eighteen years?"

"Growing up," she said so promptly that he laughed aloud and twirled her

wildly around the floor.

It was two o'clock when they drove home through the quiet streets, empty

save for a few dustcarts and a strolling gendarme or two. At the Embassy door

Gavin lightly touched his lips to her wide brow.

"I'm glad you didn't wait for the summer term before leaving Mademoiselle

Rose's," he said softly. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here for the month of June."

"What's special about June?"

"The fact that it's June in Paris and you'll be here to share it with me."

"That sounds like a song lyric," she smiled.

"You make me feel lyrical." He caught her hand and raised it to his lips.
She felt the warmth of his mouth on her knuckles and knew a strong urge to

turn her hand and place her palm against it. Quickly she snatched her hand

away, and saw he misinterpreted the gesture as one of fear.

"Goodnight, Gavin, and thank you for a lovely evening."

"The first of many, I hope." As the guard opened the door he stepped into the
hall with her. "Will I have to employ your father's help the next time I ask you
out?"

"Try it and see."

"Very well. There's no time like the present." His fingers were cool on her arm.

"Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night, and the night after that too, if we
aren't tied up officially?"

"I'd like to have dinner with you tomorrow," she said carefully.

"But you won't commit yourself further?"

"A lady never commits herself!"

His laugh echoed after her as she sped up the stairs, and it remained in her

ears as she undressed and climbed Into bed.

Paris in June. Paris in June with Gavin Baxter. It could well be a month she

would remember all her life.

CHAPTER THREE

Though Sara warned herself to be wary of Gavin's considerable charm, the

more she held herself aloof from it the more aware she was of it. She had to

concede that he was not deliberately setting out to captivate her, for he was
equally charming to the other women at the Embassy: the bevy of efficient

and for the most part extremely attractive girls who worked as secretaries and

clerical staff. Being charming came as naturally to Gavin as breathing. He was

also unaware of his devastating good looks, for she never saw him glance at

himself in a mirror as he passed one or make any gesture to show he was

conscious of his appearance. He was, she concluded, a man of natural talent

and personality, smiled upon by the gods and given a handful of gifts where

one alone would have been sufficient to set him on the road to success.

"He'll go far," her father echoed one evening, a few days after Gavin had gone to
Copenhagen to attend a conference. "I'm glad you like him, Sara. I wasn't

sure he would let you."

"Let me?"

"Well, he's used to your fair sex making a play for him and when he wants, he

can be prickly and standoffish."

"Why should he be prickly with me?" she asked.

"Because you're an extremely pretty female and an extremely rich one."

"But — "

"And because Gavin has no money other than his salary."

She thought of the beautiful flat he shared with his brother-jn-law, to which

he had taken her last week. "Maybe not rich in our terms," she murmured,

"but he has a lovely home."

"Mike and his wife live there and it's Mike who has the money. A great deal,

actually."

Sara thought of the expensive restaurants to which Gavin had taken her and

was filled with remorse as she remembered the way she had ordered without a

glance at the cost.

"Gavin isn't a pauper," her father went on, "but he's determined not to be thought
of as a fortune-hunter."

"It never entered my head that he was."

"Nor mine. If he'd been so inclined he could have been married several times

over."

It was hard to conceive that no one had yet succeeded in capturing him. He

was a man any woman would have been proud to have as a husband. Even

thinking of this set Sara's pulses racing, and she was aware of her body in a

way She had never been aware of before.

"Is Gavin coming back tonight?" Helen broke into her thoughts.

Sara shook her head. "He's coming back in the morning."

"So that's why we have the pleasure of your company. I've seen so little of you
lately that I was going to write you a letter!"

"I haven't been as elusive as all that," Sara protested, and glanced at her father,
who was openly smiling.

Helen noticed it too and gave an exclamation of annoyance. "I don't know why

you should consider my remark amusing, William, or don't you mind Sara
spending all her time with one man?"

"Not when it's Gavin," he replied. "At least I know Sara is safe with him."

"No woman is safe with any man. They're all out for what they can get."

"If you talk like that, Helen," Sara protested, "you're guaranteed to make Daddy
defend Gavin. You know how men stick together."

"I certainly do!" Helen rasped. "That's about the only thing one can guarantee in
this world."

"I must see what I can do to soften your mood." Sir William bent forward to pat
his wife on the cheek, but she drew back sharply.

"William, don't! I can't bear being touched the whole time."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and quietly left the room.

Sara's first impulse was to run after him, but resolutely she told herself that

she must not make the quarrel her concern. However, she could not hide her

expression, and Helen noticed it and gave an angry snort.

"You're angry with me, aren't you?"

"Not at all."

"Your father is."

"You are rather hard on him," Sara said quietly.

"Sometimes he gets on my nerves. I don't expect you to understand."

"I don't want to try," Sara said honestly. "When my father married you I made up
my mind not to get involved."

"That's a very laudable position," Helen sneered, "but you can't stand on the
sidelines all the time. One day you have to come down on one side or the
other."

"Not where your marriage is concerned. That's strictly between you and my

father."

Helen reached for a cigarette. She did not smoke often, saying she found it

unfeminine, but she smoked now, quick angry puffs. "I suppose you've often

wondered why I married him," she said abruptly. "Don't bother denying it; you'd
be a fool if you hadn't."

Sara hesitated and then spoke. "I assumed you loved him."

"I did - I do." The cigarette was stubbed out. "He's an easy man to love: kind,
considerate, gentle. Too gentle really. It would be better if he answered me

back or shouted at me sometimes."

"I don't think my father has ever shouted at a woman in his life," Sara smiled.

"Then he's an angel - and angels can be boring!"

Unwilling to hear any more, Sara stood up. "I don't want to listen to you

saying things you'll regret when your temper has died down."

"What makes you think I will regret it?"

Without replying Sara walked out, and did not return to the salon until the

gong rang to announce dinner. Helen appeared to have forgotten her earlier

bad temper, but Sara found herself watching her with eyes that were

unusually keen. Her stepmother was drinking too much and was perceptibly

thinner. Her father was not unaware of it cither, for she saw him glance

covertly at his wife from time to time. Was he having any regrets about the
marriage or did he think Helen was merely in a bad mood that would pass? It

was impossible for her to ask him and she knew that the kindest thing she

could do was pretend she did not notice the tension between them.

It was tension that only lifted when Mike dropped in for coffee. As always he

greeted Sara affectionately and Helen with careful consideration. He still called

her Lady Claremont, which was surprising, particularly as he was several years

her senior, and Sara wondered why Helen had not asked him to call her by her

first name. Because these thoughts were in her mind it was uncanny that her

father chose that moment to voice them.

"You know, Mike," he said mildly, "considering you and Helen are the same
generation, don't you think you could drop the formality? I'm sure Helen would

be delighted."

Mike's glance slid swiftly across to the woman on his right, who nodded

carelessly.

"William is right; I've been meaning to tell you for ages. I'll have to tell Gavin
too."

"Helen it shall be," Mike said easily. "At prep school I played Helena in A
Midsummer Night's Dream."

"That one was a fool," Helen said crisply. "If I remember my Shakespeare, she
was one of his mixed-up lovers."

"Not really," Sara protested. "Everything came out all right in the end."

"Only because it was a play. In real life she would have been left high and dry.

She was such a fool."

“I can't say that play is one of my favourites," Sir William said. "I prefer the
histories."

"You would," Helen said good-humouredly. "I bet your favourite is Henry V."

"It's mine, too," Mike said and, to prove it, began to recite.

Quietly Sara wandered on to the terrace. It was nine- thirty and the evening

stretched ahead of her. Was Gavin dining at the Embassy in Copenhagen or

was he out with friends? He might even be with a girl. Jealousy washed over

her and she gripped the top of the balustrade. It was foolish to feel like this

about a man she had only known for a month and one who was also thirteen

years her senior. Yet what did time or age matter when there was an un-

definable magic ingredient between two people that drew them towards each

other?

"Gavin." She whispered the name softly, afraid lest anyone should hear. How did
he feel about her? Was she someone special or did he see her merely as an

excellent way of installing himself in the good books of the man for whom he

worked? The thought filled her with despair, I or it made all of Gavin's remarks

and kindnesses seem like expedience. Pushing away such painful beliefs, she

returned to the salon where Mike and Helen were deep in conversation. He

looked pink and embarrassed and there was a glint in Helen's eye that made

Sara hope her stepmother was not venting her temper upon him. She glanced

at her father, immersed in his Times, and wondered if he was aware of his

wife's boredom. Surely he realised that the difference in age alone could make
Helen dissatisfied with a life which he considered complete, or did he believe

that love could bridge everything, including the generation gap?

Tenderness made her move to his side and rest her face against his hair.

"My dear," he was surprised and moved. "Is anything wrong?"

"No; should there be?"

"You've been somewhat restless all evening. Missing Gavin?"

She wondered if her feelings for Gavin were obvious or whether her father still

saw him as a companion. "I'm used to being with all my friends," she said. "It
takes time to get used to one's own company."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about the future." Sir William put down his
newspaper. "You're quite free to do anything you like - nothing at all if you

prefer - but if you have any particular ambition…"

"Languages, I think," she murmured.

"You also paint well, and your music reports were excellent."

"All the attributes of a dedicated Victorian miss," she said brightly, "but hardly
the burning talent of a dedicated artist or musician."

"You don't need to earn a living at it, my dear."

"That's beside the point. I should at least earn my pin money and not have to

spend yours."

"You don't need to spend mine," he twinkled. "You're an heiress in your own
right."

"Don't remind me. I want to forget it."

"You can't forget your heritage."

"I don't need to wave it in front of me like a banner!"

"No one could accuse you of doing that. You're the least pretentious young

woman I know."

"And you know lots of young women, don't you?" she teased.

"Enough to know your assets. Though maybe it's your Aunt Grace whom I

should thank for those. She had far more to do with your upbringing than I

did." For an instant there was a cloud behind the grey eyes that were so like

his daughter's. "Would you like to spend a few weeks with her in London?"

"I probably will, in the autumn. When you got married she wrote and said I

could stay with her any time I - " Sara stopped, hoping she had not said too

much, but her father was not a diplomat for nothing and knew instantly what

she had left unsaid.

"How typical of Grace to offer you a home in case you weren't happy here. She

was always devoted to you."

Sara nearly said "and to you too", but deemed it wiser to be silent, though she
would have given a great deal to know if her father was aware that Grace

loved him.

"Maybe Aunt Grace will get married now she's living on her own," she said
carefully. "Keeping house for you didn't give her much opportunity for

romance."

"Nonsense," her father interrupted. "I never stood in her way; she was free to
come and go as she pleased."
"I rather think her name was linked with yours," Sara said daringly and,

glancing at her father beneath the tangle of her eyelashes, saw him look

distinctly uncomfortable.

"I must say I never realised it at the time," he murmured. "It wasn't until I
became engaged to Helen that I realised friends had coupled my name with

Grace. It was shortsighted of me hot to have foreseen this, but she was always

so circumspect and detached that I never thought of her as anything other

than your mother's cousin."

"She's a lovely, charming woman," Sara said bluntly, then picked up the

newspaper and pretended to scan the crossword puzzle.

"What are our plans for the summer, William?" Helen had left Mike and drifted
towards her husband and stepdaughter.

"I thought we would spend six weeks at Rokebury."

"I don't fancy sticking myself in the country for six whole weeks." Helen's eyes
slid to Sara and then back to her husband. "Anyway, it isn't good for Sara. She
should be in London with people of her own age."

"I have masses of friends at Rokebury," Sara said. "I always spend the summer
there." As she spoke she knew that this summer she would rather be with

Gavin - whether it be in London, the country or Timbuktu. Once again the

knowledge of how much he had come to mean to her made her realise her own

vulnerability and, afraid of giving herself away, she announced that she was

going to bed.

She was halfway across the hall when the telephone rang. It was their private
line and she heard Helen's voice answer it and then her own name being

called.

"It's for you, Sara. It's Gavin."

"I'll take it in the hall." Sara knew her voice was breathless, but she could not
prevent it, and she sped across the marble floor to the gilt console table and

picked up the receiver.

Disembodied, Gavin's voice was deeper than she had remembered, but it

brought a vivid picture of him to mind, of his beautifully shaped mouth close to

the telephone and his brilliant blue eyes that gave the impression of seeing so

much.

"I'm glad I found you in," he said.

"We're all here - Mike too."

"Mike?" Gavin queried. "Is he with you now?"

"I left him in the salon. I was going to bed when your call came."

"It's early for you to go to bed, isn't it?" His voice grew lower. "I wish I were
there with you, Sara."

She went pink, not sure what he meant, and he seemed to understand her

silence, for his laugh echoed softly down the line. "You look such an

emancipated young woman yet you're so intrinsically shy."

"Only with you," she said, finding her tongue.

"Why just with me?"

"Because of the way you tease me and because - " her eyes sparkled
mischievously though she kept her voice expressionless, "and because you

belong to an older generation."

He gave a sharp exclamation. "It's a good thing you aren't within speaking

distance, or you'd feel the weight of my hand!"

"I'd rather like that." She heard his breath catch.

"How flirtatious you are, Sara, when you're a safe distance from me. It will be
interesting to see if you're the same when I'm with you."

"When are you coming back?" she asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon. If you don't hear from me before, I'll pick you up at

eight."

Because she was intent on hiding her feelings for Gavin, Sara was unusually

distant towards him when they met the following night. He was a few moments

late, due to being kept by her father, and she gulped down an unaccustomed

vodka and tonic, not because she wanted anything to drink but because she

needed Dutch courage. She was wearing an unusually sophisticated dress, one

she had bought more to please Helen than because she had liked it herself,

though she had admitted - when she had put it on tonight - that it made her

look aloofly beautiful, which was exactly the image she wished to present. Of

Mack chiffon, it made her look taller and even more slender than she was, and

emphasised the gold in her toffee-coloured hair. Excitement lent colour to her

high cheekbones and sparkle to eyes which, tonight, were smoky grey, with
the pupils large and dark, though she was careful to keep them veiled by her

lashes as Gavin strode into the small sitting room in search of her. In a black

dinner jacket he was exactly as she always thought of him: his tanned face

slightly sardonic, his hair dark as night and his teeth flashing white in a smile

as he came over and caught her hand.

"Lovely Sara." His deep blue eyes were appraising as they travelled her

slender length, pausing on the soft curves of her young breasts and the

incredibly tiny waist. His fingers tightened, and then quickly released hers. "In
all the time I've taken you out, you've never kept me waiting. You must have

set up some sort of record."

"Diplomats' families are taught to be punctual," she smiled.

"Have you never deliberately wanted to be late just because you were taught

not to be?" he quizzed.

"Not really. I'm a very docile girl."

"So you are. That's another surprising thing about you. One would expect

someone as lovely as you to be difficult and spoilt. Yet you're exactly the

opposite - almost too easy-going."

"You didn't think so the first time we met," she reminded him, and saw his smile
widen.

"That shows how wrong first impressions can be!" He caught hold of her hand
again and lightly swung it backwards and forwards. "I haven't made any plans

for tonight. I thought we would take the car and drive out of Paris." He eyed
the fragile chiffon. "Though perhaps we'd better dine in town after all."

"I would much rather we went into the country. I can always put on something

more serviceable."

"No. You look beautiful the way you are. Beautiful," he repeated, and moved a
step nearer, stopping as Helen came into the room.

She was resplendent in one of her usual vividly-coloured dinner dresses, and

Gavin dropped Sara's hand and went over to greet her.

"I'm so glad I caught you both before you left," Helen smiled. "If you haven't
booked anywhere special, why not join William and myself at Valentino's?"

"We're going to have dinner in the country," Sara replied.

Helen's dark eyes moved to Gavin. "Mike and Jane are joining us. I suppose

you know she returned from Yorkshire today?"

"Yes." Gavin's voice was unexpectedly husky. "But I didn't have much chance of
saying anything beyond a quick hello. I only got back to the flat with

enough time to change and get here." He gave Sara a quick glance and then

said to Helen: "Actually I'd be delighted to accept your invitation. Sara and I can
go to the country another evening."

"How lovely," Helen smiled. "I'll tell Williams secretary to get us a larger table."

Sara watched her go and determinedly refused to look at Gavin. She had

looked forward to spending the evening alone with him and was incredibly hurt

that he had succumbed to Helen's invitation. But pride refused to let her show

it. If Gavin didn't want to be alone with her, then so be it.

"I'm sorry about that, Sara." He stood directly behind her. "There was no way I
could refuse Helen without annoying her."

Sara shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Anyway, you've never met my sister Jane," he went on. "I'm sure you'll like
her."

"I'm sure I shall," Sara said lightly, "but I'll have plenty of other opportunities to
meet her. Mike dines here at least twice a week." She heard Gavin's quick

intake of breath and knew her remark had been correctly interpreted.

"I couldn't refuse," he repeated. "I've got my - there are reasons why."

"What reasons?"

"None you need worry your pretty head about." He sidestepped and came to

stand in front of her. "Don't be angry, Sara. We'll go out alone tomorrow

night."

"I'm not free tomorrow night."

"Oh?"

It was a query, though he did not elaborate and, satisfied that she had his full

attention, she said:

"I'm going out with a friend."

"Male or female?"

"Male," she lied. "You aren't the only man I know in Paris, Gavin. I have lived
here before."

"I realise that." He was stiff and polite, and as she stared into his blue eyes,
which were suddenly glacial, the pleasure with which she had looked forward

to this evening began to ebb. If only Helen had not come in when she had!
More important, if only Gavin had been strong-minded enough to turn down

the invitation.

A sudden thought struck her and she was annoyed for not having considered it

before; had she done so she would not have lost her temper with him. "You

don't need to be frightened of Helen. My father wouldn't have been offended if

you'd refused her invitation."

"I realise that."

"Then why - "

"I've told you why I accepted it," he said incisively. "I have nothing more to
add."

"Well then," she said brightly, and blinked her eyes to hold back the sting of
tears, "that ends that conversation, doesn't it?"

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but Sir William chose that moment to

come in and jovially asked Gavin to pour him a whisky.

Sara sat down, avoiding the settee in case Gavin came to sit next to her.

Hardly had she done so when Helen returned, followed by Mike and a plump

woman whom Sara instantly recognised as Gavin's sister, for she had the same

blue eyes and black hair. She was plainly dressed and wore little make-up, but

she had a gamine quality which Sara liked, despite being annoyed at having to

meet her tonight.

"So you're Sara?" Jane perched herself on a chair nearby. "Gavin has told me a
lot about you."
"How could he? You've only just got back."

"We've kept in touch." She glanced at her brother, who was deep in

conversation with Sir William. "I was staying with my parents, and it's a ritual
for him to ring them every Sunday morning. He has done it ever since he left

home."

"How unusual!" Sara could not hide her surprise.

"Not when you know what a close-knit family we are. My mother has a bad

heart," Jane added, "and it's made us all extremely protective towards her -

especially Gavin, who's her favourite."

"Don't you mind?" asked Sara.

"Good heavens, no! Anyway, it's natural. He's the only boy among three

sisters!"

"No wonder he's spoilt."

Jane raised her eyebrows. "I don't think Gavin's spoilt. You're not serious, are
you?"

Sara shrugged and sipped her drink. Gavin was right about her liking his

sister. She did, as it happened, for there was a warmth about the girl that

reminded her of her friend Ann. Suddenly she remembered the letter she had

received from her that morning. In it she had said her older brother Charles

was staying at the Plaza for a few days and she hoped Sara would have a

chance to call him.

"I'll do more than that," Sara decided devilishly and, murmuring an apology to
Jane, left the room.

In the library, she put in a call to Charles, praying he had not yet gone out for

the evening. Luckily he hadn't, and was delighted to hear from her.

"Ann won't forgive me if I go back home without telling her I've seen you," he
said after they had chatted a few moments. "I know it's short notice, but I

wonder if you would be free to have a drink with me?"

"Not tonight," she said, "but I am free for dinner tomorrow."

His hesitation was perceptible and mischievously she remembered that the last

time they had met she had been a gauche and plump sixteen.

"That would suit me fine," he replied.

"Then call for me at the Embassy at eight," she said, and hoped Gavin would be
around when he did.

Sara returned to the drawing-room with a sense of achievement which helped

her to get through the best part of the evening. She was cool towards Gavin

and resolutely refused to meet his eyes. When forced to do so, she kept her

own deliberately blank, and after several vain attempts to get mentally close

to her, Gavin too became aloof. Remembering how eagerly she had looked

forward to going out with him tonight Sara was hard put not to burst into

tears. This might have been the reaction of a normal eighteen-year-old girl

frustrated in love, but was not how the sophisticated daughter of Sir William

Claremont would behave.

Helen seemed to be enjoying herself more than anyone else. With Gavin and
Mike as escorts of her own age, she was in her element, and Sir William was

content to let her dance with both of them in turn, while he stayed at the table

chatting to Jane, who could not dance because of a strained calf muscle.

"That comes from riding too much," her husband said unsympathetically after
she had refused to take the floor with him. "Jane is mad about horses," he
confided to the table. "Sometimes I think she prefers them to people."

"I rather endorse my sister's view," Gavin interposed. "One can pretty well assess
what a horse is going to do if one looks at its breeding and training, but

people are always unknown factors."

"Surely that makes for interest?" Helen queried.

"And trouble too."

"Let's not hear any talk of trouble," Sir William said urbanely. "We're here to
enjoy ourselves."

Helen flashed him a brilliant smile, though when she stood up it had been to

dance with Gavin, who had stepped in front of Mike.

"My turn, I believe," he said suavely, and moved her on to the floor before she
could reply.

With a slightly discomfited grin Mike turned to Sara. "Will you take pity on me,
since my wife can't?"

"Sure," Sara grinned back and, as his arms came round her, she tried not to think
that they might have been Gavin's. "I like Jane," she said as they moved out of
earshot of the table.

"Everyone likes Jane."

"Where did you meet?"

"It's so long ago I can hardly remember. Gavin was my fag at Eton. I must
have been sixteen when I met Jane, but I didn't start taking her out till I was

much older."

"Why not?"

"Because she was a baby." He swung Sara round the floor in several intricate
steps and grinned at her, highly delighted with himself. "A much younger

eighteen than 'you are. She was a real country girl when I first dated her." His
glance slid past Sara to the table. "She hasn't changed much since then

either."

"I think it's rather nice to retain one's youthful illusions."

"Nice or naive?" Mike asked with such unexpected harshness that Sara did not
know how to reply; a fact which made her realise that she too was naive. The

tempo of the music changed and as Mike slowed his step to match the rhythm,

they found themselves abreast of Helen and Gavin.

"How fortuitous," the older girl drawled, touching Mike on the elbow. "I'm sure
Gavin and Sara would love to dance together."

Mike quickly swung Helen away, leaving Gavin and Sara next to each other.

Ignoring her uplifted hand, he put both of his around her waist and pulled her

none too gently against him until their bodies were touching. With sinuous

grace he moved in time to the music. Sara tried to hold herself aloof, but with

his body touching hers it was impossible. All she could feel was the hardness of

his chest against her soft breasts and the steel-like pressure of his thigh.

"Relax," he murmured into her ear. "You know the old saying, if you can't fight,
give in and enjoy it!"
"The way I heard it, it was if you can't fight, pretend to give in."

His grip tightened and she was hard put not to wince. "Don't make me angry

with you," he grated.

"Why should you be angry with me?"

"A good question. I'll answer it if you'll tell me why you're angry with me."

"You know."

"Because I accepted your stepmother's invitation? I told you I had my

reasons."

"So you had reasons," she retorted. "But next time don't ask me to go with you as
well."

"What about your date tomorrow?"

His remark took her by surprise. "With Charles?"

His grip was now almost bone-shattering. "So that's his name. I would like to

remind you that you'd made arrangements to come out with me before we

quarrelled."

Sara lowered her eyes to hide the smile in them. Poor Gavin I He didn't realise

how clearly his jealousy was showing. She longed to tell him she had made her

arrangements with Charles only when she had been provoked into anger, but

deliberately held herself in check.

"I didn't think you wanted to see me every night," she whispered sweetly.

"Some things don't need to be put into words."

"Girls like things to be put into words."

"What about actions?" He spoke against her ear. "Leave with me now, Sara. I'll
think of an excuse."

In triumph she could afford to be perverse and she shook her head. "I don't

want to leave now. I'm enjoying myself."

"A moment ago you said you weren't."

"I've changed my mind. Don't you know that's a woman's prerogative?"

"You're a spoilt child, not a woman!"

Provocatively she tilted her head at him. "Do you always hold children so

close?"

With a muffled imprecation he held her away from him and she gazed into his

face with deliberate innocence. A pulse beat erratically in the side of his

temple and his eyes were narrowed in controlled fury. Contented in the

knowledge that she had finally roused him to anger, jealousy and desire, she

demurely suggested they return to their table.

"I've had enough, Gavin," she said sweetly.

"So have I," he replied without expression. "More than enough."

CHAPTER FOUR

Sara would have given a great deal to call off her dinner with Charles, but

conscience refused to let her. And it was this same conscience which made her

take extra pains with her appearance. She forced herself to remember she was
going out with Charles to make Gavin jealous, and the fact that he already

was must not stop her from continuing with her plans. Indeed, it should give a

fillip to the action.

To her delight her father was giving a small cocktail party at the Embassy,

with both Gavin and Mike in attendance, and she decided to take Charles along

for a quick drink - just to make sure Gavin saw them - before they went out.

The look on Charles's face when he saw her clearly showed what a pleasurable

shock he had received, and she was sorely tempted to tease him about it until

she remembered that she was supposed to be a femme fatale and not his kid

sister's best friend.

Charles too had changed. Though not as good-looking as Gavin, he was a

presentable young man. Tall, well- built and honest-looking, he had a polish

that came from a good education, and charmed her father and stepmother

when she took him in to say a quick hello. It was not until they were on their

way out that she found Gavin in front of them.

"Leaving so soon, Sara? At least stay and give your guest another drink."

"Charles and I would rather be on our own." Sara linked her arm through his and
was glad when he covered her hand with his own, a gesture which Gavin

saw, as could be witnessed by the steel-like flash in his eyes.

"Are you staying in Paris long?" Gavin asked Charles.

"Only a couple of days." Charles looked at Sara. "But I'm hoping to come back
again in a couple of weeks."
"I might be in London by then," Sara said artlessly.

"Then you'll save me a trip," Charles responded with gallantry, and rightly read
the pressure of Sara's hand to mean that she wanted to leave.

She knew Gavin watched them until they had disappeared, knew too that he

would spend a miserable evening thinking of her. This gave zest to her own

evening and she was in unusually good spirits as she dined and danced with

Charles, who was soon enchanted by this slender fey creature with her toffee-

gold hair and lambent grey eyes.

It was after one o'clock when he left her at the Embassy, where she managed

to avoid his seeking mouth so that his kiss landed on her brow.

"If you do come to London before I get back here," he said hoarsely, "will you
promise to let me know?"

"Yes," she lied and, adroitly sidestepping him, slipped into the hall.

"Goodnight, Charles," she called through the closed door, and tiptoed across the
hall. As she did so she saw the light on in the small library, and thinking

her father was there, she went in. But it was Helen who stood there, stubbing

out a cigarette in an ashtray.

"I'm sorry," Sara said. "I thought it was Father."

"He's in bed. I've only just come in."

"Oh." Sara paused uncertainly and Helen shrugged.

"I went to a charity film show with Gavin. It was for orphaned children."

"Father gets tickets for it every year," Sara said automatically. "Someone from
the Embassy always makes a point of going."
"Well, I was seconded for it this time." Helen's voice was jerky, as were her
movements as she swung past Sara. "You coming up now?"

Sara nodded and followed her stepmother up the curving stairs. Her pleasure

had evaporated, turned to ashes by the knowledge that Gavin had found

someone else to take her place. But it was ridiculous to be jealous of her

stepmother, and she tried to push away the oppressive feelings that were

engulfing her.

"Was it a good film?" she asked.

"Excellent, but then I love musicals. I'm afraid Gavin doesn't." They had reached
the main corridor and Helen opened the door of her suite, leaving

Sara to make her way to her own room at the far end.

Gavin had said nothing to her about taking her to a film show tonight. If he

had had the tickets surely he would have told her about it before he had gone

to Copenhagen? Unless he had intended to take Helen all the time? Moodily

she kicked off her shoes and padded around the room, the long skirts of her

dress trailing on the carpet. She was so deep in gloomy thoughts that it was

several moments before she became aware of the sound of hailstones beating

against the window. She stared at the closed curtains. It was unusual for a

storm to come up so quickly. There was another rattle on the pane and she

walked over and pushed aside the curtains. The sky was cloudless and in the

garden below not a branch stirred. As she stood there there was another

shower of pebbles against the glass, and she jerked back violently, but not
before she saw the pale blur of an upturned face on the path below. Someone

was trying to get her attention. Quietly she opened the window and stepped on

to the balcony. At once the figure below moved, and with a gasp of

astonishment she saw it was Gavin.

"I thought you'd never hear me," he whispered. "I must have flung a ton of
gravel."

"I thought it was a storm."

"There's a storm all right," he replied. "But it's in me! Come down here, Sara, I
want to talk to you."

"I'm going to bed."

"You aren't even undressed yet. Come down."

"No."

"Then I'll come up."

"You can't," she protested.

"We'll see about that."

She watched, fascinated, as he grasped the trellis that masked the wall and

climbed agilely up it until his head was on a level with her balustrade. "I'll have
to call you Romeo," she said lightly.

"Don't put ideas into my head!"

She went scarlet and stepped back quickly, intent on getting into her room and

locking the windows behind her.

As if guessing her intention Gavin vaulted over the pillars with the ease of a
trained athlete and in one bound was across the balcony and gripping her by

the shoulders. "If you go into your room," he grated, "I'm coming in with you.

And I'd better warn you you'll be much safer with me if you remain out here!"

Instantly her struggle ceased and he laughed. But it was a strained laugh, as if

he were not amused.

"I've been waiting for you for hours, Sara."

"You couldn't have been. You only brought Helen home a little while ago."

"It seems like hours. I thought you would never get back."

"I don't know Charles well enough to spend the night with him!"

"Don't you?" Gavin put his hand under her chin and jerked her head up so

violently that she thought her neck would snap. "Have you ever done it

before?" he stormed.

"Don't be silly."

"I'm asking you," he grated.

"Of course I haven't. Don't you know?"

His breath came out on a long sigh. "I don't know anything about you any

more. You have me so mogadored I can't think straight. What have you done

to me, Sara? You've turned my whole life upside down."

She forced herself not to see in his words everything she wanted to see. "I

don't know what you mean," she murmured.

"I know you don't, and that makes it even worse. If you were a woman you
would know. But you're a child… an untouched child."

There were many replies she could have made, but thoughts of Helen kept her

silent, and all she could do was stand and tremble within his grasp.

"Can't you say anything?" he demanded. "You've never been short of words
before."

"I don't know what to say. I don't understand you."

"I thought I was being pretty obvious," he said drily.

"Not to me." She moistened her lips. "You were - you were with Helen tonight."

"Because I was free. Did you think I'd planned to take her out?"

"Didn't you?"

"Of course not." He dropped his hands away from her. "She was supposed to go
with Mike. But he couldn't go because Jane had come back, and as I was

free, I went instead."

How simple the truth could make everything! Sara gave a sigh of pure relief,

and with a radiant face, she lifted her arms and placed them round Gavin's

neck. He gave a shudder and went to pull away, but she clung to him more

tightly and with a moan he gathered her against him and lowered his head

until his mouth found hers. It was a long and deeply satisfying kiss; the most

adult kiss of Sara's life and one that awakened her from girlhood to

womanhood. She was as innocent as Gavin had said, but passion gave her

knowledge and her mouth parted beneath his and was open to his seeking.

"No!" It was a quiet but forceful sound and his hands came up and tore her arms
away from his neck. "No, Sara, you don't know what you're doing."

"I'm only kissing you."

"Only!" he cried, and as if he could not stop himself, pulled her back into his
arms. But he was careful not to touch her mouth, and rested his chin on the

top of her head. "Your hair feels as soft as silk," he murmured, "and in the
moonlight it looks like spun gold."

"Yours reminds me of jet. You are my pirate, Gavin. Did you know that's how I

think of you?"

"Your pirate?" There was amusement in his voice. "Don't put any ideas into my
head. For less than two pins I would abduct you!"

"For less than two pins I'd go!"

"Then why all the teasing?" he demanded. "This Charles… I was so

murderously jealous I could have killed him!"

"I was jealous too. That's why I…" She hesitated. "It was because of Helen."

She felt him stiffen, but when he replied his voice was casual.

"You have no reason to be jealous of your stepmother. It isn't very logical."

"Jealousy is rarely logical, and I love you so much that - " She stopped, furious
at her indiscretion, but it was too late to retract the words, for he gave a soft

but triumphant laugh.

"Darling Sara!" This time his hand under her chin was gentle as he tilted her
head until their eyes met. "Any other girl would have waited for the man to

say it first, but you have such honesty, such a lack of guile that you can't

prevaricate."
"I'd make a rotten diplomat," she said ruefully, and waited for him to echo her
own declaration. But instead he went on looking into her eyes.

"There's so much I want to say, Sara, but I have no right. I should never have
taken you out."

Mortified, she stared at him. "You needn't bother letting me down lightly. If

you were flirting with me, just say so. I'll get over you, Gavin. I'm young and -

"

"That's the trouble," he interrupted. "You're too young. Oh, Sara, I'm not trying
to say I don't love you. Just that I love you too much to tie you down

until you've seen more of life."

"I'm eighteen. That's not a child."

"But such a young eighteen. You know nothing of the world. You've been

cocooned and you're still wrapped round by it."

"Then you must show me how to get free." She went to put her arms around

his neck, but he caught hold of them and pressed them down to her sides.

"No, darling, please don't. I…"

"You don't love me," she said brokenly. "You needn't pretend.

"I do love you." His voice was so deep it was almost inaudible. "You're
everything I've dreamed of… everything I ever wanted."

"Oh, Gavin!" Before he could stop her she flung herself against him, winding her
arms round his waist and then up under his jacket to feel the taut muscles

across his shoulders. They grew even tenser at her touch and she gripped him

close and twined one foot around him so that he could not step back and prise
her free.

"Sara!" he gasped. "You don't know what you're doing."

She didn't, and she only realised it as she felt a shudder go through him and

heard the heavy hammering of his heart. Once again her lips parted below his,

but he gave a violent wrench and twisted her away from him.

"No," he grated. "For God's sake, Sara, no!"

His voice was tormented and in the moonlight she saw the glisten of sweat on

his forehead. Her own skin was damp too and, as the cool spring breeze

touched it, she shivered.

"I'm sorry," she said huskily. "It's the first time I - "

"Darling, I know." He put his hand to her cheek. "One day soon I hope there'll be
no stopping for either of us, but until that time comes you mustn't try me

too far - at least not on the balcony of your bedroom at two o'clock in the

morning! I'd probably have more control if we were downstairs or if you were

wearing armour-plating instead of that flimsy dress."

She giggled. "I never thought you'd be scared of losing your control."

"I haven't been, until now." His fingers remained on her cheek. "I haven't led the
life of a celibate, Sara, I don't want you to think that, but from now on

there'll be only you."

He quickly kissed her on the brow, then vaulted across the balustrade and on

to the trellis. Within a moment he was standing on the ground below,

indistinct in the darkness, though his voice was clear as it whispered up to her.
"Goodnight, my love, sleep well!"

The world was still rosy for Sara in the cool clear light of the following dawn,

and she lay warm beneath the eiderdown and thought of Gavin. What a

wonderful life they would have together, and how lucky that he should be in

the Diplomatic Service like her father.

"How happy I am!" she cried aloud, and jumped joyously out of bed.

Dressed and showered, she went downstairs. Her father was in the breakfast

room and glanced up briefly from the morning papers. She noticed the tiny

network of lines ageing his eyes, as if he had not slept too well, and some of

her happiness decreased.

"You look tired, Father. You must be looking forward to going to Rokeby." She
kissed him on the cheek, then went to help herself from the dishes on the hot

plate.

"I doubt if Helen will want to spend much time there," her father replied. "She
has all sorts of plans afoot. I thought she might have spoken to you about

them."

"She hasn't done so far." Sara bit into some toast. "What sort of plans?"

"About going to New York."

"In the middle of summer? You'll frizzle there!"

"Maybe you can convince her," Sir William sighed. "I must admit I look forward
to being in my own home for a couple of months each year. I guess I am

getting old. I never used to hanker for Rokebury the way I do now."
"Fifty isn't old," Sara protested. "You're probably just tired of being a diplomat."

"Well, I certainly have to be a diplomat since my marriage," he said wryly, and

then, as if afraid he had said too much, hurriedly gulped down some coffee.

Sara knew better than to try and get her father's confidence. He was above all

a loyal man, and the fact that he had said what he had indicated the strain

under which he was living. What was the matter with Helen? Didn't she know

when she was well off? Admittedly her husband was a generation older, but

she should have taken that into account before she married him. Sara glanced

at her father and wished she knew if he regretted his marriage, or would still

take Helen for a wife if he had the choice again.

"What would you like to do for the summer?" her father asked, interrupting her
reverie.

"I'm not sure. It depends."

"On Gavin?" Seeing her blush, Sir William pursed his lips. "It might be good for
you to get away from each other for a few months. It would give you a

chance to think clearly."

She was startled. "I thought you liked Gavin."

"I do, my dear, but I love you."

"And I love him." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Father. I wasn't going to tell you
now."

"You didn't need to tell me, I guessed it some time ago. Am I to take it he

loves you?"

"I think he does," she stammered, "but - but he hasn't asked me to marry him."
"I should hope not - without first seeing me about it."

"Oh, Daddy 1" She wasn't aware of using her childhood name for him, but her
father was, and he leaned over and patted her cheek.

"I want what's best for you, Sara, and at the moment I'm not sure that

marriage, even to someone as charming as Gavin, is the wisest thing for you."

"But you like him. You just said so."

"That has nothing to do with it. Gavin's more than twelve years older than

you. He's seen a lot of life-enough to make up his mind about his future and

what he wants to do with it - but you're still a child."

"I'll grow up once I'm married."

"I would rather you grew up before you married!"

Sara put down her knife and fork. "Are you telling me you would refuse Gavin

if he asked your permission to marry me?"

Sir William ruffled his hand over his hair, a sure sign he was agitated. "Only
temporarily, my dear, to give you time to see something of the world."

He paused, as if waiting for her to disagree with him, but Sara was not her

father's daughter for nothing and she knew both how to bide her time and hold

her tongue. It was only when she was with Gavin that her emotions ran away

with her, making her say things that were better left unsaid. A tender smile

curved her mouth.

"I'm sure enough about my feelings for Gavin to know I won't change my

mind, no matter how long you make us wait"

"That's all to the good, then." He glanced at his wrist- watch and rose. "I take it
he'll be talking to me about it some time?"

She blushed. "I hope so. As I told you, we - he hasn't actually proposed to me
yet."

"But you think he will?"

"Yes," she said proudly, "I do."

But later that day, Sara's proud assertion was not so firm. After all, Gavin had

never spoken of their future together and it was foolhardy to read so much

into a few passionate kisses. Anxiously she waited to hear from him, but the

hours passed and no call came.

Her father was out for lunch and she and Helen sat on the terrace. Her

stepmother was in a strange mood and when a telephone call came for her she

refused to have the telephone brought to the table and said she would take it

in her bedroom. She was away for nearly twenty minutes, and when she

reappeared, her eyes were glittering darkly in an ashen face.

"Is anything wrong?" Sara asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

The answer was too blunt to be ignored and Sara lapsed into silence, thinking

that no one could accuse her stepmother of being a diplomat. Before coffee

was served Helen made her excuses and left the table.

"I'll be out this afternoon," she explained. "I'm sure you have things of your own
to do."
Sara nodded and watched her stepmother walk briskly away from her. Slim

and elegant, she was now verging on thinness, and Sara was more than ever

convinced that Helen was actively unhappy. Could it stem from boredom? After

all, before her marriage she had led an active working life, but now her days

were only filled with pleasure and she could well find time hanging heavily on

her hands. Sara tried and failed to visualise her with a child and was somehow

glad of it, for though she knew her father would like a son, she could not see

Helen in any maternal role.

Reluctant to continue with such thoughts, for they smacked of disloyalty to her

father, she decided to spend an afternoon going round some of the art

galleries and, ignoring the fashionable ones within the vicinity of the Champs

Elysees, she went to the small ateliers where artists worked - and displayed -

their paintings.

At four-thirty she went to a cafe, enjoying both the drink and a chance to rest

her feet. She had slipped out of her shoes when she heard her name called

and looked round to see Gavin's sister Jane.

"I recognised you by your hair," Jane said. "I've never seen such a wonderful
colour. It's like honey." She dumped some parcels on the table. "Mind if I join
you - I'm dying of thirst."

Sara nodded and signalled to the waiter for some more coffee. "What are you

doing in this part of the world?" she asked.

"I've been to see a book publisher."

Sara was surprised. "I didn't know you were a writer."

"Only of simple children's stories. It's actually the illustrations which I do best."
Jane rummaged in a gay plastic bag and took out a folder containing a

series of coloured drawings.

Sara gazed at them with delight. "They're lovely! I'm sure you won't have any

trouble selling them."

"I haven't," Jane said happily. "The publisher likes them too and he's
commissioned another book after this one."

"Do you find it difficult to get ideas?"

"Generally. But maybe now I'm expecting - " She stopped and looked

charmingly confused. "I suppose I might as well tell you. You'll know soon

enough anyway. I'm expecting a baby."

"How wonderfull There's no need to ask if you're pleased."

"It's what I've wanted ever since I married Mike," Jane said flatly. "But it never
happened. And then when I'd given up hope - when we both stopped thinking

about it - I became pregnant." She gave a merry laugh. "I didn't find out until I
was in Yorkshire and I didn't tell Mike till last night."

"He must be thrilled."

A shadow crossed Jane's face, making her look her thirty-two years. "I think

the poor darling was shattered. I mean, we rather got used to leading a selfish

life and we'll have to start making adjustments once the baby comes."

"When the baby's actually with you, you won't think of it as an adjustment,"

Sara said.
"How knowledgeable you sound! Anyone would think you've had children of

your own!"

"I would like to," Sara confessed, and thought of slim, black-haired boys with
bright blue eyes.

"You must be in love," Jane remarked. "That's generally the time when young
girls get broody!"

Sara would have given a great deal to know if Jane was being artless or if

Gavin had told her of his feelings, but before she could devise a subtle way of

asking, Jane began to speak of her own forthcoming baby.

"I liked the idea of being pregnant in Paris - continental people are much more
sympathetic - but now it looks as if we might be moving on."

"Moving on where?" Sara asked, surprised.

"Mike isn't sure. He only told me last night after I suggested we start to look for
a house instead of a flat. He said he thought we wouldn't be staying in

Paris."

This was the first Sara had heard of Mike leaving. Only a couple of days ago

her father had said how pleased he was with the work Mike was doing. "Are

you sure you haven't misunderstood your husband?" she ventured.

"He seemed positive we wouldn't be staying here. But please don't mention it

to anyone. It was wrong of me to tell you, but I assumed you knew."

"Knew what?" Sara said blankly. "I have a dreadful memory."

Jane twinkled with admiration. "I can see why you have Gavin running round

in circles. I never thought the woman was born who could make him do that."
Sara waited desperately for Jane to elaborate, but instead the woman

gathered her parcels and rose. "I want to get back home before the rush hour

and it will be murder to go on the Metro if I leave it any later."

"Let me see if I can get you a taxi," Sara volunteered. "I'm sure Mike wouldn't
want you going on the train."

"When I was first married he was furious with me for not learning to drive, and
yesterday he muttered something about getting me a chauffeur." Jane sighed.

"I can't think of Mike as being so rich. During the first few years we were

married, we used to quarrel about it."

Jane continued to talk of her early years of marriage as she and Sara walked

in search of a taxi.

"It was considered quite a coup for me to marry Mike," she confessed, "but I
would have married him if he hadn't had a penny. I was crazy about him." She

beamed. "I still am. Silly, isn't it, after ten years of marriage?"

"I think it's wonderful," Sara said warmly. "I hope I'll be able to say the same
when I've been married for ten years."

Jane gave her a sideways glance, but before she could reply, a free taxi

cruised past and Sara hailed it.

"I won't come with you," she said, opening the door for Jane to get in. "I'm still
gallery-gazing."

But once she had waved Jane goodbye, she lost the urge to see any further

paintings and, hailing another taxi, returned to the Embassy. Talking to Jane

had given her a new insight into Gavin's behaviour. Was it the difference in
their financial positions - rather than in their ages - which made him reluctant

to ask her to marry him? If she could be sure that this was his sole reason, she

would soon make short shrift of it. What did it matter who had the money?

Once they were married it would be jointly theirs anyway. She frowned. No, it

wouldn't. She might like it to be so, but Gavin was not the sort of man to let

his wife provide for him. Yet money was unimportant and he must be made to

see it. Perhaps her father would be able to help her. He was a man of the

world and would know how best to allay Gavin's fears. Again she frowned,

knowing she could not turn to her father, for he had already made it clear that

he considered her too young to know her own mind.

"But I do know it," she whispered. "I love Gavin. I will love him all my life."

What was the best way of convincing her father? Only time would do this, and

time was something for which youth had little patience. Perhaps Helen might

be able to help her. Somehow Sara did not relish the prospect of enlisting her

stepmother's aid. No, she would try and talk her father around on her own.

But not yet. First she must get Gavin to ask her the all-important question.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sara only saw Gavin briefly during the next few days, for pressure of work

necessitated his going to Brussels with her father. Mike too was out of town

and life at the Embassy was unusually quiet.

A telephone call from Sir William, four days after his departure, gave both his
wife and daughter an opportunity to forget their loneliness and plan something

tangible, for he asked them to organise a private dinner and dance the

following week, for a young member of the Royal Family who was coming to

Paris for a few days.

Helen blossomed at the thought, boredom forgotten as she planned the menu

with the chef, discussed the seating arrangements with her husband's

secretary and spent endless hours cogitating on what to wear. She was still in

a good mood when Sir William returned home late on Friday evening. His long

session in Brussels had left him depleted of energy and he looked grateful for

Helen's suggestion that he have dinner in bed and she would sit with him.

"What will you do, Sara?" he asked.

"Have an early night too," she said quickly.

"Didn't Mike and Gavin come back with you?" Helen enquired.

"You are very interested in my young men," Sir William commented drily.

"It's your own fault for having such good-looking ones!"

Sir William gave a tired laugh and rose. "As a matter of fact they did come

back with me. Gavin mentioned something about dropping in for a drink if he

got his debriefing over early enough." The grey head turned in Helen's

direction. "Perhaps you want to reconsider coming up and keeping me

company?"

"The last thing I want to do is to play gooseberry!" Helen retorted, and her skirts
flounced as she walked ahead of her husband to the door.

Sara watched them go with some misgivings, more convinced than ever that

something was wrong between her father and Helen. But she was too excited

at the prospect of seeing Gavin to think of anything that would make her

unhappy, and she ran to the mirror and pushed her fingers quickly through

the honey-coloured strands. Her grey eyes gleamed more silver than ever,

making the darker rim round the iris more noticeable, and her face was

flushed, as was her whole body at the prospect of seeing the man she loved.

The door opened behind her and she stared into the mirror and saw Gavin

come into view. How tall and dark he looked in a formal navy suit, his shirt

startlingly white against his tanned skin. Even at a distance the gleam in his

eyes was noticeable and their colour intensified as he stared at her.

"Hello, young Sara." His deep voice held a deprecating humour which

prevented her from running across the carpet and flinging herself into his

arms.

"Hello," she said lightly. "You've just missed my father and Helen. They've
retired for the night."

"Then there's no point in my staying, is there? I only came to deliver some

papers."

She flung him such a reproachful look that his mouth tilted at the corners, but

there was still a withdrawal in his manner that made her remain where she
was. This was the first time they had seen each other since he had climbed her

balcony and kissed her so passionately. No, she amended, she had been the

one to kiss with passion and he had merely responded to it. Was that why he

was behaving oddly - because he was remembering the abandon with which

she had flung herself at him and was trying to tell her it had meant nothing to

him? She tried to think what he had said when he had left her that night, but

all she could remember was the deliciously foolish plans they had made for the

future, and it was hard for her to know where fact ended and fiction had

begun. I don't know whether he loves me, she thought dismally. All I know is

how achingly I love him.

"What about offering me a drink now that I'm here?" He came across the room
and stopped a couple of feet from her. "A brandy, I think, and a Hines for

preference."

"Please pour what you want," she said shakily. "I never know how much to
give."

"Not only about brandy," he said huskily. "You also give of yourself far too
generously."

Scarlet-faced, she could not look into his eyes, but as she turned away he

pulled her round to face him and kissed her quickly and hard on the mouth.

"I love you, darling," he said abruptly, and dropping his hands, picked up the
bottle of brandy.

Sara did not know whether to be pleased or angry. The touch of Gavin's lips

had transported her into a world of sensuous delight, but his abrupt ending of
it had sent that self-same world crashing, and once again she did not know

where she was. If he did not love her why had he kissed her, and if he loved

her enough to kiss her, why had he let her go?

"You look more beautiful than ever, Sara." He was eyeing her over the edge of
his glass. "I don't think I've seen that dress before."

"There are lots of my dresses you haven't seen." She tilted her head; if he could
make banal conversation, so could she. "I have a wardrobe-full."

"I don't doubt it."

"I suppose you think I'm extravagant?"

"It's only extravagant to spend what one doesn't have."

"In that case," she said coolly, "one would not consider me to be extravagant."

His eyes glinted, but he sipped his brandy in silence. Sara perched on the arm

of the settee, convinced that Gavin's coolness stemmed from his awareness of

her wealth. She wanted to tell him it did not matter, that if he wished she

would give it all away, but she knew that to say anything like this was

precipitate. First he had to declare himself. Only then could she disclose her

own feelings. Nervously she looked down at one slender leg. She had already

shown her own feelings so clearly that Gavin would have to be blind not to

know how she felt about him.

"Did you miss me while I was away?" he asked, and came to sit on the same
settee but on the far end of it.

"I've been too busy to miss you. We've been arranging a dinner-dance for the
Prince."

"Ah yes," his glance was sly. "Here's your chance to get yourself a tide, young
Sara. I understand he's looking for a bride."

"Will you be willing to dance at my wedding ?"

"If I thought you were happy."

His clever answer told her that when it came to sparring with him she would

be the loser, but it did not prevent her from trying. "How does one know that

happiness is going to last? One can start off with the best of intentions and

then everything can go sour."

"Marriages don't go wrong for no reason," he said harshly.

"Circumstances can - "

"People make their own circumstances," he interrupted. He seemed to be

speaking with a hidden meaning which she could not fathom, and she knew

with sadness that he did not want her to understand. Oddly, she felt they were

strangers and that they would remain so until she could share the knowledge

he was trying to keep from her.

"Is anything wrong, Gavin?" she asked.

"No. Why should you think there is?"

"Just something in your manner. There's so much about you I don't know."

"That shouldn't surprise you," he said abruptly. "I've lived the best part of my life
without you."

Tears filled her eyes and she jumped up. "That's a hurtful thing to say! I've
only known you a few weeks, but - "

"Darling, don't cry." He was standing too and his hands were warm on her bare
arms. "Don't cry," he reiterated. "You're too lovely ever to be hurt."

"Then why are you hurting me?"

Childishly she rubbed her knuckles against her eyes and the gesture seemed

to be his undoing, for with a murmur he turned her around and gathered her

close.

"Forgive me," he said huskily. "I'm edgy tonight. I shouldn't have come over to
see you."

"If I could believe you did come over to see me," she whispered, "I would feel
much better."

For an instant he said nothing. Then: "Who did you think I came over to see, if
not you?"

"I don't know."

"Because you don't know, it's no good reason for imagining things," he teased
and, releasing his hold of her, went to set his brandy goblet on the tray. "I'd better
go."

"When will I see you again?" She knew she should not ask but could not

prevent herself.

"Tomorrow. Are you free to have dinner with me?"

She was so happy that her eyes shone. "Of course I'm free. Do you need to

ask?"

"If I didn't, you would soon have my guts for garters!"

She giggled. "Girls don't wear garters any more."

"It would have sounded indecent if I'd said tights!"

This time she laughed outright, and the sound was still echoing in her ears as

Gavin blew her a goodnight kiss and left.

He does love me, she thought, staring at the closed door, and if he goes on

being so reluctant to commit himself, I'll have to do it for him. It's too silly for us
to keep pretending.

The following evening Gavin took her to a small but charming bistro within

walking distance of the Embassy. Because the night was balmy he left his car

in the courtyard and escorted her there on foot.

"I hope you can do justice to a good meal," he said. "Claude is a Burgundian and
he doesn't only have a marvellous table, but a prolific one."

"I haven't eaten much today," she confessed. "I've been too busy."

"With the Royal affair?" he teased.

"Helen is pulling out all the stops. The tables are going to be strewn with

flowers and the theme is totally Fragonard."

"Are you referring to the scent or the painter?"

"The painter," she laughed. "Everyone will have to come in Fragonard colours."

"I don't see myself in a pastel pink dinner jacket!"

"Only the women," she assured him solemnly. "Can you see Father wearing
anything other than a black dinner jacket?"

"No, I couldn't," he agreed, and was instantly sobered.

His lightheartedness did not even return when they were sitting across from
one another at the dinner table, and again Sara was conscious of how much

she did not understand about him. Of course he was over twelve years her

senior and many more years older than that in experience. Maybe he found

her too childish? Yet if he did he would not have fallen in love with her - and

he was in love with her; she could tell from the look in his eyes, the way his

lower lip trembled as he watched her, as if he could not quite suppress the

desire to kiss her.

"I've looked forward to seeing you all day," she said deliberately.

"That goes for me too, young Sara."

"I do wish you wouldn't call me that. I'm not so young."

"You are Sara and you are young."

"I'm not a child, Gavin. I see and know quite a lot."

"Do you indeed? And what precisely do you know and see?"

She longed to tell him how worried she was about her father, but loyalty kept

her silent. How could she discuss his emotional life with a man who worked for

him? If only Gavin were not employed at the Embassy!

"What's wrong, Sara?" Gavin leaned across the table. "You look very pale."

"I'm hungry," she said quickly, and reached out for a piece of French bread.

The meal, when it came, was everything Gavin had promised it would be, and

by the time their final course was set before them, a tangy sorbet with tiny

fraises des bois to follow, she was feeling much less on edge.
"You could never get a meal like this in a small restaurant in London," she
sighed.

"How many small restaurants in London do you know?" he chided.

"I've heard my friends speak."

"Charles, for example?"

It took her an instant to realise he was referring to Ann's brother and she was

delighted he had remembered his name. "Charles was one of them," she said
guilelessly.

"Where did you meet him?" Gavin's voice was abrupt and she gestured

vaguely, glad to see he accepted it as an answer. "I take it you'll be returning to

England during August?" he spoke again.

"I'm not sure." Once again she had a chance to tell him of Helen's restlessness
and of her own fears that the marriage - even at this early stage - was

beginning to crack. But again loyalty kept her silent and she murmured that

Helen wanted them to go to New York for part of the time.

"I've never been to America," she added. "I think it will be exciting."

"No city is exciting in August, particularly New York."

"Nor Paris."

"Actually I like Paris when everyone has left it," he said. "You get to appreciate
the city then. There's no problem with parking and you can walk along the

pavements without being jostled. The buildings and the trees come into their

own too, when there's hardly a soul to appreciate them."

"Maybe that's why they blossom."

"There's no point in blossoming unseen. Everything needs to be appreciated."

"Even people?" she ventured.

"Especially people." He reached across the table and caught hold of her hand.

"Like you, for instance. When you know you are loved, you radiate. When you

feel ignored, you close up your petals and fade."

Delighted by the description, she smiled and a dimple came and went in her

cheek.

"Don't look at me like that," he said abruptly, "or I'll make a fool of myself and
kiss you in front of everyone." He released her hand and resumed eating. Sara

made an effort to do the same, but she wasn't very successful.

"Where are you going for the summer?" she asked.

"I'll be here most of the time and in Yorkshire for my holiday."

"On the family estate?"

He smiled ruefully. "Not an estate, Sara. I don't come from a rich family."

"So Jane told me."

"Has she, be damned! And how come you were talking about my family?"

"She was telling me that everyone thought she'd made a good catch when she

married Mike." The fork in Gavin's hand was still, but he made no comment

and she continued speaking. "She also told me about the baby - you know, of

course?"

"Yes."
"Is Mike pleased?"

The fork jerked again and Gavin set it down on his plate. "Of course he's

pleased. It's what they've been wanting for years."

"I suppose children help to give marriage stability," she said, thinking of Helen
who had no time for anything but clothes, jewels and enjoying herself.

"Nothing can stabilise a bad marriage," Gavin replied, "but children can help to
make a good one that much better."

"What did Mike mean about not staying on in Paris?" Sara asked the question
idly and was taken aback to see Gavin's eyes cloud over, almost as if he had

drawn a shutter on them to keep her out of his thoughts.

"Are you sure that's what Mike said?" he drawled.

"Jane told me."

"You must have misunderstood her - or perhaps she misunderstood him."

"Neither of us misunderstood anything," Sara persisted. "As a matter of fact I'd

thought of asking my father."

"For God's sake don't do that!" The words seemed torn from him and he saw her
look of shock. "I'm sorry, Sara, but - but you know how much harm gossip

can do, and if your father thought Mike was unhappy here…"

"But he is happy, isn't he?"

Gavin nodded, though his eyes still remained shuttered, and for the rest of the

evening she had the impression that the real part of him was miles away. Only

when they walked home through the dark streets, the air cooler now that it

was midnight, did the feeling of distance between them diminish, and when he
caught her hand and swung it gently backwards and forwards, she felt as

though she were turning the clock back too.

"Do you remember the night on my balcony?" she whispered.

"Not if I can help it." His voice was low and throbbing. "If I think of it at night,
it stops me sleeping!"

"Why can't you be serious ?" she reproached.

"Not yet."

The words seemed forced from him and she stopped walking and peered up

into his face. "Why not yet?"

"So many questions, Sara."

"Only because you're so puzzling. I can't fathom you out."

"Put it down to the difference in our ages, my sweet. With a little more

sophistication you won't find me difficult to understand."

"I suppose I must be like an open book to you," she said reproachfully.

"No, darling." Gently he raised her hand to his lips. "The pages are still uncut,
though some of the contents are plain to see!"

"One day I'll be full of bons mots too," she warned, "then you'd better watch out,
Gavin Baxter."

"I should have been on my guard against you from the moment we met," he

sighed, and regardless of the few passers-by, lowered his head and kissed her

full on the mouth. Before she had a chance to respond, he drew back and

resumed walking, the gesture telling her - as his behaviour had done all the
evening - that he had many other problems on his mind.

"Don't shut me out," she pleaded. "If anything is worrying you, I do wish you'd
tell me."

"My dear Sara," the look he gave her was both haughty and astonished,

reminding her that he was a man experienced in the ways of dealing with

women, "I have a few political problems that need resolving. Nothing at all for
you to worry about."

She didn't believe him, but she had enough sense not to say so, and enough

pride to give him a cool goodnight as they reached the front door.

For the next few days both she and Gavin were too busy to see one another:

Gavin with work unspecified and she with helping Helen to make the final

arrangements for the Prince's arrival.

He was, when he finally came to stay, a young man of charm who seemed far

happier when he was being teased by Sara than treated with awed deference

by Helen, who found it difficult to forget his royal birth. The difference

between Helen's attitude and that of Sir William's brought home to Sara the

knowledge that it was not only age which separated them, but outlook and

behaviour too. Try as she would, Sara could not help seeing how ill at ease

Helen was in surroundings that she herself took for granted. But worse than

this was her condescension to others whom she considered her inferiors, a

word she so often used and which her husband had never uttered in his life.

How could he have married her, Sara thought, on the evening of the dinner
and dance as she went up to her bedroom to change. Helen had been more

than usually difficult today, made so by nerves, Sara had conceded," but

nonetheless had found it extremely hard to keep her own temper.

Surprisingly, her father had not been so strong- minded, and for the first time

she could remember, she had heard him raise his voice to Helen.

This, more than anything else, made her acknowledge the impossibility of

going to New York with them. Their quarrels were becoming too frequent for

her to dismiss them or to make sure she was not around when they erupted,

and only by spending as little time with them as possible was she able to

maintain a degree of friendship with her stepmother, particularly now that her

strongest desire was to catch those two thin shoulders and give them a violent

shake. Didn't Helen know when she was well off? Didn't she realise she had a

man in a thousand? Thinking of Aunt Grace living alone in London, writing her

gay letters as if she really were having the wonderful time she pretended,

Sara was not sure that her anger shouldn't have been directed against her

father, who had brought his unhappiness upon himself. The trouble was that

innocent people had to suffer for it too.

By the time she had changed into a shimmering white dress, its decollete

bodice edged with pearls, its full skirt caught here and there with tiny bundles

of stephanotis, she was in a more equable frame of mind, though she knew

that not until she was with Gavin would she totally relax. How long ago it
seemed since she had spoken to him alone, and what little chance she would

have of doing so until the best part of the evening was over, since both she

and Gavin had their own duties to carry out, he with the guests coming to

meet the Prince and she with the Prince himself, who had shown a flattering

inclination for her company.

"Play your cards right," Helen had whispered in her ear only yesterday, "and you
might end up in a palace!"

"Not with His Highness," Sara had said firmly. "He isn't my type."

"Any man can be a woman's type if she sets her mind to it."

"But how can one guarantee one can always keep one's mind set that way?"

Sara had replied with unusual crispness."

"You aren't very subtle, are you, Sara?"

"I'm too young to be subtle," Sara had retorted, and had walked away before
their words could develop into an argument.

She thought of them now as she went downstairs to the ballroom, and had the

feeling she was standing on the edge of a crater, not sure whether it would

erupt in front of her or whether the earth would open up under her feet. But

whatever it was, something dreadful was going to happen. She shivered and

chided herself for being too imaginative. Since meeting Gavin she had lived on

her nerves and it was beginning to affect her.

Straightening her shoulders, she glided across the parquet floor, her full skirts

billowing around her, her curving shoulders rising from the tight-fitting bodice
like a translucent pearl. Several dozen pairs of eyes watched her with

admiration, but Sara only saw one, and immediately after she had curtsied to

the Prince and acknowledged her stepmother and father, she moved over to

Gavin, her face mirroring the emotion in her heart. But no answering emotion

showed on his face, only a careful smile.

"Hello, Sara. You look as if you should be on top of a Christmas tree."

"Is there too much glitter?" she asked, dismayed.

"Good lord, no! I just mean you look far out of a mortal's reach - "

"I'm not out of your reach." She held out her hands to him and he took them,
squeezed them and instantly let them go.

"My dear, you mustn't," he said huskily.

"Why not? No one's looking at us. They're all staring at the Prince."

"Then why aren't you staring? I understand he's extremely taken with you."

"Don't you start that too!"

"Who else has been saying it?" he demanded.

"My fairy stepmother," she said with an effort at lightness, but saw no

answering humour in the blue eyes watching her.

"I thought she was watching you like a lynx when you came in tonight."

"That's because we quarrelled yesterday and I haven't spoken to her much

today."

Gavin came a step closer. "What did you quarrel about?"

She was reluctant to tell him. "Why do two women usually quarrel?"

"Over a man," he said carefully, and came even closer. "Tell me about the
quarrel, Sara."

"Not now."

He looked as if he were about to say more, but before he could do so, Jane and

Mike were upon them. Jane looked particularly young in a pink satin dress,

and Sara's eyes moved across to Helen, who wore an almost identical shade of

pink yet managed to look the picture of sophisticated elegance. She saw Mike

watching Helen too, an odd expression on his face, which remained there as he

turned and looked at Gavin. Sara felt something was passing between the two

men, but then Gavin averted his head and all she could see was his long

straight nose and firm mouth, the high forehead and the cap of jet black hair.

"I didn't realise there would be so many people here," Jane said happily. "What
time is dinner?"

"All you think about is food," her husband interposed. "I thought eating for two
was just a myth."

"I've a feeling I'm eating for three."

"Not twins!" Sara gasped.

"I'm joking. Anyway, one can't tell at such an early stage."

"Twins run in our family, Mike," Gavin said, his voice jerky. "It would make up
for lost time if Jane carried on the pattern."

"It would certainly make up for lost time when I think of all the wasted years,"

his sister said.

"Don't," her brother said swiftly. "Think of all the happy years ahead."

Jane gave him a tearful smile and glanced at Sara. "I think this baby is making
me rather edgy. Until now I've always prided myself on being the phlegmatic

type."

"Then make the most of your pregnancy," Sara joked. "They say it's the only
time when husbands are sympathetic."

"Mike is always sympathetic." Jane linked her arm through his and

momentarily leaned her head against his shoulder.

Looking at them both Sara wished she could be as demonstrative with Gavin.

She gave him a sidelong glance. He was the most handsome man in the room

and made everyone appear insignificant by comparison.

"Your father is looking this way," Gavin murmured. "I rather think duty is
calling you."

"So do I," she sighed. "Unfortunately we aren't sitting together at dinner, but I
will see you afterwards, won't I?"

"Need you ask?"

"It's just that you looked at me so oddly before."

"Oh, Sara," he whispered, "don't wear your heart on your sleeve the way you do.
You're making it so difficult for me."

"Why? The other night you said there was nothing wrong."

"Please… Go from me, your father wants you."

For Sara the evening was a tormented one, made more difficult by the Prince's

preference for her company, which made it impossible for her to leave him.
"You're fun to be with," he confessed. "You don't treat me as if I'm any different
from you and you poke fun at things. Most of the girls I know are

always on edge with me."

"Not from some of the photographs I've seen," Sara laughed.

"You can't always go by photographs." Sedately he moved her across the floor,
giving a brief glance to the orchestra in the corner. "What are the chances of our
sneaking off later on to a livelier place?"

"Quite good for you on your own," she said, "but if I encourage you my father
would be livid."

"I can't imagine your father getting livid with anyone."

The Prince glanced at Sir William, who was talking to a group of diplomats.

Helen was not with them and Sara's eyes roamed the room in search of her

and saw her dancing with Gavin. They were deep in conversation and the way

in which he twirled her round the floor spoke of temper. Why were they

quarrelling? Sara wondered, but had no chance to ponder on it, for the Prince

was talking again.

It was several dances later before she was able to excuse herself and she

looked around the floor for Gavin and saw him talking to Mike, both of them

intent.

"There you are, Sara." It was her father. "The evening is a great success, isn't it?"

She nodded. "The dinner was marvellous."

"You must thank Helen for that." He made a slight face. "The trouble is I haven't
the digestion for it these days; rich sauces play havoc with me."
"It was all the different wines," Sara said unsympathetically. "I watched you
knocking back the glasses."

Her father laughed. "And to think I came to you for sympathy!" He pulled

another face. "I'd better go up and get my tablets."

"Is it really that bad?" Belatedly Sara remembered her father had once had ulcers
and though he had not complained of them for a long time, they could

well have occurred again through stress. "I'll get them for you," she said guiltily.

"No, my dear, it will only take me a moment to get them myself - they're in

my room."

"I know where you keep them," she replied, and sped away to fetch them

before he could prevent her.

CHAPTER SIX

It was the first time Sara had been in her father's room since his marriage to

Helen, and because of her own physical awareness of Gavin she was

embarrassingly self- conscious of her father's relationship with his young bride

and, rummaging in his bedside table, felt like an interloper.

The tablets she was looking for were not in the drawer and she went to search

in the bathroom cabinet. They were not there either and she paused by the

bed, trying to think where else he could have put them. Her father had always

kept the pills close at hand, for he complained that it was at night when he felt

most in need of them.

Without giving herself time to think she crossed the carpet and opened the
communicating door that led to Helen's room. Here too the bedside lamps were

lit, though they cast their glow on far more opulence than in Sir William's

room and it smelled heavily of the scent she used. The bedcover had been

turned down and a flimsy nightdress lay across one pillow. Sara glanced at it

and then quickly turned to the bedside tables. But the pills were not there

either and she went back into her father's room for a second search. She was

by his dressing-table when she heard Helen's voice and, glancing over her

shoulder, saw she had left the communicating door ajar.

"You can cut the pretence now," Helen was saying. "No one is going to come up
here and disturb us."

"By all means let's be honest"

It was a man's voice, and Sara, in the act of moving over to close the door,

stopped dead. Why had Gavin come to Helen's room?

"For heaven's sake, Gavin," Helen was speaking again. "Must you be so innocent
about the whole thing? What's done can't be undone. If you could

accept that, your life would be much easier."

"I know that things can't be undone," Gavin replied. "I merely don't want them to
continue. What good will it do you to make trouble?"

"I have no intention of making trouble. I just don't intend to be discarded like an
old dress."

"At least you can't pretend you're in love," Gavin said violently.

"Why should I pretend? It's the intrigue that I like. I find it exciting."

"Well, I don't."
"Naturally not. You have more to lose than I have."

"Don't you care about Sir William?"

"Him least of all."

"Your position, then? That's one of the reasons you married him, isn't it?"

"I've learned my lesson," came the retort. "Position means nothing to me, Gavin,
it's having money that counts. Enough money to do as I like. Even if I

leave William I'd still be rich. He isn't the type to leave his wife destitute."

"Even if he knew you'd been having an affair with another man?"

"Even if he knew." Helen's voice was rich as cream. "William belongs to the old
school. He'd never discard his responsibilities."

Gavin gave an exclamation and his steps could be heard moving heavily across

the carpet. Sara knew she should leave her father's room, but she was

powerless to move, held rooted there by horror.

"Let's not waste time talking, Helen," it was Gavin again. "Give me back the
letter."

"No?"

"Why not? What satisfaction will you get by ruining her happiness? She's

never done you any harm."

"She's been cherished," Helen said venomously. "All her life she's been cared for
and protected. That's more than enough to make me hate her!"

"How can you hate someone who has never done you any harm?"

"She's got the man I want! Can't you understand that?"

"I can never understand vengeance," Gavin said heavily. "When a love affair is
over, it's over."

"For you, maybe," Helen grated, "but not for me."

"Give me the letter," he said again.

"Never!"

There was the sound of his steps and then Helen's lighter ones as she ran

across the room. "You needn't bother looking for it," she taunted. "You'll never
find it."

"It has to be somewhere here," he said.

There was a sound of drawers opening, of objects being thrown to the ground.

"Get out!" Helen cried. "Get out or I'll call one of the servants!"

"And cause a scandal in front of the Prince? Even you wouldn't do that." He
crossed to the other side of the room and there was the sound of more

drawers opening and then an exclamation of triumph.

"Give it back to me!" Helen's voice was a high-pitched scream, and Sara

winced as though each word was a knife being dug into her. "Give it back to

me, Gavin!"

"Never!" There was a sound of paper tearing and another scream from Helen.

"You won't stop the truth coming out by destroying the letter. I'll see her now and
tell her the whole story."

"She won't believe you," Gavin stated. "I'll tell her you're making it up because
you're so unhappy yourself you can't bear to see another woman in love."

"She'll still believe me." Helen was sobbing now, harsh strident sobs. "I'll make
her believe me! I won't let you get away with this. I'll pay you back if it's the
last thing I do!"

"There's nothing you can do," Gavin said. "Accept the fact that you've lost."

"No, she hasn't!" Sara said. She was not aware of having gone to the

communicating door until she had actually pushed it wider and stood on the

threshold. Her eyes took in the scene: Gavin by the bed, shreds of blue paper

around him like confetti, and Helen clutching at him, her face contorted.

"Sara!" Gavin's voice was incredulous. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to hear everything you said." She looked at her stepmother.

"You needn't worry, Helen, you've got your revenge - if that's what you

wanted."

Swinging round, Sara ran to the door, but before she could open it, Helen was

there, blocking her exit.

"Are you going to tell your father?"

"No."

It was an effort for Sara to speak, but she had to make her intentions clear.

"Tell him what you like… I'm not your conscience. I doubt if you have one."

"I've never been able to afford it!" Helen said viciously. "So don't stand there
like a prig, condemning me."

"Do you want me to applaud you? You're my father's wife and you've been

having an affair with the man I - "

Tears constricted her throat, but Helen finished the sentence for her.
"With the man you love?"

"Helen!" Gavin thundered. "Haven't you done enough damage?" He strode

towards Sara. "Darling, listen to me."

"No!"

Without waiting to hear any more Sara pushed past Helen and raced down the

corridor. Reaching her bedroom, she rushed in and locked the door, then went

to the far side of the room, as if afraid to stand near it. What a disastrous end

to an evening which had held such high hopes for her! And how ironic that her

premonition of disaster had been for herself and not her father.

The sharp rap of knuckles on the door made her give a gasp of fear. There was

no need to ask who it was. Only one person would knock so peremptorily.

"Go away!" she cried. "I don't want to see you."

"I've got to talk to you." Gavin's voice was pitched low in order not to be audible
to anyone who might be coming along the corridor. "Open the door

and let me in."

"No!"

"Open the door," he repeated.

Afraid that unless she did he would cause a commotion, she slowly turned the

key in the lock. At once Gavin stepped through the door and closed it. He was

pale and a lock of black hair fell across his forehead, giving him a dishevelled

look which Sara, even in a state of turmoil, found unbearably heartrending.

"You've got to listen to me, Sara." Now he was alone with her, his voice was less
controlled and the words came out quickly. "I know what you think, and

you're wrong. There's nothing between Helen and me."

"Is that why you went to her room? Why you told her it was all over?"

"I wasn't - "

"Don't lie to me I" she cried. "I heard every word you said. You pleaded with her
to end it. You begged her not to spoil things for you."

"Not for me, Sara."

"For me, then?" she flared. "Because you had my happiness at heart?"
"Would it surprise you if I had?"

"I suppose not. After all, I can be quite important to a man if he's interested in
money and position." Her expression was derisive. "I'm a good catch, aren't I?

Young enough to be malleable and with an impeccable background and a

father who can be of inestimable help to an ambitious young man. And if that

isn't enough - a fortune to go with it - and all in my own name, so no one can

stop me from giving it to anyone I like. Yes, I suppose I could be important to

you."

Gavin's eyes glittered like blue lamps. "You don't mean a word of that. You're in
a temper and you don't know what you're saying."

"I know what I saw! You can't fool me any longer, Gavin. You've been acting

strangely for weeks, but I wasn't sure why. Now it all falls into place. You were

worried in case my father or I found out you were having an affair with

Helen!"

"I never had an affair with her. Don't be a fool, Sara!" He took a step forward,
arms outstretched, but she recoiled from him as though he were a snake.

"Don't touch me I You're mad if you think you can go on fooling me. I heard

you searching for the letter you'd written her. I saw you tear it up!"

"Not my letter," he cried. "Mike's!"

"Mike?" She echoed the word as though it made no sense.

"Mike's," Gavin reiterated. "I went to Helen to plead for Mike, not for myself."

"Why you?" Sara was hesitant. "Why - why couldn't he go himself?"

"Because he's frightened of Jane hearing about it. Can't you see what it would do
to her? She might even lose the baby. That's why I went to see Helen. I'm

telling you the truth, Sara. You've got to believe me."

"I'm not sure," Sara whispered. "I_____ I don't know any more. I saw you with
her. I heard you."

"I was talking for Mike."

"Then let Mike tell me so." Sara was suddenly galvanised into action. "Take me
to Mike and let him tell me." She ran to the door, but as she went to wrench it
open Gavin pulled her hand away from the handle.

"Mike can't talk to you now," he said harshly. "What do you want to do - cause a
scene in front of everyone?"

"Then bring him here!"

"How can I get him away from Jane without her suspecting something is

wrong?"

"I don't care howl" Sara flared. "Just do it!"

"Not tonight. Be reasonable, Sara."

"I am being reasonable. I'm sure you can find an excuse to get Mike away from

Jane for a few minutes. Tell her it's business."

"Very well. Meet me in the garden in a quarter of an hour and I'll bring him

out to you."

"That won't do," Sara said clearly. "I'm coming with you." His eyes widened and
she plunged on. "We'll go and find Mike together. I'm not giving you the

chance to be alone with him first, so that you can brief him what to tell me."

Gavin's jaw clamped tight. "In other words you judge me guilty until I prove
my innocence." He saw the answer in her face and his anger grew. "You're a fine
one to talk about feelings! You don't even begin to know the meaning of

the word. Do you think I would have any doubts about you if the position was

reversed? You say you love me, but you're only too willing to see me as a

fortune-hunter out to marry you to further my career and my bank balance!

Well, if that's what you think of me, then - "

"I think you used me as a front," she said recklessly. "As a cover-up for your
affair with Helen I It was a wonderful opportunity when I fell for you, wasn't

it? Did you fall in with me and thank your lucky stars or did you engineer it?

Perhaps you and Helen even set it up together!"

"We didn't need to," he exclaimed furiously. "You made your feelings obvious
from the start."

Mortification flicked her like a leather whip, rousing her to unprecedented fury.

"What a coup it would have been if you could have married me. Then you'd

have had the daughter as well as the wife!"

"You're cra2y!" He gripped her and shook her violently. "You're crazy with
temper and you don't know what you're saying. In the morning you'll regret

it."

"Never!"

"Yes, you will, and then you'll come running after me to apologise."

"If you wait for that, you'll wait for ever."

"Then I'll wait for ever. I love you, Sara, but I'm not going to waste my time
trying to make you see sense when you've temporarily lost yours." He pushed
her away from him and strode out, closing the door sharply behind him.

Disbelievingly Sara remained where she was, hoping he would come back and

plead with her again; that he would take her to see Mike. But the door stayed

shut and the only sound that came to her was the music from the ballroom,

where people were still dancing. Was it only half an hour since she had gone in

search of her father's pills? So much had happened that it seemed as if a

lifetime had elapsed. With a shudder she sank on to the bed. The accusations

she had hurled at Gavin echoed in her brain and horrified her with their

malevolence. How could she have spoken to him like that? She loved him. The

least she should have done was to listen to him before losing her temper. Yet

he had deceived her. He was having a love affair with Helen, and had only

decided to end it because she herself was the better catch.

She jumped up and began to pace the floor. No, Gavin would never do a thing

like that. He had too much integrity to have an affair with the wife of the man

for whom he was working. He must have gone to Helen to plead for Mike. Yet

this was incredible too. For Mike loved Jane, who was having his child. Sara

stopped walking and her skirts swayed around her as she put her hands to her

head and tried to see some truth in a situation that was growing ever darker.

Who was telling the truth and who was lying? Why should Gavin try to

implicate his brother-in-law if it were not the truth? Or was he so determined

to marry her that he was willing to make Mike the scapegoat? And what would
prompt Mike to go along with such a fabrication? Yet men frequently lied for

one another, and if Mike knew it was important for Gavin to make a rich

marriage…

Yes, she thought wearily, Mike could well be induced to pretend that he had

been Helen's lover, for he knew Sara would never disclose it to Jane. Tears

poured down her cheeks, their flow increasing until her body was racked with

sobs. Not since her mother had died had Sara cried with such abandon, for in

its own way the loss of Gavin was comparable, bringing with it the end of

youth and the knowledge that she had closed a chapter that could never be re-

opened.

Sara lay wakeful as the Embassy settled into sleep. At one o'clock the guests

departed, their cars purring away into the night like well-fed jungle cats. She

heard Helen speaking and wondered what excuse her stepmother had made

for her own absence, for her father had not come in search of her nor sent a

servant to see why she had not returned to the ballroom. But she was beyond

caring what excuses had been made, too emotionally distraught to spare a

thought for anyone's feelings except her own.

By two o'clock the only sound heard was the sighing of the wind in the trees

outside her room and the quick pounding of her heart, each beat saying

Gavin's name. Her scene with him lay vivid in front of her eyes, and though

she told herself that time would lessen its impact she was only conscious of the
agony she was suffering at the moment. How quickly the future could change:

one moment a bubble of happiness, the next black and heavy with despair.

What a fine line existed between heaven and hell, and how easily one could

cross it. She buried her head in her pillow and wept.

"Wake up, Sara, I want to talk to you."

Sara's lids fluttered and she frowned.

"Don't lie there pretending to be asleep," the voice said. "I know very well you're
awake."

Sara stirred as Helen's sharp tones penetrated her consciousness and she

struggled into a sitting position and looked at her stepmother standing beside

the bed.

"I want to talk to you about last night," Helen said as Sara's eyes opened.

"There's nothing more to say," Sara whispered, and remembered she had said
exactly the same words to Gavin, who had taken no notice of them, as Helen

was doing now.

"I tried to talk to you last night," her stepmother went on, "but you'd locked your
door and I couldn't get in."

"How did you get in now?"

"One of the maids has a key." The tall thin figure, soignée in a scarlet

housecoat, perched on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry you overheard my

conversation with Gavin lust night."

"I'm sure you are!"

"And I want to know what you're going to do about it."

"Do about it?" echoed Sara.

"Don't play the innocent with me!" Helen leaned forward. "Are you going to tell
your father or not?"

Sara gave a deep sigh. That was why Helen was there. Not out of compunction

for shattering her stepdaughter's dreams or guilt at cuckolding her husband,

but for fear that having been found out, she might be forced to give up a life

which, though she found it tedious and boring, she was still determined to

have.

'I'm not going to tell my father anything," Sara said slowly. "Not because I care
about you but because he - he married you and - and he must still love

you."

"I'm sure he does," Helen said complacently, "but I wasn't sure if you had the
good sense to realise it and act accordingly."

"I'm full of good sense," Sara said bitterly. "That's what they used to call me at
school. Sensible Sara!" Her voice broke and she turned her head quickly to

hide her tears.

"There's no need to be tragic about it," Helen muttered. "As long as your father
doesn't know the truth, the whole thing will blow over."

"Just like that," Sara choked. "Aren't you even sorry? Don't you feel any guilt?"

"No, I don't. So you can stop looking at me with that tight little face of yours 1

What gives you the right to judge me? You know nothing of life. You weren't

born with a silver spoon in your mouth - you had a whole canteen of cutlery!"
"What does that have to do with your being unfaithful?"

"It has everything to do with it! I know you condemn me for marrying your

father without loving him, but that's because you don't know what it's like to

be poor."

"All the more reason for you not to throw away something of value."

"I'm not planning to throw it away. So far I've been able to have my cake and

eat it too."

"Somebody else's cake!" Sara burst out. "You weren't satisfied with your own!"

Helen's hard face creased into a mirthless smile. "My own cake wasn't

nourishing enough. If you weren't such a child, you'd know that for yourself."

"You're despicable!"

Still smiling, Helen stood up. "It's a pity you couldn't have seen your face

when you came into my room and saw Gavin. You looked as if your doll had

been taken away! Still, he'll come along and pick you up and kiss you better."

"Do you think I'll let him!" Sara cried, furious that Helen should talk down to her
this way. "It would make things easy for you if I did, wouldn't it? There'd be no
problem for you in seeing him then."

For an instant Helen looked astonished, then she regained control of herself.

"You're quite spirited behind that docile exterior, Sara. If you could grow up a
bit, we might even become friends."

"I could never be friends with you." Sara almost choked on the words. "The very
sight of you revolts me!"

"You'll have to learn to cope with it."

"Never. I'm leaving Paris."

"Don't be foolish. We'll be here another six months."

"I'm going to London - today."

"Your father won't let you stay there alone."

"I'll stay with Aunt Grace." Sara jumped out of bed on the side furthest from
Helen. "I told you I wouldn't tell my father about you - about you and Gavin,

but I can't stay here and condone it. It's best if I leave."

Helen frowned. "When are you going?"

"I've told you. Today."

"Will you see Gavin before you leave?"

Despite the studied casualness with which Helen spoke, Sura sensed her

tenseness. "I never want to see Gavin again," she affirmed. "He's all yours."

"You're a silly girl, Sara."

"Because I despise someone who is dishonest?"

"Because you set yourself up in judgement over others. No person should do

that." Helen put her head on one side, her expression strangely pensive. "It's odd
really. Both you and your father are lousy judges of character when it

comes to falling in love."

"Get out!" Sara said raggedly. "Get out before I change my mind and tell my
father what you are!"

"You won't do that," Helen said, and went composedly from the room.

Sara waited till the door closed, then she went to the wardrobe and started to
take out her clothes. Thank goodness she had Aunt Grace. She would stay

with her until she had decided what to do with her future. It wouldn't hold

Gavin. Of that she was sure. Irrevocably, heart-achingly sure.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sara paused halfway down Threadneedle Street and debated whether to go

back to Mayfair by subway or try to get a taxi. She was still considering this

when a taxi stopped in front of her to deposit a fare, and feeling the Fates

were smiling at her, she climbed in and gave the driver her address.

She slipped one foot out of her shoe and slowly rubbed her instep. It had been

a long day and she was tired from standing and talking. Still, once she began

her new job as interpreter at the United Nations she would be in for a lot more

talking and standing. She slipped her shoe on and stared unseeingly through

the window, a tall, slender girl with luminous grey eyes that looked too big

only because the face in which they were set was too hollowed beneath the

cheekbones. The fragility made the face even more beautiful, with its full red

mouth and clear peaches-and-cream complexion. The toffee-gold hair of

yesteryear was still the same colour, but no longer worn loose. Instead it was

smoothed back from the high forehead and waved gently behind pearl-studded

ears before being confined in a smooth chignon low on the nape of her

graceful neck. Everything about Sara today was a picture of such ethereal

sophistication that her father, on the rare occasions when he came to London
and saw her, expressed his fear for her well-being. Since the night she had

precipitately left Paris he had known that something significant had happened

to her, but he respected her privacy too much to question her, though she was

sure he guessed that her departure had been due to Gavin. But Sara had

refused to talk about it and even when Helen had finally left her father, she

still said nothing to him of that fateful night.

There was no point in re-awakening painful memories if they could never be

replaced by happier ones, and for this reason she followed the British axiom of

letting sleeping dogs lie. The trouble was that occasionally the dogs stirred - as

they were doing now - re-awakening her to the pains of her first love.

Her first and only love. In the four years that had elapsed since she had last

seen Gavin, no other man had meant anything to her. Sometimes she

wondered if any man ever would. Perhaps the emotion he had aroused in her

had been only romantic illusion.

"Is it all right if I stop at the corner?" the cab driver broke into her thoughts.

"It's a one-way street and otherwise - "

"It's fine for you to leave me here," she smiled, and paying him, walked the ten
yards to the block where she lived.

Her apartment was on the top floor and was as elegant as Sara herself, and

equally soulless, she thought ruefully, as she took off the jacket of her

expensive suit and pressed her fingers against temples that were beginning to
ache. A drink was called for to wash away her self-pity. She turned to the

decanter and saw the pile of letters that her daily maid had left for her on the

table. The top one was franked "Balinda", where Aunt Grace was living. It was
the first letter she had received since her father had flown there a month ago,

and she hoped it contained the news she had wanted to hear ever since he and

Helen had separated two years ago.

"I'm going out to ask Grace if she'll marry me when I'm free," her father had told
her the night before he left London. "Logically I should wait until my

divorce, but if Helen remains adamant about not giving me one, I'll have to

wait five years before I can get it myself, and I'm determined not to let Grace

go out of my life again."

Sara had come closer than at any time to telling him the truth about Gavin

and Helen, and only the knowledge that he could not use this to get his

freedom had kept her quiet. However, it had prompted her to suggest he have

Helen watched.

"That's such a sordid thing to do," her father had protested.

"Divorce usually is sordid. Anyway, if it would help you get your freedom…"

"You're right," he said. "If Grace agrees to marry me I'll engage a detective
agency to watch Helen."

Only then had Sara casually asked for news of the Embassy staff.

"Why not come over to Paris and see them for yourself?" her father had

suggested. "I didn't expect you to come when Helen was living with me - I
know you never liked her - but she's been gone a long time and you still

haven't been to stay."

"I see you in London instead," Sara pointed out.

"That's not the same." He had looked thoughtful. "When I come back from the
South Seas we must have a little chat. You're my only child, Sara, and it's

time you presented me with some grandchildren."

"Wouldn't you like me to present you with a husband first?" she had laughed.

"Anyone in mind?"

She shook her head. "I must be hard to please."

"Not still carrying the torch for Gavin?" It was nearly four years since her father
had mentioned him, and he had only done so because Gavin had asked

to be relieved of his pott.

"I hardly remember him," she lied, "though I do remember his sister Jane."

It had been a clever answer, for it fooled her father into ihinking she was

speaking the truth, and he had gone on to talk of Jane and Mike and their

delightful twins.

"Mike has been posted to Nairobi," he had concluded, "and doing extremely well
there."

"And Gavin?" Sara had said carefully, knowing that unless she forced herself to
refer to him a doubt would always remain in her father's mind.

"Doing extremely well. One day he'll end up in Washington."

"He always was ambitious," she murmured, and knew her reply caused her

father to give her an unusually penetrating glance, but he changed the subject
and did not refer to Gavin again.

Sometimes she regretted not knowing where he was or what he was doing,

and she wished she knew if he was seeing Helen again, now that her marriage

was over.

The letter she was holding slipped from her hand and she bent to pick it up,

anxious to stop thinking of the past. But the contents of the letter kept it alive

in her mind, for it was this same past that was making Aunt Grace hesitate

about accepting Sir William's proposal.

"He says Helen no longer means anything to him, but I'm not sure if I believe

him. I was very distressed when he married Helen and it took me a long while

to make another life for myself. But I have made a life now and I'm reluctant

to disrupt it unless I can be sure I'm doing the right thing. I would like to talk

things over with you, Sara. Your father says you're taking a holiday before

going to your new position, and I hope you'll come out to Balinda and see me.

Sara put down the letter and knew she had to go and see Grace. Only some

blunt truths about the sort of person Helen was would convince Grace she had

nothing to fear from her. She went to her desk and leafed through her diary.

She had six weeks free before going to New York, and this would give her

ample time to fly to Balinda for a holiday. It was not a place she would

normally choose, for in the last four years she had shunned quietude and

spent her leisure in as much activity as possible. But for the moment her own
inclinations were unimportant. Her father's happiness was at stake and she

must do all she could to help him. If only he had married Grace in the

beginning I Then Gavin would never have met Helen and her own life would

not be in ruins. She frowned and shook her head. It was as well she had

discovered the sort of man he was. It would have been far worse to have

married him and then found out.

With a sigh she picked up Grace's letter. She must stop thinking of Gavin. It

was four years since she had seen him and he had probably changed as much

as she had. He might even be married with a family. She must start to think of

marriage too and not regard her career as the be-all and end-all of her

existence.

Picking up the telephone, she dialled British Airways to book a flight to

Balinda.

Sara made herself more comfortable on the bamboo chair and looked out from

the terrace to the wide curving beach that lay beyond the lush green garden.

The island was far prettier than she had imagined it would be, with a bustling

town and harbour and a small but sophisticated colony of English, French and

Australians.

"Soon there'll be Americans too," Grace Rickards had said as she had driven
Sara from the airport and pointed out the bright new hotel bordering the north

shore. "That's the first of the Graham Hotel chain. They're putting up another one
on the other side of the island too."
"So much for your quiet life," Sara had laughed. "You'll have to go and live in
Paris if you want a bit of solitude!"

Sara thought of this as Grace came out from the living- room and settled

herself on a nearby chair. She was in her late forties, as tall as Sara though

not so slim, with grey- flecked hair and a serious face unmarked by lines. She

supplemented a small private income by writing cookery hooks and in the last

few years had achieved a notable success. It was this that Sara spoke about in

the hope that it would lead to a more intimate discussion of the future.

"How do you test all your recipes living on this island? Your last book, if I

remember rightly, was called "Breakfasts Round the World."

"I do take trips away from here," came the smiling answer. "This year I've
already spent a week in New York, a week in Sydney and ten days in Japan,

promoting one of my books."

"No wonder you're not sure you want to marry my father!"

"You know that isn't the reason."

"Yes," Sara murmured. "That's why I came here. He does love you, you know.

Helen means nothing to him."

"He married her," said Grace dryly.

"That might have been your fault," Sara said candidly. "You never gave him any
encouragement."

"How could I? I lived in his house and I was taking care of you!"

"Then you can't blame him for being put off by your attitude," Sara gave a sly
smile. "Wouldn't you like to have me as a daughter?"
"I think of you as one already. Which reminds me, are you single because

you've never fallen in love, or have you become a career girl?"

"I'll get married when I meet the right man. That's why I'm going to New

York," Sara fibbed. "I should get a super choice there."

"Dreary politicians and statisticians I Surely you can do better than that? We
have a new and handsome Governor on Balinda," Grace Rickards continued

casually. "I thought your father might have mentioned it when he dined with

you."

"He was too busy talking about you. Anyway, I'm not interested in being a

diplomat's wife. It isn't my idea of fun."

"Yet you're advocating it for me!"

"That's different," Sara said hastily.

Grace Rickards chuckled and lit a cigarette. "I hope you've brought lots of

pretty clothes with you? We're a very social lot out here."

"I thought I was going to have a restful holiday."

"At your age? You should be having fun!"

"I'm quite happy to be with you."

"Then I hope you'll come with me to a party tonight. It's at the Governor's

house. Unless you're tired after your flight?"

"Not at all. I'd love to go."

"Women here only think of their clothes," Aunt Grace said. "Changing their
dresses and swapping their husbands!"
"Sounds fun." Sara laughed at the shocked expression her remark caused, and
though she had not meant it, she thought about it as she changed later that

evening. How many married couples remained happy after they had been

together several years? How many were fortunate enough to know the deep

satisfaction of undying love? Certainly she no longer believed in it, and was

prepared to settle for friendship and mutual interests.

When she went back into the living-room Grace Rickards was already waiting

for her, and gave an exclamation of pleasure.

"How beautiful you look, Sara. You make me feel a real country bumpkin."

"I'm not too dressed up, am I?" Sara asked, glancing down at the hyacinth blue
crepe that moulded her body like a second skin.

"I grant you it doesn't leave much to the imagination," Grace said drily, "but if I
had a figure like yours I would also show it off."

"You're making me feel self-conscious."

"Why shouldn't you be self-conscious? There's no point being unaware of your

assets."

"Nor making everyone else aware of them either?" Sara queried.

"You'll certainly do that. The men will have their eyes out on stalks when they
see you!"

Sara laughed and followed the older woman to the car. She wore no covering

on her shoulders, for the tropical night was as warm as the day. In the

distance came the sound of surf beating against the rocks that were an ever-

present feature of the shore, while high above her a faint breeze stirred the
heads of the palm trees. The brilliant colours which sunshine picked out were

muted now into differing shades of grey, and only gave indication of their

colour as they were picked out in the headlights of the car which Grace

Rickards drove with surprising speed along the bumpy road that skirted the

beach and wound in a gentle semi-circle towards the town of Pango.

Here the streets were well lit, the houses a curious mixture of French colonial

and Victorian with lots of black wrought iron and many narrow windows, all of

them shuttered. The streets were narrow and twisting, except for the main

thoroughfare, which was wide and modern, as were the shops.

"There's Government House," Grace said, and Sara was enchanted by the two-
storey white building with its graceful pillars lining the fa$ade and the shallow

steps that led up to a hand-carved door.

The car turned through black and gold gates, guarded on either side by a

white-coated sentry, and parked beside a host of others to the left of the

house. Two more sentries stood by the front door and Sara followed Aunt

Grace into an oblong hall, from one side of which rose a spectacularly graceful

staircase. Facing them an archway led to a terrace, and it was here where the

party was being held. This terrace overlooked a wide lawn lit by floodlights to

show a thick carpet of grass interspersed by vividly coloured flower beds with

narrow gravelled paths sinking between them. Here and there vast clumps of

bushes lent shade to the day and mystery to the night. The terrace itself was
brimming with people and the noise was like that of the parrot house, as were

the clothes of the women.

Sara immediately experienced a sensation of boredom. It was a long time

since she had allowed herself to be inveigled into attending a diplomatic party;

listening to the inane prattle she knew why. But Aunt Grace was already being

drawn into a crowd of people and Sara, with a slight shake of her head,

pretended she was going in search of a drink. If luck were with her she might

find herself a secluded spot somewhere, where she could sit out the next

couple of hours.

"Are you real, or have I conjured you up out of a fevered imagination?"

A drawling American voice made her swing round In see a fair-haired man of

medium height watching her.

"I'm Andy Graham." He extended a hand and gripped hers.

"Sara Claremont," she answered, and tried to pull her hand away.

"I'm not letting you go," he said. "Where were you sneaking off to?"

"Just to get myself a drink."

"At the Governor's parties the drinks come to Mahomet," the young man

grinned, and pointed to a darken lined waiter bearing down on them with a

tray of drinks.

It was champagne, cold and delicious, and Sara sipped it appreciatively. The

Governor, whoever he was, did his guests proud, no non-vintage champagne

for him!

"I haven't seen you on the island before," the young man continued.

"I only arrived today."

"How long are you staying?"

"Would you like my itinerary?" asked Sara dryly.

"Sure, then I can plan mine around it!" He grinned. "Which hotel are you staying
at?"

Sara hesitated, annoyed by his curiosity. "I'm living with a relation," she
murmured. "Mrs. Rickards."

"Grace," he said at once. "We're hoping she'll work for us."

"Oh, really?" Sara enquired.

"Our group. We thought it would be a good idea for her to give cookery

demonstrations in our hotels."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

He looked surprised. "I guess my name didn't mean anything to you. It's Andy

Graham," he repeated. "Graham Hotels - that's my father."

"I see." Sara gave him a longer look, but he still remained a nice-looking but
obvious man in his late twenties.

"Don't you think it's a good idea?" he added. "Perhaps you can persuade Grace to
sign up with us. We've extended our chain of hotels around all the islands.

At least she won't have to leave her beloved Pacific."

Sara forbore to tell him that Grace Rickards would soon be leaving it entirely.

"I wouldn't have thought your guests would be interested in cookery

demonstrations," she commented.

"Our guests are interested in anything that fills their time. When you take a

Graham Holiday we guarantee to keep you entertained twenty-four hours a

day."

"What a frightful thought!"

He looked wry. "I guess it would be frightful to someone like you. I can't

imagine you ever having to worry about filling in your time. All the males from

miles around must beat a path to your door."

"They beat a retreat too!"

"I can believe that," he smiled. "You have a distinctly frigid look. Not that I'm
going to let it put me off." He waved to a passing waiter and replenished their
champagne. "It will take more than an icy stare to keep me at bay. Tell me,

Sara, what do you do when you aren't on this island, or is your life one great

big holiday?"

"One great big holiday," she mimicked, "which means I do as I like. And right
now I'd like to be alone." She went to move past him, but he blocked her path.

"You can't walk out on me now," he protested.

"Why not?"

"Because you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I want to get to

know you. If you aren't doing anything tonight will you let me take you out to

dinner?"

"I came here with Mrs. Rickards."

"Then we'll take her too." He grinned as he saw her surprise. "I know when I'm
beaten, Sara. You have a Iove-me-love-my-aunt look, so that's what I'm

prepared to do."

It was impossible for Sara not to laugh, and once she did, it made her realise

how tense she had been until this moment. She did not know why and

assumed it to be reaction from the long journey and the time change to which

her body had not yet become attuned. Behind her there was a momentary lull

in the conversation and when it resumed again it was higher and gayer. With

ears used to recognising what this change of party pitch meant, Sara knew

that the Governor was working his way from group to group. She glanced over

her shoulder and though she could not see him she was able to pinpoint his

whereabouts from the cluster of people at the foot of the terrace. He must be

making his way across the lawn.

"Do you live on Balinda?" she asked, turning back to Andy Graham.

"Only while I'm supervising the completion of our hotel."

"How many do you have?"

"A hundred and four."

"That's a vast business."

"With vast headaches. But it's exciting!"

"It isn't the sort of job I would like to do," she said.

"A beautiful girl like you doesn't have to do anything. It's enough for you just to
be decorative."
"Like a picture on a wall?"

"Like a bouquet of flowers," he replied, "whose fragrance should be breathed,

whose beauty should be admired."

"Flowers fade, Mr. Graham. You must change the metaphor."

"I'll work on it over dinner," he smiled. "I take it you and your aunt will be my
guests?"

"I don't think so. I only arrived on the island a few hours ago and I'm tired."

"If you look like this when you're tired, I can't wait to see you when you're

firing on all cylinders." His eyes looked over her shoulder. "Talking of fire,
you're in the direct line of it. His Excellency is coming this way."

"Oh dear," she said, dismayed. "Is there any chance of avoiding him?"

"No female ever wants to avoid the handsome Governor."

"This one wishes she could," Sara retorted, and turned her head to see the man
who represented the Queen on this tropical island.

As she scanned the nearest group of people they divided deferentially to allow

the tall figure of a man to come through. Skin tanned to the colour of teak,

hair like black velvet and eyes like bright blue sapphires, their glint

sharpening as they stared into Sara's wide-apart grey ones.

Oh no, she thought desperately, this can't be happening to me. It can't be

Gavin!

But it was happening, and it was Gavin who, without cessation in his stride,

came imperturbably towards her.

"Hello, Sara," he said laconically. "This is a surprise."

"For me too."

"You know each other, then?" said Andy Graham.

"I was at the Paris Embassy with Sir William Claremont."

"My father," Sara explained to Andy, who was looking bemused. "But it was a
long time ago." She gave Gavin a cool glance. "How long have you been

Governor here?"

"Six months. I thought your father might have mentioned it."

She shook her head, finding it difficult to speak, conscious only of his nearness

and the fact that he was exactly as he had imagined him. It was not schoolgirl

fantasising that had given him the looks of a dark Greek god. From the

vantage point of twenty-two years — the last four of which had been spent in

a predominantly masculine society - he was still the most handsome man Sara

had ever seen. She clenched her hands and her nails dug sharply into her

palms. She must stop standing here like a dumb fool. Yet she could find

nothing to say; could think of nothing except that Gavin was in front of her,

looking at her with sardonic Indifference.

"We'll have to talk again later when I'm not so busy," he murmured, then with a
nod moved to the next group.

"I'm glad my fears were in vain," Andy Graham said.

With an effort Sara forced herself to concentrate on him. "What do you mean

by in vain?"

"I thought you were bound to fall for him — the way most of the women seem
to do — when all the time you've known him for years."

"Years," she echoed, and gave him a wide blind smile from eyes that were still
dazzled by blue ones. "I'd like to change my mind about that invitation to

dinner — if it's still open."

For an instant he was nonplussed, then he grinned. "You bet it is! If you'll

excuse me a moment I'll call and book a table."

"In your own hotel?"

"Heck, I'm not taking you there. You deserve the best!"

She laughed and, as the young American moved off to telephone, looked

around for somewhere to hide herself. There was a clump of bushes some few

yards away, but as she moved towards them she saw Gavin watching her.

Abruptly she turned in the direction of the buffet. She was darned if she would

let him think she wanted to hide! To do so would indicate how shattered she

was by their meeting. Head high, she reached the buffet and filled a plate with

canapés. Then with another glass of champagne in her hand she wended her

way towards a table. Several people were watching her, but she was used to

being stared at, and it gave added sparkle to her eyes and a spring to her step,

making the fluid lines of her skirt sway around her as she glided - tall and

graceful - over the grass, her hair a coronet of toffee-gold around her head.

She reached a table and put down her plate. Her behaviour of the last few

moments had shown she was in command of herself, but this was as far as she
could go. To eat the food she had collected was asking too much of her. All she

could do was to sip the champagne, even though she was already feeling

slightly heady.

"Don't you think it would be wiser to eat something?" an incisive voice asked,
and without moving her head she knew it was Gavin.

"I'm used to drinking," she replied.

"You never used to be."

"You're talking about a long time ago."

"Four years three months and six days." The voice was deeper.

"You make it sound like shopping days to Christmas!"

"I'm glad you find it amusing, Sara."

"I wouldn't call it amusing," she said lightly. "Morbid is a far more apt way to
describe it. The best way of coping with unpleasant memories is to forget

them, not count them."

"And if one can't forget?" he said harshly. "What then?"

"I wouldn't know." She shrugged and lifted her glass. But here her effort at
pretence played her false, for her hand was shaking and the glass wobbled

until a lean, long-fingered hand reached out and took it from her.

"You aren't as unmoved as you pretend," he remarked.

"Of course I'm not unmoved." Seeing him watching her with the intensity of a
camera lens, she knew that the only way to prevent him guessing her turmoil

was to admit some part of the truth. "Do you think I like remembering how

foolish and childish I was all those years ago?"

"Foolish maybe," he replied, "but I wouldn't have called you childish." He came
a step closer and though she was lull, he towered above her. If the four years

since they had last met had given her sophistication, they had given him

Infinitely more. Sophistication he had always had, but to this was added

authority and command.

"I must talk to you alone," he said firmly.

"We are alone."

"You know what I mean. I can't make it tonight, but - "

"That's fortunate," she interrupted, "because I'm having dinner with Andy."

"You know him well?"

"Not yet, but I soon will."

The blue eyes narrowed. "I assume you're staying with Miss Rickards? I'll call
on you there tomorrow morning. As near to noon as I can."

"I can't think why you want to come and see me, Gavin. We have nothing to

talk about."

"I think we have. Until tomorrow, Sara." With a lift of his hand, he turned and
left her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"You might at least have told me that Gavin Baxter was Governor of the

island," were Sara's first words to Grace when they drove home after having

had dinner with Andy.

"I didn't think it was important."

"But surely you remembered that I was in Paris when he was there?"

"You were at the Paris Embassy with lots of men," Grace Rickards responded.

"Aren't you making a mountain out of a molehill - or was there something

special between you and Gavin that I don't know about?"

On the verge of telling the older woman the truth, Sara stopped herself. It

smacked of disloyalty to her father to disclose Helen's infidelity, particularly to

the woman he wanted to marry. Besides, even her father did not know Gavin

had been Helen's lover, and to tell Grace and swear her to secrecy would give

importance to a sordid business that was best forgotten.

"You haven't answered my question," Grace said. "Was Gavin important to

you?"

"I only knew him socially," Sara lied. "He took me out a few times."

"Then why all the fuss because I didn't tell you he was here?"

The question was valid, but since her answer couldn't be, Sara remained

silent. She could understand why Grace hadn't mentioned that Gavin was

here, but it was difficult to know why her father had not told her. Or had he

thought she would not have come to see Grace if she had known?

"You can see why all the matchmaking mamas have been having a fit since

Gavin arrived on the island," Grace was speaking again. "I give him six months
before somebody succeeds in snaring him."

Sara was pricked into replying. "Considering he's remained a bachelor for so

long, I can't see him falling for any of the wide-eyed ingénues who were
fluttering round him tonight."

"So you noticed, did you?"

"I would have had to be blind not to. Anyway, young innocents aren't his

type."

"I thought you said he took you out in Paris? And four years ago you must

have been pretty wet behind the ears!"

"I was the daughter of the Ambassador," Sara retorted. "I'm sure he wouldn't
have bothered with me otherwise."

"We don't only have innocents here," Grace continued. "This island is home to
some pretty luscious beauties, and one of them in particular has caught

Gavin's eye. You would have seen her tonight except that I heard her plane

was late getting in from New York."

"Is she American?" Sara said with feigned disinterest.

"Yes. Rich, intelligent and amusing. She'd make an ideal wife for a diplomat."

"She sounds a paragon. How come she's still husband- hunting?"

"She was widowed a couple of years ago." Grace slowed down preparatory to
turning into the drive leading to her house. "You'll be meeting her yourself

while you're here. I think you'll like her."

As Sara already hated the sound of her, she thought this unlikely, and then

silently congratulated herself for being a better actress than she had imagined.

Certainly Grace was completely oblivious that the girl sitting beside her was

one quivering mass of nerves.

"Care for a nightcap?" Grace asked, getting out of the car.

"Just my sleep," Sara smiled. "Jet lag is catching up on me." She feigned a yawn.
"I'll be glad to get to bed."

"Lie in as long as you want in the morning, and just ring for breakfast when

you wake up."

"I'm not used to breakfast in bed. I've been a working girl for a year."

"You aren't working at the moment, so just laze round and take it easy. You

look all eyes and brittle bones." The car was parked and the two women went

into the house.

In the morning Sara was awakened by the sound of surf pounding on the

beach outside her window, and throwing back the single coverlet she padded

over to look out. A sharp breeze was blowing and it was this that was making

the sea rough, though the sky was still bright blue and cloudless and the sun

was a white-gold disc in the east.

Her watch said nine o'clock, which gave her a couple of hours before Andy

came to collect her. During a brief moment alone with him last night, when

Grace had gone to the cloakroom, she had let him know she was free for lunch

the following day and he had immediately responded by inviting her to have it

with him. She knew Gavin would be furious to arrive and find her absent, but

his anger was unimportant compared with the necessity of retaining command

over herself, which she knew she would not be able to do if she were forced to
have a lengthy discussion with him. Besides, they had nothing to talk about.

No matter what time span had elspsed, she would never be able to forgive him

for what he had done. Had it been any woman other than Helen, it might have

been different, but she could not forget the bitterness of realising that even

while he had professed to love her, he had been making love to her

stepmother.

Long before Andy was due, Sara was dressed and waiting for him, supple as an

ear of corn in a gold silk dress, with a wide-brimmed straw hat in cinnamon

colour casting soft shadows across her delicately beautiful face.

"You look like a dream," Andy's comment was almost reverent. "And to think I
nearly took a plane out of here a couple of days ago!" He caught her hand and

squeezed It. "I'm glad you didn't insist on our taking Miss Rickards to lunch

too."

"I'm not as cruel as that," she smiled. "Anyway, you were extremely kind to offer
to do it last night."

"It wasn't a question of kindness, honey, but of necessity. I knew you wouldn't
come out with me otherwise!"

He led her to his car, a huge white monster with a mass of gleaming chrome

which he handled with unexpected ease. But then for all his lack of pretension

and casual manner he was a very rich young man and used to the best.

"I guess you must have seen a great deal of the world," he commented over
lunch, "what with your father being an Ambassador."

"I would probably have seen more of the world if he hadn't been quite so
elevated," she smiled. "Once you're an Ambassador you tend to stay in one
country for quite a few years."

"Even so, I bet you had an interesting time."

"Don't believe all you read in novels," she teased. "Wives and daughters of
diplomats often lead very restricted lives. You're hemmed in by protocol and

you're pledged to do good works. You also have to be polite to bores!"

"Then I take it you'd never want to go back to that sort of life?"

"Never 1" she cried, and closing her mind to sapphire blue eyes and thick black
hair, forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings and her host.

He was improving on acquaintance. Like her he had been born with every

advantage, but it had not stopped him from being obliged to work his way up

in his father's business.

"I had a year's course in accountancy, a couple of years in management and

two years in hotel catering before my father considered me qualified to stand

in his shadow!"

"Don't tell me you're a resentful son?" she smiled.

"Far from it. The old man and I get on extremely well - even though I can't

stand his choice in wives."

Sara swallowed a too large piece of sorbet and hastily put her napkin to her

mouth.

Andy grinned at her reaction. "You obviously don't read the gossip columns or

you'd know that my old man has been married five times."
"How many times have you been married?"

"So far I've steered clear. Love 'em and leave 'em is my motto - at least it was
until now." He stared at her with frank admiration. "I've fallen for you, Sara, and
as far as I'm concerned I would marry you tomorrow."

"I'm flattered!"

"I'm not kidding. Say the word and I'll get the licence. We could have a lot of fun
together."

"I'm sure we could," she said equably, "but marriage is more than just having
fun."

"I know that. But I was deliberately playing it lightly. You're so cool and

distant, Sara, that I'm scared of frightening you off. But I have fallen for you,

and I'm willing to wait."

"It will be a long wait, then. I have no intention of getting married for years. I
want to see much more of the world."

"I can show it to you. I'll only be on the island a few more months, then it will be
Mexico and Rio and after that Europe."

"A veritable Cook's tour!"

"I'm not kidding," he repeated. "I think we could be happy together."

"Do you always make such fast decisions?" she temporised, reluctant to tell him
he left her totally unmoved.

"I know when I meet a girl who is unique." His eyes crinkled. "I also know when
I'm leaving a girl cold."

"I'm sorry, Andy."

"Forget it. It won't stop me from trying. And talking about trying, the lovely
Lydia has just come in."
"Lydia?" Sara was puzzled.

"The lovely lady who's trying to get the Governor. She's been chasing him for

months. Everyone is taking bets on whether or not she'll get him. Personally I

think she's got him already."

Sara set her spoon carefully on to her plate. "Is that gossip or knowledge?"

"A bit of both. She practically lives at Government House and you don't get a

man like Gavin Baxter and a woman like Lydia Stacey spending tropical nights

together playing gin rummy."

Sara longed to turn round and see what the unknown Lydia looked like, and

she hoped it was coincidence and not the fact that she had given herself away

that made Andy murmur that the woman had seated herself at a table by the

window on their left. A slight movement of Sara's toffee-coloured head and the

table came into vision. Her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, for its occupant

could have passed for a younger, petite version of Helen.

As if aware that she was being scrutinised, the woman immediately pushed

back her chair and came over to greet Andy.

"I had dinner with your father and his wife while I was in New York. He gave

me a pair of cuff links for you. I'll send them to your hotel." She gave Sara a
questioning smile and Andy immediately introduced them and, after a

momentary hesitation, suggested she join them for lunch.

"I wouldn't dream of intruding on a'tête-à-tête," Lydia Stacey said. "I only came
over to tell you about the cuff links."
"You won't be intruding," Sara intervened, and without more ado Lydia

immediately took the chair Andy proffered, and gave her order to a waiter. As

Sara drank several cups of coffee she was disconcerted to find she did not

dislike the woman who, apart from her unfortunate resemblance to Helen, did

not appear to resemble her in character, being vivacious, humorous and a

keen lover of sport.

"That's why I enjoy these islands so much," Lydia explained. "If it weren't for
the fear of sharks it would be even more fun. But knowing they are lurking

around puts me off deep-sea diving."

"The sharks are more likely to be afraid of you," Andy chuckled.

"That's what Gavin says." Lydia looked at Sara. "Have you met our Governor
yet? He's an absolute dish."

"Sara knew him in Paris," Andy said to Sara's annoyance. "Her father is
Ambassador there."

"Then you know Gavin quite well. Isn't he sensational?" She saw Sara hesitate
and laughed merrily. "I don't mind who knows I'm crazy about him. I've been

that way from the minute I set eyes on him."

"You're just an uninhibited American heiress I" Andy teased. "Don't you know
that Englishmen don't like being chased?"

"Englishmen are men, when all's said and done," Lydia retorted, "and there isn't
a man born who doesn't respond to flattery. Don't you agree with me?"

Dark eyes stared into grey and Sara half nodded. "I suppose so. I haven't

given it much thought."

"Then take my word for it - Jack, my late husband, was the most hard-headed
guy you could have met, but if you flattered him he was putty in your hands."

"Like the Governor is in yours?" Andy ventured.

"Unfortunately not." Lydia gave a dramatic sigh, though her smile robbed it of
meaning. "But then he's different from any man I've known."

Reluctant to continue listening to eulogies about a man she was trying to

forget, Sara gave Andy a hard look. Correctly interpreting it, he signalled for

the bill.

"Can I drop you anywhere?" he asked Lydia as they stood on the steps of the
restaurant a few moments later.

"No, thanks, I'm going to the Governor's residence for tea. It sounds frightfully
Victorian and la-de-da, doesn't it? Makes me think of silver tea-kettles and

maids in starched aprons and caps!" She grinned at Sara. "I hope to see

something of you while you're here. I'll invite you to one of my parties."

Sara smiled and nodded, though she knew that nothing would induce her to

visit any place where she might encounter Gavin.

"She's nice, isn't she?" Andy commented as they left Pango behind and drove
along the coast road.

"Very. I can see why everyone is speculating about her and - Gavin."

"She'd improve him no end. He needs a bit of warming up'. Sometimes I get

the impression that he hates having to make small talk and that he's bored by

everything going on around him."

"If he is he should know better than to show it."

"He doesn't show it to the islanders," Andy admitted. "He's very popular with the
ordinary local people. It's only with some of the British colony and us rich

foreigners that he's a bit stand-offish."

"That means he's a good Governor," Sara assured him. "After all, he is here for
the islanders, not for people like you."

"Ouch!" Andy rubbed an imaginary wound in his chest. "Let's change the subject
and talk of our future!"

"I would rather you told me about the island."

He proceeded to do so and was still talking about it when they reached the

small but pretty bungalow where Grace Rickards lived. "Can I see you

tonight?" he asked.

"I don't think so. I don't want to leave Aunt Grace alone. After all, I came here to
spend my holiday with her."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"May I call you?" asked Sara.

"Don't forget," he pleaded, "and make it dinner in preference to lunch. Then I

can spend more time with you."

He climbed out of the car, but she did not ask him to come in, and waved to

him from the front door before going through the house to the verandah

beyond.

Grace Rickards was relaxing in a chaise-longue and she gave Sara a distinctly

dry look. "Enjoy your lunch?"

"Very much?"

"No qualms of conscience?"

"About what?"

"About Gavin driving out to see you. He came on the dot of twelve-thirty. You

knew, of course."

Sara stared down at her feet. "I didn't ask him to come, nor did I promise to be
here if he did."

"But you knew he was coming to see you, and he is the Governor."

"Spare me that I It wasn't in his official capacity that lie came to see me."

"Oh, really. Why did he come, then?"

Sara clenched her hands. By her own stupidity she had invited this question

and there was no way she could avoid answering it. Quickly she searched for a

plausible reply. "Probably to talk over old times or - because I'm my father's
daughter. Gavin is ambitious and - "

"What has that to do with it?"

"My father has the ear of a lot of people in Whitehall," Sara said evenly.

"That's just the sort of thing I could hear Helen saying!" Grace snorted. "She
always believed there was an ulterior motive behind everyone's behaviour."

"That's not a bad premise by which to live."

"You can't mean that - and you certainly can't think it about Gavin. He would

never let anyone help him. He doesn't need it either."

"Must we go on talking about him?" Sara jumped to her feet. "I'm going to
change and go for a swim. Care to join me?"

Grace shook her head and waited till Sara was halfway into the sitting-room

before she called her back. "Don't you want to know if Gavin left any
message?"

Sara looked round with studied indifference. "Did he?"

"No."

No matter how many times during the rest of the day Sara told herself she

was glad she had not seen Gavin, she could not genuinely believe it, and the

more she thought of the way she had behaved that morning the more angry

she became with herself. By running away she had made it clear that she did

not want to see him; a fact which he was intelligent enough to see as a fear of

him. What price her pretended indifference to him of last night I Had she acted

with logic she would have seen him today and been politely friendly. She

should have given him a drink and chatted about the past as if it no longer

mattered to her, instead of which she had run away, thereby repeating her

behaviour of four years ago.

She toyed with the idea of telephoning him and apologising for having gone

out, then decided this would look as if she was worried. It was better to

apologise when she met him again. Somehow she felt it would be soon. If it

was conscience which made Gavin want to talk to her, then he was the sort of

man who would want to get his apology over and done with, though what he

could say - other than to continue to lie about what had happened in Paris -

she could not begin to imagine. At least he had shown sufficient good sense

not to make himself available to Helen now that she was free, for it would do
his career no good whatever to marry the ex-wife of an Ambassador.

Lydia would be ideal for him, as Andy had rightly said, and it was surprising he

had not succumbed to her obvious affection for him. Was she still at

Government House? Sara's watch showed four o'clock, which surprised her, for

she felt as if the afternoon had dragged on and on.

The sound of a car on the road made her jerk into an upright position on the

sand, and her pulses only settled to a steady beat as it droned on into the

distance. Without putting her reaction into words she knew she had assumed it

to be Gavin, and irritably she draped her towelling jacket over her shoulders

and padded over the sand to the garden. Grace Rickards' was the only house

on this part of the coast, and she knew that she would find it too lonely to live

here for months on end. It was a pity Aunt Grace did so, wasting her time

writing books when she should have been living her life instead.

"That's why I'm here," she muttered. "To make her see that her future lies with
my father."

As she showered and changed into a clinging silk jersey dress, she felt

suddenly lighthearted. She was young and beautiful and in a matter of weeks

would be living in a capital city and acting as interpreter to a host of

interesting people. She had more money than she wanted as well as beauty

and health. Everything to live for, in fact, and it wits stupid not to

acknowledge this and act accordingly.

"How about some champagne to celebrate?" she said, coming into the sitting-
room a little later.

"I always keep a bottle on ice when the Claremonts come to call!" Aunt Grace
chuckled. "That's one thing I

learned when living with you and your father."

"You must have found it quite a wrench to leave the Embassy."

"It wasn't the Embassy I minded leaving," Grace said with honesty. "It was you
and William."

"Then the quicker you go back, the better for all concerned." Sara stopped as a
servant came in with the champagne and proceeded to open it. Only when

they were alone again and she held a glass in her hand did she speak. "Why

not pack up and leave when I do?"

"I'll think about it."

"My father made a mistake when he married Helen," Sara said bluntly, "but you
can't go on blaming him for it. He paid for his folly and you should be

prepared to forget it."

"You're perfectly right, dear. I'm so glad that's your philosophy, too. So many
young people are unforgiving."

Sara gave the older woman a penetrating look, for the remark seemed

deliberately pointed. Yet Grace did not know about Gavin and Helen, nor about

Gavin and herself. Deciding she was being over-sensitive, she sipped her drink

and talked of her years at university and her working year in London.

At eight-thirty they sat down to dinner. The wind, which had been fresh all

day, had died completely and the air was still and warm enough for them to
dine alfresco. The terrace was lit by candles and the garden illuminated by a

crescent moon which turned the landscape into a black and silver etching.

Occasionally the narrow road in the distance showed the gleam of car

headlights and each time it did, Sara was hard put not to rush from the table,

so convinced was she that Gavin would be calling.

"You're very edgy tonight," Grace remarked. "Is anything wrong?"

"Of course not." Sara forced herself to relax, but another pair of headlights set
her quivering again, and she was glad when dinner ended and they returned

to the sitting-room to listen to some music. Only then was she genuinely able

to relax, though the ringing of the telephone almost made her jump out of her

skin and she listened tensely as Grace answered it. It was someone on a local

charity committee, and she leaned back in her chair and hoped her agitation

had not been noticed.

Ten o'clock came and went, but not until the clock chimed eleven did Sara

allow herself the final relief of admitting that Gavin was not going to come

tonight. Perhaps her behaviour this morning had made him realise it might be

better to allow the past to remain past. Indeed if Lydia had been at the cocktail

party last night he might not even have suggested seeing her again.

"I'm going to bed," Grace announced. "But you stay up if you like and listen to
some more music. It won't disturb me."

"I might go for a walk along the beach. It's safe, isn't it?"

"Perfectly." The older woman went to the door, hesitated for a moment and then
went out.

Sara put on another Chopin Nocturne and when it came to an end she

wandered over to the piano and ran her hands across the keys. It was in tune,

but it lacked tonal quality, which was one of the penances of living in the

tropics. Despite this, it was more satisfying to play than to be played to, and

she sat down and drifted into the Moonlight Sonata and then a more agitated

piece by Prokofiev which fitted her jangling nerves far better.

Darn Gavin! Had he been as keen on seeing her as he had professed last

night, he would have regarded her absence this morning as a challenge and

have come here again tonight. The fact that he hadn't done so was a

deliberate attempt to show her he was still in control of the situation. He was

like a cat playing with a mouse. But he would soon learn that she was not the

mouse of four years ago. She was a sophisticated woman in command of

herself. Defiantly she raced through one of Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsodies, and

when she reached the final crescendo she picked up her mohair stole and went

through the garden to the beach.

CHAPTER NINE

The shore at night presented an idyllic and romantic scene and lacked only the

right man to make it complete. Sara would not have been human had she not

felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Angrily she averted her gaze from the

shimmering sea and began to walk across the sand. It had been foolish of her
to come to Balinda. Even without Gavin's presence this island would have

roused the longing to be loved, and with Gavin actually living here, these

longings were even more difficult to keep at bay. She quickened her step and

soon reached the end of the beach where a sharp outcrop of coral acted as a

barrier. Because she had left her shoes on the terrace she could not risk

climbing it, and instead she moved down to the water's edge and let the soft

waves lap her toes.

A light breeze, gentle as a caress, blew against her body, moulding the supple

jersey to the rounded swell of her breasts and the long curving line of her

thighs. It lifted her hair gently from her face and on an impulse she pulled out

the pins that confined it and let it fall free. It fell below her shoulders, as shiny
and soft as spun silk. The air played through the strands, lifting them and

dropping them playfully. She raised one long slender arm and put it to the

tendrils that blew on her forehead. She was standing thus, her body outlined

against the silver sea, when Gavin came upon her.

It was instinct rather than sound which told Sara someone was approaching,

and she turned and looked at the tall dark figure walking silently and

purposefully towards her. It was impossible for her to run. Besides, there was

nowhere for her to go and she remained motionless as he stopped a couple of

feet away from her. As he had done last night, he wore a dinner jacket and a

white silk shirt, but because of the moonlight he looked taller and thinner.
Graver too, his face no longer showing the sardonic lines she had always

associated with him, but looking determined and tense. The eyes held

tenseness too, and though the night robbed them of colour it could not dim

their watchful shine.

"You knew I would come," he said quietly.

"I expected it," she said, and knew with a strange sense of fatality that she had to
end this scene. She could not bear to go on seeing him; to do so would

make her forget his treachery and this was something she must not let

happen.

"Say what you have to say, Gavin, and then go," she said quietly.

"Recite my piece and leave you to your peace?'" he questioned. "Will you have
any peace if I do, or will you be as tormented as I am?"

"Words," she shrugged. "You were always good with words."

"So were you. But not only with words!"

"I was young and demonstrative," she said lightly, "but you won't make me blush
about it today, Gavin. I'm four years older and considerably wiser."

"You're still a fool in your judgment of me."

"Not that again!" Her voice shook and with an effort she steadied it. "Can't you
understand I don't want to talk about what happened?"

"We must talk about it!"

"No."

"Yes, Sara."

He did not touch her, nor did he move, yet she knew that it was hopeless to
try and stop him talking.

"I'm going to tell you the truth once more," he continued, his voice so deep it
was hardly audible against the surf. "And if you don't believe me this time

then I'll never repeat it again. But I was never Helen's lover. I could no more

have touched her than I could have touched a snake. I went to her room that

night to plead for Mike; to beg her to give him back a letter which he had

stupidly written to her and which she was threatening to show to Jane."

"The letter was yours," Sara stated, "and you were scared she would show it to
me."

"The letter was Mike's," he said flatly. "I know you said you wouldn't believe me
if I made him come and tell you - that you would think I was getting him to

lie for me but it still didn't stop me bringing him back to the Embassy the

following afternoon. When I found you'd gone I couldn't believe it." He flung

out a hand in a blind gesture. "Why didn't you wait, Sara? And why did you

ignore all my phone calls to London and send back my letters without opening

them?"

"Because of Helen," she said shakily. "You're wasting your time, Gavin. She's
already told me the truth."

For a long moment he said nothing, and despite the sound of the sighing palms

and the surf on the sand, the silence seemed profound. "Are you saying that

Helen said it was me - not Mike?"

Sara's throat was too constricted to speak and all she could do was nod.

"So that's why you ran away," he said. "I never thought —- I never realised she
would do a thing like that. I see why you wouldn't see me or speak to me."

Again she could only nod. "And you believed her, of course," he went on.

"Didn't it enter your head that she was lying?"

Only then did Sara find her voice. "You still persist in saying that?"

"It's the truth," he said heavily. "By everything I hold most dear, it's the truth."

She stared at him. The breeze had ruffled his hair and a dark lock had fallen

down over his forehead It was the way she had often dreamed about him He

did not wear his hair as long as when she had first met him, but it was still

long enough to lay thick and luxuriant against the nape of his neck There was

a faint spattering of grey at his temples wild with poignancy she realised that

the four years since she had last seen him had been four years for him too. It

was difficult for her to think of him as having suffered mid her throat was thick

with tears.

"Will you tell me exactly what Helen said, Sara?"

Ryes lowered to the beach, she haltingly did so. It did not take long and

hearing the words, the ends of them whipped away by the wind which seemed

to have grown slightly in force, it was difficult to believe they had destroyed

her life.

"And you believed her, of course," Gavin repeated as she lapsed into silence.

"If you'd told me about Mike and Helen in the beginning," Sara whispered, "I
might have believed you instead."
"Do you still think I'm lying?"

"I don't know. All I'm asking is why didn't you tell me?"

"That your stepmother was playing your father for a fool? That three months

after marrying him she was making him the laughing stock of Paris? You were

a child, Sara, if I had told you that you would have hated me for it. I was

hoping that neither you or Jane need ever know. That's why I wouldn't let

Mike come and plead with her.

Why I decided to go and talk to her instead." He came a step closer, looming

taller because she wasn't wearing any shoes. "I didn't realise Helen was bitch
enough to lie to you. If I'd guessed I would have come after you. No one - not

even your father - could have prevented me." He gave a deep, shuddering

sigh. "As it was, I thought that he had been right in his judgment of you."

"Judgment of me?" she queried.

"That you were too young to know your own mind."

She was startled. "When did he say that?"

"When I told him I was in love with you." Gavin spoke without expression, nor
was there any in his face, which all at once was cool and remote. "He

suggested you'd gone away so hurriedly because my love for you had

frightened you. He stressed how young you were, how sheltered your life had

been, and said it would be better for me to let you be free, even if I ran the

risk of you falling in love with someone else. If I had realised you had gone

because of what Helen had said, not even your father would have prevented
me from following you. As it was, I thought perhaps he was right, and when

you kept ignoring my calls and my letters I decided that you'd used our quarrel

as a means of escape."

Sara moved back a step. Her heel caught on the hem of her dress and she

lifted her skirts. Her stole had fallen to the sand and she bent and picked it up.

It floated in her hand like a cobweb and she clutched at it, glad of something

to do. She could not assimilate all Gavin had said, for it was opening up a new

world where love was renewed and she was strangely and fantastically afraid.

"Have you nothing to say?" he asked.

She swallowed. "If you thought my father was right in asking you to give me

time to grow up, don't you think you overplayed your hand by waiting four

years? You never once tried to see me. If I hadn't come to Balinda we wouldn't

have met, even now!"

"I didn't feel I had any right to come after you. I originally intended to give you a
year away from me, but then when that year was up I learned you were

at university and having a wonderful time, and it didn't seem right for me to

turn your life upside down again. That's why I waited, hoping we would meet

in Paris. Then at the end of that year Helen left your father and there was no

longer any reason for you to stay away from the Embassy. But when you still

didn't come, I saw it as a sign that my presence there was an embarrassment

to you."
"Was that when you resigned?"

"Yes. I decided your father had been right, and that I had caught your

attention when you left school and were looking for romance."

"So with stiff upper lip you forgot about me and forged ahead with your

career!"

The iciness of her tone disconcerted him and he frowned. "Did you think it was
easy to forget you? My God, Sara, I never knew any woman would get under

my skin the way you did. And I certainly never dreamed it would be a child!"

His voice shook. "That's what you were to me. A sweet child that I could have

seduced so easily that I was afraid to let myself be near you."

She stared at him, finding it incredible that this aloof, sardonic-looking man

should be openly admitting his vulnerability.

"It's still only luck that brought us together," she said clearly. "And I don't have
much faith in a man who allows luck to act for him."

"I explained why I didn't contact you," he said vehemently. "But when I walked
across the lawn last night and saw you, I knew I could never love anyone

else."

"I'm sure you've tried."

"Many times in the past two years," he said bluntly. "Haven't you?"

"I've had no reason not to try." She heard him catch his breath and knew she had
hurt him.

"I love you, Sara," he whispered, "and one day I would have come in search of
you. I could never have married anyone else without seeing you first."
"Then I would have looked forward to seeing you within a couple of months!"

One narrow black eyebrow rose and she was forced to explain herself. "It's

common gossip that you and Lydia Stacey are more than good friends."

"Not as far as I'm concerned." His look was distinctly mocking. "But I'm glad
you're jealous."

"I couldn't care less what you do."

She heard him catch his breath and his silence told her that her remark had

not been anticipated. But. what had he expected her to do? Fall into his arms

and tell him she loved him as much today as when they had met in Paris? How

dared he come and tell her he loved her when he had let four years elapse

without a word of pleading; without any further attempt to see her.

"I don't believe you have stopped loving me," he said finally. "Though for some
reason best known to yourself you don't want to admit it."

"My father was right, Gavin," she said deliberately. "When I met you I was
practically a schoolgirl. I'm different now."

"You're more beautiful," he said huskily.

"I am also less susceptible and more intelligent," she retorted, thinking of Lydia
Stacey, who had been with him that afternoon and probably for dinner

too, and all the other nameless women whom he had considered marrying.

"Please go away, Gavin. It may be difficult for us not to meet while I'm on the
island, but I'll see if I can leave here in a few days."

"Very well." His hands seemed to be shaking, though she could not be sure, for
he slipped them into the pockets of his jacket. "Before we finally part, would you
let me kiss you goodbye?"
Astonished, she could only stare at him.

"It will make a fitting end to a dream," he explained. "After all, if I mean nothing
to you, a kiss won't mean anything to you either."

He had made it impossible for her to refuse and, keeping her eyes open, she

tilted up her head. "All right, Gavin, if it's so important to you."

"Very important," he murmured and, moving across the sand, put his hands on
her shoulders. As though in slow motion he lowered his head - his eyes were

open too, gleaming in the darkness - then his lips touched hers, cool and firm.

Her mouth remained equally firm, tight almost as she tried not to respond.

She waited for him to take his lips away, but they remained on hers, warmer

now and moving gently, as his hands were moving up and down her back.

Then one hand came up under her hair and clasped the nape of her neck, so

that even had she wanted to draw away she could not have moved. His mouth

was no longer gentle either but pressed harder on her own, forcing her lips

apart. He must have undone his jacket, for she felt the softness of his shirt

and could hear the heavy pounding of his heart. There was a determination in

his hold and his kisses that warned her not to fight him lest it unleash a

ferocity that neither of them would be able to control, and because of it she

remained motionless. But nothing could quench the inexorable rising of desire

as his mouth moved insistently backwards and forwards upon hers, and he felt

this emotion and half raised his head to look at her.

Instantly she went to withdraw from his hold, but his grip tightened and he
shook her slightly.

"Oh no, Sara. I'm not letting you off so lightly. Since this is our goodbye kiss, the
least you can do is to kiss me.."

"I've already done it," she said tightly.

"I've kissed you," he corrected. "Now it's your turn."

"I have no intention of kissing you!"

"In that case I'll do it for you."

He was teasing her, and it brought back the memory of the night he had

climbed her balcony at the Embassy. It been a warm night then too and the

scent of roses had filled the air. But it was no sweeter than the salty smell of

the sea whose silver spray was dampening Gavin's skin. How tall and strong he

was! She closed her eyes - and her lips too - but it was a futile gesture of

defiance, for he had the strength to force them apart and she felt the tip of his

tongue rubbing against the pearly edge of her teeth. He uttered a throaty

sound and, cupping her head with his hands, spoke against her lips.

"You won't mind a bit of passion, will you, Sara? Not now that you're grown up
and sophisticated."

"I'm too sophisticated to be taken in by you," she grated. "Let me go."

"In a moment."

Once more their mouths touched and unexpectedly the veneer of calm was

gone and Gavin became a man of abrasive desire who knew what he wanted

and was determined to take it regardless of any hurt he might cause.

The tightness of his hold almost cracked her ribs and his fingers dug cruelly

into the softness of her waist, then slid up swiftly to her breasts. The material

was soft and parted easily, as did the delicate lace bra that gave only token

defence before it snapped. His breath came out on a long shuddering sigh and

before she knew what was happening he had pulled her down on to the sand

and pressed himself upon her. This was a Gavin she had never encountered

before, and for the first time in her life she was frightened. Indeed she had

never seen such naked passion in any man and she knew she did not have the

physical strength to resist it, nor, with this man, did she have the mental

strength. She wanted Gavin, wanted him as much as he obviously wanted her.

The tears she had been holding in check began to fall, squeezed between her

closed lids like silver pearls. They touched Gavin's skin and he gave an

exclamation and lifted himself away from her.

"Don't be afraid of me," he said jerkily. "I would rather die than hurt you. I love
you, Sara. I love you so desperately that I… I was only kissing you to try

and show you that you do love me. But it seems I was wrong."

His hands came away from her and he sat up and turned his face towards the

sea, his profile bleak. He was etched in black and white and she had the

impression she was looking at a graven image of the way he would appear

when he was very old, with all life and hope gone. Anguish replaced her anger

and her body grew warm with her love and need of him. She sat up and slid
silently across the sand to clasp her arms around his neck and lean against

him.

"I couldn't forget those dreadful four years," she whispered. "It made me want to
hurt you." She pressed close to him. "Forgive me, darling."

With a groan, he turned and gathered her close, and this time she knew that

the dampness on his cheeks did not come from her tears but his own.

Convulsively she clutched him, arms wide, body trembling: longing to be his

completely and willing to give anything he demanded. But this

Gavin did not demand, and though his kisses were deep, his hands remained

warm on her back, protecting her from the sand. It was a kiss of genuine love,

of passion held in check, and it told her more about him than any words could

have done.

For a long time they lay close in each other's arms even though no longer

kissing. His hands softly caressed her hair, playing with the silky strands, while

she in turn nestled against him like a kitten, rubbing her face against his and

delighting in the smoothness of his brow and the roughness of his cheek.

"You've got one a.m. stubble!" she murmured.

"It's worse by eight a.m., I'd better warn you! I'm not a romantic sight to see on
one's pillow in the morning!"

"I think you'll be an extremely romantic sight."

"And how soon will you want to see it?" His breath was warm on her eyelids.

"When will you marry me, Sara? We've already wasted so much time. At least
I have," he amended. "You haven't."

"Of course I have."

"No," he persisted. "You finished your education and you've become a mature
and exquisite young woman."

"You haven't done so badly yourself. Governor of Balinda with a glittering

future ahead of you."

"No future unless you're willing to share it with me."

"Not willing," she said, clinging to him. "Desperate. I'll marry you as soon as
you want."

"I want you here and now," he said throatily, and pushed her slightly away from
him. "But I won't do you out of your white wedding, young Sara."

"Oh, Gavin!" She pulled him against her and began to cry. "I never thought I'd
hear anyone call me that again."

"I never thought you'd let me," he said upon her lips. "I've said it so many times
in my dreams, and when I woke up and found my bed empty…" Not so

gently this time he pushed her away from him and drew her to her feet. "Let's

go while I can still let you. I'm due some leave in a month. We can get married

in London."

"At Rokebury. I would like you to see my home, Gavin."

"And you must see mine. It's small, of course, but - "

"It's your home," she said swiftly, putting her hand to his mouth, "and that will
make it dear to me."

He looked as though he were going to kiss her again, but then shook his head.

"If I get you on the sand once more tonight my good intentions will disappear.
Come on, young Sara, to bed with you."

"What a lovely suggestion!"

He tweaked her hair. "You haven't grown up so much after all! I remember in

Paris you had a disconcerting way of saying the most outrageous things."

"I didn't think they were outrageous," she said with candour. "I meant them,
Gavin. I loved you and I wanted to be with you and saw no reason to hide it."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I still feel the same."

"You gave me a hell of a time before admitting it," he said ruefully. "For a while
back you really did convince me you'd stopped loving me."

"Would you have let me go?"

"Yes." There was an odd note in his voice and she waited for him to say more,
knowing he was trying to put something into words. "Yes, I would," he

repeated. "A man can plead his cause so many times and no more. If I hadn't

made you believe me this time, I would never have tried again."

"Faint heart doesn't win fair lady," she protested.

"Nor can constant reiteration of the same truth awaken a love which is dead."

He was not responding to her humour. "I mean that, Sara. If you'd refused to

believe me tonight I would never have said it again. It's important that you

understand why."

"I think I do," she said slowly. "It's a question of your pride."

"Much more than pride," he corrected. "It's all a question of the meaning of love.
It's a word we all use and we all mean different things when we say it. To

me it means trust and belief as well as passion. You could never do anything
that would make me lose trust in you. I feel I know you so well that…" He

paused and sighed heavily. "But you never trusted me. You were so quick to

believe the worst."

"Not any more!" she cried, and put her arms under his jacket and around his
waist. "I can't bear to think what would have happened if I hadn't come out to the
islands. We would never have met again. You would have married Lydia or

someone like her, and I would have been an old maid."

He chuckled. "More likely I would have been a crusty old bachelor while you

would have ended up with an American tycoon or a British aristocrat!" He

pressed his lips to her hair. "I still think I'm doing you out of great things."

"You're all I want," she whispered.

"I'll make you an Ambassador's wife, Sara. I promise you that."

"I only want you," she reiterated. "Wherever you go, whatever you do, I'll be
happy as long as we're together."

Arms entwined, they wandered slowly back across the beach to the villa. "I

feel I would like to wake up Aunt Grace and tell her about us," Sara sighed

happily. "I would like to wake the world and let it know. Wouldn't you?"

"You are my world."

"Oh, Gavin," she sighed, "I'll never be able to say such wonderful things to you."

"Actions speak as well as words," he reminded her, and hastily stepped back as
she lifted up her arms. "Don't try my control any more," he groaned, and

warded her off, his teeth gleaming white in a smile, his eyes glinting.

But it was his touch that she remembered long after he had gone, and she lay
in bed and thought how miraculously the future had sorted itself out. It was

painful to know that four heartbreaking years could have been spared both of

them if she had not listened to Helen, and she tried to understand why her

stepmother should have wanted to hurt her when they had seemed to be fairly

good friends. Hadn't she realised that by saying Gavin was her lover she was

destroying all her stepdaughter's dreams? The more Sara considered Helen's

actions, the more unbelievably cruel they became.

Not even the following morning, with the sun shining brightly and her spirits

high, could she feel any softening of attitude towards her stepmother. Helen

had behaved heartlessly and the quicker her father was free of her the better.

She shivered, as if even the thought of the woman could spoil her happiness

with Gavin. But that was impossible. Her future with Gavin was assured. Their

love was strong enough to overcome all obstacles. Happily she went to tell

Aunt Grace her wonderful news.

"Good gracious," was that good lady's astonished response. "I must say your
Gavin is a fast worker. I rather suspected, from what your father said, that

there'd been more than a light-hearted flirtation between the two of you - but

I never guessed that it went so deep that you would be proposed to - and

accept it - overnight."

"Gavin and I loved each other in Paris," Sara said flatly

"We had a bad quarrel and I ran away."

"Your father said it was something like that."

"My father never knew how much I loved Gavin. Nor did he know the real

reason we quarrelled."

"He thought it was a lovers' tiff and that if you cared deeply enough for Gavin
you would return to him. When you didn't, he believed you had changed."

"But you suspected that I hadn't. That was why you asked me out here," Sara
stated.

"Is that an inspired guess, or are you fishing?"

"I rather think I'm making a statement. You just used your uncertainty over

my father as an excuse to make me come."

Grace Rickards blushed and looked considerably younger for it. "Actually I've

no doubts whatever about your father. I intend to marry him the moment he's

free. If he weren't the Ambassador I would be living with him now!"

"Well, well," Sara blinked. "Wonders will never cease!"

"Passion isn't the prerogative of the young!" came the tart answer.

Sara giggled. "Honestly, Aunt Grace, you're getting more outrageous by the

minute!" She poured herself some coffee and happily munched on a piece of

toast. "What made you think Gavin still cared for me?" she asked curiously, like
all girls in love using any pretext to talk of her beloved.

"The frequent way he referred to you. He made a point of bringing your name

into the conversation every time we met, plus the fact that he's the most

handsome man I've seen and still a bachelor. If a man of his looks and virile
temperament lives like a celibate, then the reason can only be a woman."

Sara remembered Gavin's ardour of the night before and realised the strain he

had put upon himself for years. "I love him so much," she said shakily.

"It must have been a dreadful quarrel for you not to have made it up all these
years."

"It was," Sara hesitated, but as always the discretion that had been trained in her
as a child prevented her from saying what she wanted, and she stared with

pretended interest at the huge bowl of fruit on the table. "Gavin and I will be
returning to London in a month," she announced. ''I want to get married from

Rokebury."

"I suppose that means you would like me to fly back with you?"

"Naturally," said Sara, all wide-eyed innocence. "As you're now my

stepmother-to-be, I expect you to organise it all for me."

"Wretch!" Aunt Grace said happily. "You know nothing would please me more."

CHAPTER TEN

At noon Gavin sent his car to bring Sara to the Governor's Residence, and

after they had lunched together he showed her round the house and told her

she could make any alterations she wished. "I'm likely to be here for a few

years," he said, "certainly long enough to steer the islanders through to

independence. So if you want to tear the inside of the place apart and rebuilt

it, the option is yours."

"I like it the way it is. We'll need proper nursery quarters, though: at least three
rooms and a small kitchen."
He choked on his coffee. "How many children are you planning on having?"

"We will be having," she said calmly, and added: "Four. I suggest we begin as
soon as we're married. I mean, you aren't getting any younger, are you?"

"My God!" he said admiringly. "You're a cool customer." Only then did he see
the scarlet patches in her cheeks, and he pushed back his chair and strode

round to her side of the table to pull her up into his arms. "You aren't cool," he
said softly. "You're just the most exciting, adorable, fabulous - "

"Words," she reminded him, "when all I want is action."

He laughed and proceeded to obey her, only drawing back as there was a

discreet knock at the door. "Duty," he said briefly. "I'm afraid I must leave you
for the rest of the day. But tonight I'm giving a dinner to a trade delegation

and there's no reason why you can't be there as my fiancée."

"What a lovely word!" she dimpled.

"Wife is an even better one."

That day set the tenor for the weeks that followed. Gavin spent all his free

time with her and even when he Was working, liked to have her with him. "If I

can look up from my papers and see you, I feel happy," he explained and,

because Sara felt the same, she enjoyed sitting quietly with a book on her lap

while he worked on official papers and dealt with a host of problems.

She had written to tell her father her news and had received a cable by return,

wishing her and Gavin every happiness. A letter had followed, more

specifically stating his pleasure, and only at the end of it had he referred to

Helen, who was still refusing to agree to a divorce by consent.

"I can't understand why she's being so spiteful," Grace said bitterly, one
afternoon when she and Sara were talking about it. "After all, she was the one to
break up the marriage in the first place."

"But she is spiteful," Sara said. "She's that sort of woman."

"I'd like to tell her a few home truths!"

"So would I," Sara replied, and little knew how soon she would be given the
opportunity.

That night Gavin was free of all duties and Grace tactfully took herself off to a

friend's house and left them both the run of the bungalow. Sara dispensed

with the two servants and cooked the dinner herself, glad she had shared her

flat for six months with a Cordon Bleu friend. Gavin was an appreciative guest

and ate with gusto the sweet and sour spare ribs she prepared, the crisp fried

rice with toasted almonds and the delicious flaming crepes suzettes that

brought the meal to a triumphant end.

"You'll be wasted as a Governor's wife," he remarked, "unless we sack the chef!"

"I hope we won't have to lead a conventional life all the time," she said seriously.

"Would you like me to give up the Service?"

"What would you do if I said yes?"

"Think about it very carefully. The only trouble is that I'm not equipped for any
other career. I was a test pilot, as you know, until I crashed, and I came to

this job rather late."

"You've done exceptionally well," she said proudly, "and I'm sure you would do
well at anything else you tried. But Father says you have a wonderful future in
the Service and I'd feel guilty if I let you give it up."

After they finished dinner Gavin came to the kitchen to help her clear away

the dishes. He had taken off his jacket and tie and his half-open shirt disclosed

his bronzed throat and the mat of black hairs on his chest. She longed to press

her lips to it and the way her eyes rested on him must have given away her

thoughts, for he caught her hand and placed it on his body. Pink-cheeked, she

pulled away from him and pretended not to hear him laugh softly behind her.

With the dishes cleared away they returned to the verandah and shared one

deep chair, where she lay curled up in his arms. She knew her nearness

aroused him and though she tried not to be aware of it, the knowledge

aroused her too, and soon their good intention not to make love was forgotten

as she finally did run her fingers over his broad chest and placed her lips to

the soft tangle of hairs that lay there.

"If only we hadn't wasted four years," she whispered. "We could have been an
old married couple by now."

"Don't waste time on regrets."

"I can't help it. I shouldn't have refused to speak to you on the telephone." , "I
doubt if you would have believed me even if you had spoken to me."

"But I believe you now."

"Because you're four years older and able to listen."

"I'm glad it wasn't you with Helen," she said softly. "I can't bear to think of you
with any other woman."
"I haven't been a monk."

"I know that, but I - but as long as I don't know who the women were I don't

mind. But to think of you with Helen…"

"She isn't my type," he said briefly. "I don't think she realised it, but - " His voice
trailed off, but something in his tone made Sara raise her head and look

at him.

"She wanted you, though, didn't she?"

"Forget her," he said, and set himself to make her do it in the best way he knew
how.

As his mouth fastened on hers she could think of nothing except this man and

his nearness, his masculinity and his gentleness, his passion and his

tenderness. Unafraid, she burrowed closer, her soft breasts pressing against

the hardness of his chest. With an exclamation he stood up and set her feet

first on the ground.

"No," he said thickly. "I'm only human, and we're alone in the bungalow."

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered.

"Then you should be." He gave her a gentle slap on her behind. "When I make
you mine I want it to be legal."

"How old-fashioned you are I"

"I needn't be," he said, and took a step towards her, stopping with a chuckle as he
saw her take a swift step back. "Fine words don't make brave girls," he teased,
and knowing he had called her bluff she had no option but to laugh.

For the next hour they sat decorously apart, and well before midnight Gavin
left. He was leaving Pango airport early next morning to visit the various

neighbouring small islands that made up the Balinda group.

"I'm not sure exactly what time I'll be back tomorrow," he said as he kissed her
goodnight. "But I'll call you as soon as I get in."

Long after the sound of his car had disappeared into the night Sara thought

about him and the future they would share together. If the past four years had

changed her they had also changed him, taking away some of his light-

heartedness yet giving him an added sensitivity that made him even more

aware of her moods than he had been in Paris. For so masculine a man he had

a surprising understanding of the way the female mind worked, and in the last

few weeks had surprised her by his ability to know what she was thinking and

- even more important - what she was feeling. Somehow she did not have the

same ability to understand him, and she wondered if this was because he was

much older than her. Unquestionably he robbed her of her hard-won

sophistication: one look from his gleaming blue eyes and she was lost.

With Gavin away for the whole of the next day, Sara decided to spend it on

the beach, and was crossing the hall when the telephone rang. A female voice

at the other end asked to speak to Sara Claremont, and even as Sara

wondered who it was, she knew the answer. With an enormous effort she kept

her voice steady as she said it was Sara Claremont speaking.

"I didn't recognise you." Without question it was Helen, her voice clear and high.
"I daresay you're surprised to hear from me?"
"It's rather unexpected," Sara said casually. "How did you know where I was ?"

"I saw your father last week and he told me. I want to see you, Sara. I'm

staying at the Coral Creek."

"I'm afraid I - "

"Don't make excuses, I flew out to talk to you and I'm not going to be put off
now."

Sara clutched the receiver. "You came out to see me?"

"Yes. I'm going to have a rest now - I only flew in an hour ago and I'm

exhausted! But I'll be up for lunch. Come and have it with me."

"I have other arrangements." Sara did not know why she was bothering to lie.

The words had come out instinctively, as if she wanted to put her off her

meeting with her stepmother for as long as possible. "We have nothing to say

to each other, Helen. I can't think why you want to see me."

"Come along and find out," Helen said abruptly. "I'll expect you after lunch,
then."

Sara put down the telephone and stood by the table, shaking. It was here that

Grace found her, and she too looked shaken when she heard Helen was on the

island.

"There's no point trying to guess what she wants," the older woman said with her
usual practicality. "It would have been better for you to have seen her

right away. As it is you'll worry yourself to death until you do."

"I have no intention of worrying," Sara replied, but unfortunately could not suit
her behaviour to her words. She swam for a long while in the tranquil
ocean, but it brought no peace of mind and she toyed with her lunch and was

too restless to have a siesta. Long before it was time for her to leave, she was

dressed and ready and, borrowing Aunt Grace's car, drove the long way round

into town.

The Coral Creek Hotel was on a promontory on the outskirts of the little

capital, and Sara parked her car beneath the shade of a palm and then walked

across the gaily tiled patio to the foyer. She gave her name to the desk clerk

and was immediately told to go up to the first floor where Lady Claremont was

expecting her.

It gave Sara a nervous chill to hear Helen referred to in this way, and as she

went up the stairs she had to remind herself that the woman was still her

father's wife. Trust Helen to have the best, she thought instantly as she

entered the lavishly furnished suite and saw the vases of flowers, the

champagne in a silver ice bucket and the huge basket of tropical fruit that

stood beside it.

Helen looked exactly as Sara had remembered her, and she wondered if her

stepmother recalled all she had said on the morning after the ball.

"So little Sara has grown up!" Helen's hard bright eyes stared at her candidly.

"You've turned out even better than I expected. You were always a pretty girl,
but now you're stunning."

Sara tensed at the compliments flowing her way. Helen was not the sort of
person to flatter another woman unless she had good reason.

"You said you wanted to talk to me," she said flatly.

"It can wait a moment. Sit down and tell me how you've been since we met."

"I'm sure my welfare is of no interest to you."

Helen's thin mouth grew thinner. "It isn't only your appearance that has

changed. I can remember when you were far more polite to me."

"Times have changed, Helen. I'm not straight out of the schoolroom now and

you aren't Father's - " Sara stopped, and Helen smiled.

"I'm glad you didn't finish that sentence, because I still am your father's wife -

whether you like it or not. And that's why I'm here - to ask you to help me." A
thin hand was outstretched, the nails like long scarlet talons. "It isn't easy for me
to plead with you. The only reason I'm doing it is because I know your

father will listen to you. And we weren't enemies in the past, Sara. You

mightn't have been pleased that your father married me, but we did have

some sort of relationship."

"Not that I'm aware of," Sara said coldly. "Or have you forgotten that the last
time we met you deliberately allowed me to believe you and Gavin were…"

She could not bring herself to continue and she swung round to the window

and stared out at the shimmering sea.

"Gavin?" Helen echoed his name. "Don't tell me you're still carrying a torch for
him?"

"I'm going to marry him," Sara said sharply, and was lorry she had spoken when
she saw the look of astonishment on Helen's face.
"Marry Gavin! Your father never told me."

"Perhaps he no longer considered it your business!"

Two patches of colour blazed in Helen's thin face. "What are you doing out

here, then?"

"Gavin is here."

Helen gave a sharp laugh. "We really are turning back the clock, aren't we!"

Sara ignored this. "Could you please tell me why you want to see me?"

"I've told you why. I want to go back to your father. I should never have left
him."

"You didn't love him," Sara said bluntly. "Leaving him was the most honest thing
you did."

"Don't judge me!" Helen cried, and then caught herself up, as if remembering
she was here to ask Sara a favour. "I don't expect you to understand why I left
your father - any more than I expect you to understand why I married him."

"You married him for money and position," Sara said coldly. "You made that
quite plain. But I don't blame you for it. I only blame you for going with other

men when you were his wife."

"He never knew," Helen said quickly, and then caught herself up. "Anyway, I've
changed. Being on my own for two years has made me realise what a fool

I was. I want to go back to him, Sara, and you can help me."

Astonishment kept Sara silent and Helen misinterpreted it by pressing home

her previous statement. "Your father adores you, and if he believed you

wanted us to get back together again - "

"But I don't," Sara intervened. "The best thing that ever happened to Father was
you leaving him."

Beneath Helen's vivid make-up a more vivid colour glowed, giving an

unbecoming flush to the narrow cheeks and a hard glint to eyes which, even at

their friendliest, held no softness. "You're on Grace's side, aren't you?" she
sneered.

"My father loves her," Sara said quietly. "And if you won't do the decent thing
and agree to an amicable divorce, then he'll have to wait until he can apply for

one on his own."

"And what happens to me?"

"I'm sure Father has provided for you."

"It isn't just money. I want a place in life."

"You had a place, but you threw it away!"

"You're a hard girl, Sara."

The anger went from Helen, leaving her curiously deflated. There were fine

lines around her eyes that had not been there four years ago and hard lines

on either side of her mouth. They weren't so much the lines of age as of

character, and looking at her Sara could see what an old and ugly woman she

would become. Yet she felt no pity. How could she for a woman whose lies had

parted her for four years from Gavin?

"Did you honestly believe I would help you after the way you lied to me about

Gavin?" Sara asked.

For several seconds Helen was silent. "Is that what he told you?" she said finally,
her voice dull, as if she no longer cared to maintain her pride. "Don't tell me he's
fooled you all over again?"

"He never fooled me." Sara strove to keep her voice firm, but was dismayed to
find that it wobbled. "You were the one who did that, Helen, and I won't let

you do it again."

"I don't need to. Gavin's doing quite well on his own." Helen's laugh was
genuinely amused. "I must say he deserves to marry you. I've never known

anyone work harder for his own betterment. Still, my affair with him is over,

and if you can forget it, then - "

"You never had an affair with him!" Sara cried. "It was with Mike."

"It was Mike and Gavin," Helen shrugged.

"No!"

"Yes, Sara. It was Mike first, but once I met Gavin I didn't want anyone else. I
only said I would show Mike's letter to Jane in order to bring Gavin to heel. I

was tired of watching him make a play for you when I knew that all he wanted

was your money and your father's position to help him get to the top."

"You're lying!" Sara cried.

"Why should I?"

"Out of spite, because I won't help you with my father."

"If you don't believe me," Helen retorted, "ask Gavin yourself. Let him deny that
it's true. If you're foolish enough to believe him, then you'll probably be

happy with him."

Blindly Sara turned to the door, and only then did she see the tall figure of a
black-haired man on the threshold. "Gavin!" She took a step forward, but he
looked past her to Helen.

"My A.D.C. informed me you arrived here this morning."

"Yes, I did." Helen advanced towards him. "How lovely to see you! I didn't
know I was so famous that you would be notified of my arrival."

"You're still Sir William's wife. The airport notified us."

"And you rushed round to see me? That's what I call thoughtful. Sara and I

we're just talking about you."

"I thought you might be," he said grimly. "That's why I came over."

"How clever you are, Gavin. Which reminds me, I must congratulate you on

your engagement. I'm glad you finally achieved what you wanted."

"With no thanks to you," he said calmly, and added: "Why are you here?"

"I came to enlist Sara's help. Unfortunately she doesn't see fit to give it to me."

"Helen wants to return to my father." Sara spoke for the first time. "I told her that
he's going to marry Grace as soon as he's free."

"Which leaves me out on a limb," Helen said, and her hard brown eyes moved
over Gavin's tall frame. "I'm glad you were able to convince Sara that we

weren't lovers. But then you always did have an amazing ability to fool us poor

women."

Gavin threw her a look of such anger that had it been charged with equal

energy, it would have razed her to the ground. "I see you're still intent on

destroying other people's happiness if you can't find a way of getting your

own?"
"I was just putting Sara right about the facts, darling," Helen drawled. "But you
have nothing to worry about. She still dotes on you."

Unable to bear any more, Sara groped for the door.

"Sara, wait!" Gavin said behind her.

"I can't bear to stay here," she gasped, and stumbled down the corridor, intent on
putting as much distance between herself and Helen as possible. But

distance could not dim the words Helen had uttered and they reverberated

through her with every beat of her heart.

"Sara!" Gavin was striding after her, his steps heavy on the polished floor. "I
want to talk to you."

She looked at him with blank eyes. Gavin stared intently into her face and

swore beneath his breath."That damned woman! I knew something like this

would happen. That's why I came here as quickly as I could."

"You know what she would say?" Sara whispered.

"I knew she'd try to make mischief again." He gripped her arm. "We can't talk
here. Let's go home."

"No. Let's go to my car. It's parked by the cliff."

His hand came out to grip her elbow and silently he led her out of the hotel to

the car park. The quick tropical dusk was already beginning to fall and the sky

was tinged with purple.

"Shall we sit in your car or mine?" he asked.

"Neither," she said, and moved over to the wooden rail that separated the car
park from the springy turf that led to the cliff's edge. She knew Gavin was
waiting for her to speak, but she did not know what to say or where to begin,

and, as if realising it, he spoke first.

"Why exactly did Helen come to the island?"

"She wanted me to persuade Father to take her back. Apparently she doesn't

like her freedom. She's decided she wants to have position too."

"I take it you refused to help her?"

"Yes."

"And that's when she turned nasty?"

Sara moved her head, unwilling to answer in words. She wanted to turn and

face Gavin, but her feet seemed rooted to the spot and she clenched her hands

on the rail and went on staring out to sea.

"It isn't true, is it?" she said shakily. "Tell me it isn't true."

There was silence, and when she could bear it no longer she abruptly swung

round. His eyes were focused on the horizon and his profile was as firm as

though carved from stone.

"Tell me," she whispered.

Slowly he turned in her direction. "Tell you what?"

"That it isn't true. That Helen didn't have you and Mike as lovers."

He went on looking at her, his eyes narrowed by the dark brows that lowered

over them. "If I tell you today that Helen is lying, will it stop you from

doubting me again tomorrow?"

"Of course it will."

"I don't think so," he said quietly. "I think you'll always doubt me. I think that
whenever you see me with another woman you'll wonder if I've been

unfaithful to you."

"Don't be silly, Gavin. You know that isn't true."

"You've just shown me that it's very true."

"You can't blame me for asking you the question. If you tell me Helen is

lying…" Her voice wobbled and she lapsed into silence.

"I have no intention of discussing Helen with you." Gavin spoke in a clear, firm
tone. "You must believe what you will."

"Is it so hard for you to say 'I'm innocent'?" she cried.

"I can never have the innocence that you're looking for," he said bleakly. "You
need a young man whom you can never suspect; whose innocence you will

never doubt."

"I don't know why you're talking like this, Gavin. All I'm asking you is to tell me
that Helen was lying."

"I have nothing more to say on the subject. Think what you will." He turned on
his heel and strode to his car.

"Gavin, wait!" She ran after him. "You can't go like this."

"Why not?" He looked at her, but his eyes were filled with inner storms and did
not see her. "I told you before that I would never run after you twice."

"You never even came once!"

"I tried to see you when you left Paris," he reminded her. "You can't blame me
because you wouldn't read my letters or take my calls."
"We only met now because I came to the island 1" she cried. "If I hadn't, you
would have been happy to live your life without me. You wouldn't have given

one single damn!"

"If that's what you think," he shrugged, and turned away again.

"It's true!" she cried, and angrily put her hand on his arm. "We would never have
met if I hadn't come to Balinda."

"Then it's a pity that you did."

Sara blinked. "You can't mean that."

"I don't know any more what I mean," he said bleakly. Disengaging her hand
from his arm, he opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. The engine

purred and only then did she run forward and put her hand on the door.

"If you leave me like this," she said breathlessly, "I'll never see you again!"

"You never have seen me," he replied and, letting in the clutch, drove swiftly
away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"I don't blame Gavin one bit," was Grace Rickard's comment when Sara - in a
tightly controlled manner - told her the entire story, including the whole sordid

Paris episode.

"I can see why you believed Helen four years ago - you were young and

unsure of yourself and you didn't believe you were capable of holding a man of

Gavin's temperament - but I can't understand why you believe her now.

Anyway, what does it matter? It's all over and done with."

"You haven't found it easy to forget the past," Sara retorted. "You still blame
Father for behaving like a fool and marrying Helen."
"Only because I was already in his life when he fell in love with her. But Gavin
was having an affair with her long before he met you - if in fact he was having

an affair."

"Helen said he only stopped because I was a better catch."

"And Helen wouldn't lie, of course!"

"If she was, why did he rush round to see her the minute he discovered she

was on the island? It could only have been because he was afraid of what she

might tell me. You should have seen his face when he came in and saw I was

already there. It was as if he knew what she'd said to me.

"He probably did. Helen has never been difficult to read. But that doesn't mean
that what you read is the truth. You refused to help her get your father back,

so she tried to break you and Gavin up again, the way she did in Paris."

"Then why didn't Gavin say so?"

"He's given you the answer to that. He's already explained himself twice and

he refuses to do it a third time. He feels that if you still haven't any faith in

him, then it's best that you part. And personally, I think he's right."

"If Helen was lying, he should have said so," Sara repeated stubbornly. "The
only reason he didn't is because it was true."

Grace made a gesture tantamount to throwing her hands up in the air. "Then

you and I don't have the same opinion of Gavin's character. I've always

considered him a man of integrity and sensitivity."

"Not so sensitive that he couldn't drive away and leave me, knowing how upset
I was," Sara said bitterly.

"He was upset too."

"You can't imagine how awful it was to live in Paris with Helen and Father,"

Sara went on as if she had not heard Grace's comment. "It was like sitting on

a volcano. And then there was Gavin. I loved him, yet I felt there was a

barrier between us. I couldn't understand it and he never explained it to me."

"He said he thought you were too young."

"That's what he says now," Sara replied fiercely, "but it doesn't mean it was what
he felt at the time."

"Gavin's right about you." Grace put down the petit point she was working on.

"You don't love him enough. Maybe you've been in love with the memory of

first love. Perhaps now that you've seen him again you'll be able to forget

him."

"Do you honestly think that?"

"It's your only hope. Gavin is an exceptionally attractive man and women will

always run after him. If you doubt him before you're his wife, you're well

advised not to marry him."

The words lingered long in Sara's mind, but each time the telephone rang she

knew a sense of desolation that it wasn't Gavin. When two days had gone by

and there was still no word from him, Sara accepted the fact that he was not

going to contact her. He had meant it when he had said that if she doubted
him, he wanted nothing more to do with her. Yet she could not go to him and

aver a faith she did not feel, for he was perceptive enough to see the truth.

Besides, as Grace had said, marriage to a man like Gavin would bring

sufficient problems without her starting with an initial lack of trust.

On the third day after her quarrel with him, Grace persuaded her to go

shopping in Pango, and though Sara was totally uninterested in acquiring any

of the handmade crafts available, she forced herself to do as she was told.

It was noon when they had completed their tour of the local shops and Grace

suggested they take a drink at one of the hotels.

"Not the Coral Creek," Sara said. "I couldn't face going there."

For this reason they went to the Graham Hotel and were sitting on the terrace

when Andy came over to them.

"I thought I recognised you," he smiled at Sara. "No one else has caramel-
coloured hair!" He bent towards her as Grace went over to speak to some

friends of hers who had just come on to the terrace. "How is it you haven't

answered any of my calls these last few weeks?"

"I warned you I wouldn't have much free time," she explained.

"You're free now. How about lunch?"

Sara was in the act of shaking her head when Grace rejoined them to say her

friends wanted them to go aboard their yacht for lunch. The thought of making

conversation with strangers was more than Sara could bear, and she shook
her head and said it would suit her fine if Grace went alone, since this would

leave her free to have lunch with Andy.

"Good," Grace said at once. "So long as you won't be alone."

"I'll see her safely home-too," Andy smiled, and promptly took Grace Rickards'

vacant chair. "Is it all right if we lunch here?" he enquired after he had ordered
fresh drinks.

"I couldn't care less," she confessed.

"Finish the sentence."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You should end it by saying 'as long as I'm with you'."

For an instant she stared at him blankly and then forced herself to smile. "I'm
rather slow this morning, Andy. I didn't sleep well and I've a slight headache."

"Then let's have lunch right away. A good meal should revive you."

During lunch she forced herself to respond to his raillery and gradually found

herself relaxing. She was chuckling at something he had said when she

suddenly saw Gavin come into the restaurant. Even at a distance it was

impossible to mistake his jet black hair and erect carriage, nor could she

mistake the vivacious girl by his side. Though she made no sound, her

expression must have given her away, for Andy glanced over his shoulder to

see who had caught her attention.

"It's the woosome twosome," he commented. "Have you seen anything of Lydia
since the day we met her?"
"No," Sara hesitated, wondering what he would say if she told him that all her
free time had been spent with Gavin, and that neither of them had wanted any

other company.

Unable to stop herself, she watched as Gavin followed

Lydia Stacey to a table by the window. If he sat and faced the girl he would

inevitably have to see herself, and she waited for that moment to come. When

it did, nothing in his expression gave him away, and across a distance of

several yards, intense blue eyes held grey ones. Then Gavin half-lifted his

hand in a sketchy salute and skilfully shifted his chair so that Sara was no

longer in his direct line of vision.

Despite this, Sara found his presence stifling, and sought around for an excuse

to leave. Yet to do so would be giving herself away to Gavin, and pride forced

her to remain where she was.

Surreptitiously she glanced at him. He was bending towards Lydia and a shaft

of sunlight fell across the top of his head, giving a shiny glow to his hair. His

hands, clasped on the table in front of him, looked bronze against the white

cloth, and as she watched, he picked up a roll and broke it in half. His gesture

was firm and precise and showed no awareness of her presence. How aloof and

controlled he was! If she had needed any proof that he did not care for her,

she had it now. If he loved her he would never be able to sit there looking so

detached. Indeed he would not be there at all, lunching with a girl who made it
plain that she adored him.

"I've ordered a special soufflé," Andy broke into her thoughts. "It means waiting
twenty minutes, but when you've tasted it, I hope you'll think it was

worth it."

"I never mind waiting for a soufflé!" she said, and gave Andy her full attention.

But nothing could obliterate Gavin from her mind. Had he seen Helen again, or

had she left the island once she realised her journey here had been a wasted

one? Perhaps she was still here. She might even have decided that if she stood

no chance in resuming her marriage, she might as well try to resume her

relationship with one of her lovers. Sara clenched her hands on her lap. One of

her lovers. How awful that sounded when applied to Gavin! No woman who

had been held in his arms, who had been made aware of his ardour and skilful

touch, would ever be able to think of him as one among many. In his way he

was unique. And not just to me, she thought bitterly, as Lydia pouted her lips

and smiled at him provocatively - a gesture so blatant in its invitation that

Sara longed to hit her.

At last the soufflé came, and though it was every bit as excellent as Andy had

prophesied, to Sara it could just as easily have been a piece of rubber sponge.

Coffee was brought to them and she was grateful for its stimulus and hoped it

would make her feel less faint. Her heart was beating so heavily she could

hear it hammering in her throat, and her skin was so damp that the bodice of
her dress clung to her. Yet outwardly she knew she looked cool and elegant in

beige silk and gold jewellery, a baroque band of which gleamed round her

throat and on one slender arm.

She was on her second cup of coffee when Gavin and Lydia stood up to leave.

The girl turned to make a comment to him and, noticing Andy, moved in their

direction.

"Hi, you two," Lydia beamed. "Are you inseparable, or is it coincidence that I
always see you together?"

"As I haven't seen you for several weeks - " Andy began.

"I had to return to the States," Lydia explained. "My mother-in-law had a heart
attack."

"How is she?"

"Almost as good as new, thank goodness, so at least I don't own all the oil

wells in Texas yet!"

"Such a problem that would be," Andy laughed, and Lydia joined in, slipping her
hand through Gavin's arm as she did so.

Sara saw the gesture but tried to pretend she had not. The blood was

pounding in her ears and she could barely hear the conversation. All she was

conscious of was Gavin standing behind her, impeccable in a pale grey suit, his

stance as easy as his expression.

"I hope you're enjoying your stay on the island?" Lydia asked Sara. "I haven't
forgotten you promised to come along to one of my parties." She glanced at

Gavin. "Will you be free tomorrow night, honey?"

"Not tomorrow," he said, "but the evening after."

"I'm afraid I won't be here then." Sara spoke without thinking, but once she did,
she wondered why she had not made her decision before. "I'm returning

home," she explained. "I've already been here longer than I intended."

"Is Miss Rickards going back with you?" Gavin spoke to Sara for the first time,
and she gathered her courage around her like a shield and looked at him.

"She'll be following me later." She moistened her lips. "Has Helen left?"

"Yes." The reply was monosyllabic and Sara could not read anything into it.

"Then it doesn't look as if we'll be meeting again," she murmured.

"Not unless you come back to Balinda."

"I shouldn't think that's likely."

"Then I'll wish you all the best in your new job," Gavin said. "Remember me to
your father, Sara," he concluded, as his hand came up and cupped Lydia's

elbow.

"Of course." Deliberately she gave him the full battery of her eyes, but his own
remained blank, the way they had been when she had last seen them.

"Goodbye," he said again, and with a polite smile led Lydia away.

"Do you really have to go back to England?" Andy asked as he drove Sara back
to the bungalow.

"Yes," she said firmly, "I do."

"I wish you were saying that to me in front of an altar!" He squeezed her hand.
"I'll be joining you in New York as soon as I can. We have a hotel there that
needs my attention."

"Don't make the journey just because of me," she warned. "You'll be wasting
your time if you do."
"You're not putting me off, angel face. As long as you're single, I'm going to be
chasing you!"

Entering the bungalow, Sara was glad to find that Aunt Grace had returned,

and she rang the airport to find out how soon she could return to England.

There were only two direct flights a week, but there was one leaving the

following day with an overnight stop in Kenya. She booked it immediately. It

would at least serve to get her off the island fast, and that was all she wanted:

to leave Balinda and its Governor far behind her.

"Just don't think Gavin will come running after you," Grace Rickards warned her
when she came back to find Sara packing.

"I certainly don't think that," Sara said grimly. "If he hasn't contacted me while
I'm here, he won't do so when I'm on the other side of the world."

"Well, as long as you know what you're doing."

"I have no choice. I can't marry a man I don't trust."

"It isn't Gavin you don't trust," Grace said caustically. "It's your own judgment.

Perhaps you aren't woman enough for him!"

"Please," Sara said in a cracked voice. "I can't bear to talk about it any more."

There was a short silence and when Grace spoke again it was to refer to her

own departure in a few weeks' time.

"Even though it doesn't look as if I'll be able to marry your father for another
year, it's pointless to live so far away from him. At least if I'm in Paris we'll be
able to see each other."

"Perhaps you'll end up having a quiet affair with him," Sara said slyly, glad to
give her attention to someone else's future happiness instead of her own
misery.

"You know very well I'd live with him openly if he weren't an Ambassador!"

The following morning brought a cable from Sir William which gave them both

much food for thought, for he stated that Helen had agreed to a divorce and

that he hoped to be free within a couple of months.

"I wonder what made her change her mind?" Grace exclaimed.

"She's a realist," Sara said. "She has no chance of marrying again if she's still
tied to my father, and once she knew I wasn't going to help her…" Sara forced

herself to go on. "Maybe seeing Gavin again helped to change her mind."

"Maybe," Grace agreed brightly. "He might even marry her if Lydia Stacey
doesn't snap him up fast."

Sara looked stricken. "How can you?"

"My dear, I'm only saying what you're thinking!"

There was no answer to this, and biting back a choked exclamation, Sara ran

from the room.

At eight o'clock that evening she was packed to leave and wondered how she

was going to get through the next few hours. But this question paled into

insignificance in the face of the countless hours that lay ahead of her. If only

she had never come to Balinda; never seen Gavin again and re-awakened her

love for him. No matter what Aunt Grace had said, she knew she would never

get over him. For the rest of her life no man would ever be able to obliterate

him from her thoughts.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was a perfect cloudless day when Sara left the island. The tarmac glistened

like snow in the brilliant sunshine and a tropical haze misted the blue sky. But

the foliage was as brilliant a green as ever and the poinsettias as scarlet. The

plane slowly taxied along the runway. Then with a rush of power it moved

swiftly forward.

Sara found she was gripping the arms of her chair and she relaxed her fingers

and leaned back. Gavin was behind her, both literally and figuratively. From

now, she must stop thinking of him. Turning her head from the window, she

closed her eyes.

One hour melted into two and two into four. The plane droned on through the

blue sky; luncheon was served and then tea, and the passengers steadily ate

their way through the menu as the plane ate the miles.

They were an hour out of Nairobi when Sara was conscious of something

wrong. The stewards and stewardesses kept going backwards and forwards to

the cockpit and the plane began to lose height. The warning light to fasten

seat belts and stop smoking came on and Sara braced herself for the storm

that she felt sure was to come. But there was no turbulence to disturb their

steady flight, only an erratic noise which grew louder, went faint again and

then finally ceased. It was only then that the captain himself announced an

engine failure, and assured everyone that they could fly quite adequately on
the three remaining ones and there was nothing to worry about.

Yet worry, everyone did, and the stewardesses moved from passenger to

passenger, assuring each one personally that the captain had spoken the

truth.

"This is the second time I've been on a plane when the engine has failed," a
stewardess told Sara.

"Have you ever been involved in an accident?"

"No."

The plane dropped sharply and the stewardess clutched the back of Sara's

seat. "I'd better sit myself down," she remarked. "It looks as if we're hitting some
air pockets."

"Is that because of the engine failure?"

"Yes. We have to fly lower, but there's no danger. It's just unpleasant."

Sara repeated this to herself as the aircraft bucketed across the sky like a

high-spirited bronco. Several of the passengers were ill and though she herself

did not feel nauseous, she was trembling with fear. How vast the skies were,

how small the plane and what a long way down they had to fall! Yet falling was

the least of her worries, for as the plane continued to career up and down like

an elevator gone mad, she wondered if the metal would stand the strain or

whether they would explode into smithereens long before they could touch

down to safety.

Clasping her hands, she began to pray. But it was not only the Deity that came
to mind but Gavin as she had last seen him, looking at her without expression

or feeling. Her fingers laced tightly together. Gavin was a man of deep feeling

and for him to have looked at her with such blankness showed what a

determined effort he had made not to let her know what he was thinking. As

she had tried not to let him know what she was thinking! What a fool she had

been to pretend. How stupid to hide her love from him, as if it was something

for which she was ashamed.

What am I doing on this plane? she thought, and looked round wildly. I should

be with Gavin, where I belong. Oh God - now she was praying in earnest -

please give me the chance of going back to him. Let me have the opportunity

of telling him I was completely wrong. The plane lurched violently and she

opened her eyes and stared through the window. The earth was rushing up to

her alarmingly as the aircraft banked steeply. Then the horizon resumed its

rightful position and over the intercom came the voice of a steward telling

them they would be landing at Nairobi within five minutes.

So reassuring was the voice that it took some of the tension out of the

atmosphere, and though Sara was still trembling, her fear started to ebb. The

turbulence ceased and though there was one moment when they seemed to

rise for an infinite space of time and then descend again sharply, they were

soon flying on a steady course with the scenery clearly set out below them.

The plane touched down like a wounded bird and taxied towards the airport
buildings that gleamed pale in the dusk. The passengers were talking loudly

and there was much laughter as a release from the fear that had gripped

everyone. Only Sara remained silent, too preoccupied with thoughts of Gavin

to pay attention to anyone around her. She must arrange to have her luggage

taken off the flight and find out how quickly she could return to Balinda. She

hurried down the aircraft steps and went purposefully towards the airport and

Reservations.

With a sickening sense of disappointment she discovered there was no

possibility of obtaining a flight to Balinda for several days. All the aircraft were
completely booked.

"We'll wait-list you," the clerk informed her, "but I wouldn't count on getting out
of here for three days at least. Passengers who book through to Balinda

usually complete the flight. It's still the holiday season there, you know."

Sara blinked back the tears that were pricking her eyes. The anxiety and

stress of the past hour was taking its toll of her and she was dreadfully afraid

she would suddenly burst into sobs.

It was dismaying to have to remain in Nairobi for days when all she wanted to

do was to rush back and abject herself in front of Gavin. Fearlessly she would

confess that she should never have questioned him about Helen; would admit

that though her love for him four years ago had not been strong enough to tell

her he was incapable of deceit, the love she felt for him today was. How right

he had been to refuse to explain himself. How wrong she had been to demand
it! Grace had put it succinctly when she had said it was not Gavin whom Sara

had doubted but her own inability to make him happy.

"Do you have a hotel to stay at?" the reservation clerk asked, eyeing her fragile
beauty with pleasure. At the shake of her head, he pointed out the

information desk. "They will be able to help you."

She was halfway towards it when she heard her name spoken and she stopped

and stared at the freckle-faced man bearing down on her.

"It is Sara Claremont, isn't it?" he said.

"Of course." She held out her hands to him. "How are you, Mike?"

He grinned. "Well, at least that's a sign that the years haven't changed me too
much! But they've certainly changed you. You look fantastic."

"Was I such a freak before?" she smiled.

"You know you weren't." He squeezed her hand. "What are you doing here?

Don't tell me you've been holidaying in Nairobi and I haven't known about it?"

"I'm only passing through," she said quickly. "I couldn't get a direct flight and
had to stop over for one night."

"Then you must come home and stay with us. Jane wouldn't forgive me if I let

you stay in a hotel."

She shook her head. "It's very kind of you, but I couldn't. You see, I - I may have
to stop over for several days."

"So what? We have stacks of room. Do you have an overnight bag?"

"I've had all my cases taken off the flight," she explained. "I've cancelled the rest
of my journey." She saw Mike's look of surprise. "I'm going back to
Balinda."

"So that's where you have been!" His words reminded her that Gavin had said he
would not write to tell his sister of their reunion, preferring to tell her

personally when they stopped at Nairobi on their return to England.

Thankful that Gavin had decided on this, for it made explanations

unnecessary, she made one more half-hearted attempt to stay at a hotel. But

the fact that she was Sir William Claremont's daughter - apart from being

someone whom he liked for her own sake - made Mike insist she stay with him

and, some twenty minutes later, she was warmly welcomed into his home by a

surprisingly young and happy-looking Jane, and two adorable boys of four.

"I think I once told you that twins run in the family," Jane chuckled, "but having
two in one go made up for the time we lost."

"We needed to make up for lost time," Mike said, and dropped a kiss on his
wife's head.

Jane gave him a look of devotion and then smiled at Sara. "I'll show you to

your room. I'm sure you'll want to shower and change. Come through to the

lounge when you're ready."

Inevitably, as Sara knew it would, the conversation turned to Gavin.

"I hope you saw him when you were on Balinda?" Jane said. "I had a letter from
him last week and he never mentioned it."

"I saw quite a lot of him," Sara replied, and then, because subterfuge seemed
wrong, blurted out: "I left the island because we quarrelled. I was very foolish
and - " she drew a deep breath - "anyway, I'm going back to tell him I'm

sorry."
"That's what I like to hear," said Mike. "It's a rare woman who can admit she's in
the wrong!"

"What a thing to say!" his wife expostulated.

"Present company excluded, of course," he said. "We now have proof that Sara
can apologise, and you, my sweet, have never had reason." Slightly more

serious, he looked at Sara. "I'm glad you and Gavin have finally got together.

When we were in Paris Jane and I both thought you were fond of each other."

Sara could only nod, for she was still too emotionally overwrought to talk

about Gavin with ease. But later that night as she sat in at the dressing-table

brushing her hair, which fell like a honey cloud around her, Jane came in to

see she had everything she needed and, perching on the edge of the bed,

referred to what Mike had said earlier.

"I can't answer for what your feelings were in Paris," she said, "but I know
Gavin was in love with you. He talked of it on one occasion. I remember being

terribly surprised, for he'd never talked about a girl before. I think he only did

so because he was worried."

"Worried?" Sara looked at Jane through the mirror.

"By how young you were and his fear that he was rushing you. He felt he

should give you a chance to see more life and to meet other men nearer to

your age."

"I've never loved anyone but Gavin." Sara put down the brush with hands that
shook. "Admittedly when I met him in Paris I hadn't known anyone else, but in

the last few years I've met so many men, I've lost count." She swung round.
"But none of them meant anything to me. It's always been Gavin."

"What a pity you wasted so much time. Not you," Jane added hastily. "You're
still very young, but my darling brother was fast becoming a crusty bachelor!"

"He had plenty of admirers on Balinda."

"But they meant nothing to him. When he stopped off here - which he always

did en route to England - we'd introduce him to some stunning women. But he

never took any notice of them. I'm glad he finally decided to seek you out

again."

"He didn't," Sara said. "I went to Balinda to see someone. That was how I met
him."

"Strange," Jane mused. "Gavin has always fought for what he wanted. I always
believed that once he'd given you a couple of years to grow up, he would come

after you."

Sara drew a deep breath. "Our parting in Paris wasn't an amicable one. We

quarrelled badly and I ran away. As I'm running now."

"But this time you're running back."

"Yes." Sara rested her head on her hands. "I wish to heaven I'd done it four years
ago!"

"Perhaps you were too young then." Jane came over to Sara. "If I hadn't been so
caught up in my own affairs at that time, I might have been able to help

you."

Sara shook her head, knowing how impossible it would have been for her to

have told Jane why she and Gavin had quarrelled. "You were so happily
pregnant," she said quickly, "that it never entered my head to confide my
miseries to you."

"Happily pregnant." Jane smiled reminiscently. "That goes to show how wrong
people can be! I was more unhappy then than at any time in my life." She

squared her shoulders. "Mike and I were going through a pretty bad patch, and

even though I was pregnant I was toying with the idea of leaving him."

Sara stared at her in astonishment and Jane gave a rueful smile.

"I suppose I can tell you about it now that it's all over - particularly since your
father has parted from your stepmother. It was Helen, you see. Mike made a

fool of himself over her while I was in Yorkshire. When I came back I knew

immediately that something was wrong, but he was afraid to tell me."

"How did you find out?"

"Eventually he did tell me. When everything was over and there was no

earthly reason for him to confess, he told me the whole story." Even though

Jane was speaking of the past her voice was vibrant, as if the scene was being

re-enacted, as perhaps it was for her. "Mike said he couldn't live with me

unless there was complete truth between us. He wanted to explain why Helen

had bowled him over. There's no point going into the reasons," she said,

"except that they made sense to me, and from then on our marriage has never

looked back. In fact, until I saw you tonight, I hadn't given Helen a thought."

"I wonder if I could be so forgiving," Sara said softly.

"If you love someone enough it isn't hard to forgive." She gave a wide smile.
"Gavin will tell you the whole story. Poor darling, he was involved in it up to his
neck."

"Was he?" Sara asked in a choked voice.

Jane nodded. "If you'd been older he would probably have told you about it at

the time, but I guess the poor darling was as anxious to protect you as he was

to protect me. He loathed Helen from the moment he met her, but he couldn't

tell you, of course, because she was your stepmother." Jane paused. "Where was
I? Oh yes - Mike. Well, Mike wrote her a love letter and Gavin set out to

get it back. Apparently he went charging up to her bedroom one night to force

her to give it to him."

Jane went on talking, but Sara did not hear her, too overwhelmed by remorse

to absorb anything beyond the fact that she had to return to Gavin as quickly

as possible.

"Can Mike help me to get a flight?" She cut across Jane, who was still

speaking. "I've got to get back to Gavin!"

"Let's go and ask him now," Jane said gently. "I was hoping to have a couple of
days' gossip with you, but I see my brother's attraction is greater than mine."

Mike, reacting to Jane's insistent pressure, used all his influence to help Sara,

and after endless telephone calls her passage was confirmed and, in the early

hours of the following day, she was once more boarding an aeroplane.

She had cabled Aunt Grace of her return but had deliberately not told Gavin,

wanting to see his delighted surprise when she walked in on him.

"What caused the change of heart?" Grace Rickards said as she greeted Sara at
Pango Airport in the late afternoon.

"I came to my senses an hour out from Nairobi," Sara said wryly. "I would have
come back yesterday except that I couldn't get a flight. If it hadn't been

for Mike, I wouldn't be back yet. Gavin's brother-in-law," she explained, seeing
the older woman's quizzical look.

"Of course." Grace Rickards remembered who he was and where he fitted into
the story. "I take it you didn't tell them why you'd quarrelled with Gavin?"

"There was no need. I'd already made up my mind." Sara drew a deep breath.

"Jane talked about Paris, though. She confirmed what Gavin had said and that

made me feel even worse."

"I take it you're going to see him?"

''Nothing can keep me away. I'll go back to the bungalow and freshen up, and

then I'd like to borrow your car."

"If I said no, would you be prepared to walk?"

"I would crawl to him on my hands and knees if necessary," Sara said huskily,
and remembered this as, an hour later, she drove into the courtyard of the

Governor's Residence. By not telephoning him, she was running the risk of not

finding him there or, worse still, of finding him with Lydia. But no matter if he

was. She was convinced he loved her and that his indifferent attitude in the

restaurant had been a pretence.

Parking the car, she ran up the shallow steps. The sentry recognised her and

stepped back to let her pass. She entered the hall and the Balinda butler
smiled a greeting.

"Is the Governor at home?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"In the library, Miss Claremont." He went forward to announce her, but she
motioned him to remain where he was and sped across to the library door. She

hesitated, then turned the handle and went in.

Gavin was at his desk and, as he looked up and saw her, he rose.

"I've been expecting you, Sara."

Halfway towards him she stopped. "You mean you knew I would come back?"

"Jane telephoned me."

"Oh dear," Sara said. "I begged Mike not to let you know because I wanted it to
be a surprise, but I never thought of telling Jane to keep quiet."

"More's the pity," Gavin said. "Had you done so it might not have spoiled your
plans." He came round the side of the desk, but it was the side furthest from

her, and he went to stand by the window which took him even further away.

"Go on," he said harshly. "Say what you've come to say. You obviously won't
leave until you do."

"I have no intention of leaving." Her voice was husky and she cleared her throat.
"I've come back to you."

"And now you can please me by going."

Puzzled, she stared at him, trying and failing to read an expression in the hard

profile he had turned to her. "Don't you understand me, Gavin? I've come back

to you. I realise I was wrong. I should never have doubted you."

"Your faith in me is astonishing," he said coldly. "But unfortunately it's come too
late."
The fear that had been rising in her since coming into this room and seeing his

cold withdrawn face was so strong that it was threatening to eradicate all

reason. Gavin could not be sending her away. For four years he had gone on

loving her; he couldn't have changed in a couple of days. Not even Lydia could

make him do that.

"You love me, Gavin," she said, throwing pride to the wind. "I know you're
angry with me - hurt even - but you do love me. That's why you've got to

forgive me." She ran over and put her hand on his arm. He did not push it

away so much as withdraw himself.

"I do forgive you," he said quietly, "and I do love you, heaven help me, but I
have no intention of marrying you."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't stand any more scenes like this!"

"There wouldn't be any more scenes like this."

"Do you expect me to believe that?" he grated. "I'm not a callow youth, Sara, I'm
a man of thirty-five and I know that people don't change. I thought you

might as you grew older, but I realised a couple of days ago that you hadn't."

"I have!" she cried. "That's why I came back. I haven't let four years go by this
time. Not even four days!"

"Because you met Mike and Jane," he bit out. "I know what she said to you.

She told me over the phone."

Sara cast her mind back to last night - it seemed so long ago - and

remembered Jane telling her of Mike's confession. "Jane had nothing to do

with my coming back," she cried.

He flung her a look of disbelief and went over to a tray of drinks which stood

on a bamboo trolley next to the settee. She heard the gurgle of liquid and the

splash of a soda syphon and watched him take his drink at a gulp. It said much

for his disturbed state of mind that he did not offer her one, and the

knowledge gave her the courage to run across to him.

"Gavin, look at me. I won't leave you until you look me in the face and tell me to
go."

Slowly he pivoted round and stared at her fully. His face was colourless

beneath his tan and his eyes were as opaque as those of a blind man's. "Please
get out of my life, Sara. I'll manage to make something of it without you. I'll

even find some semblance of happiness, given enough time. But I have no

intention of making my life with you."

Sara felt her vitality seep away like sand in an hourglass. Never had she

believed that Gavin would say this.

"Why?" she cried brokenly, uncaring that the tears were pouring down her

face. "Why are you so cruel?"

"I've told you." His voice was so soft that she had to strain to hear it, and she
knew that the anger that had given him the impetus to speak to her so

brutally had left him as drained of energy as she was herself. "It's no use,

Sara. Without trust we'll never have a moment's happiness. I'll always be

afraid that you'll doubt me, and you will always be afraid that I'll let you down.
At the moment you don't believe I was Helen's lover, but how will you feel a

month from now, or in six months? What will happen when you see me talking

to a pretty woman - and I have to talk to many pretty ones in the course of

my duties - won't you start suspecting me all over again?"

''Of course not," she cried. "I'll never doubt you."

"Fine words," he scoffed.

"I proved them with actions," she said. "I came back, didn't I?"

"Only because Jane made you realise what a fool you'd been."

"I tell you my coming back had nothing to do with your sister. She doesn't

even know why we quarrelled."

"She still told you about Mike and Helen." Gavin's hands gripped her

shoulders. "That's why you came back. Don't lie to me, Sara!"

"I'm not lying." She felt his hold tighten and winced with the pain. "I made up
my mind to come back before I landed at Nairobi. If I could have turned the

plane round in mid-air I would have done so 1"

"You expect me to believe that!" he stormed.

"It's true. I was already on a stand-by flight to return here before I even met
Mike. If you don't believe me, ring him up and ask him."

Gavin went on looking at her and slowly the opaqueness left his eyes. Their

blue intensified and deepened as he allowed them to focus on her, and she had

the feeling that he was drawing the sight of her into the very depths of his

being.
"Sara," he said brokenly, and pulled her into his arms, running his hands across
her body as if to make sure she was really there. "Sara," he said again, and
pressed his cheek to hers.

She felt the trembling of his body, a trembling which increased as he went on

holding her and murmuring soft endearments that held no rhyme or reason

yet were infinitely satisfying. With a sob she turned her face up to his.

"Kiss me," she whispered. "Make me come alive."

It was a long time before reason returned enough for them to speak rationally,

and by then they were sitting together in an armchair, her slender body curled

up in his lap, his hand caressing her silky hair.

"It was believing that Mike and Jane had made you change your mind that

made it impossible for me to accept your return," he explained. "I've never

considered myself a proud man, but thinking you had to have other people

restore your faith in me was more than I could take."

"My heart was winging its way back to you before I set eyes on Mike," she
repeated. "And believe me, darling, I didn't encourage Jane to talk about

Paris." She tilted her head to look into his eyes. "I wasn't even aware that Jane
knew the truth about Mike. You never told me."

"You're right," he said, and tenderly caressed her neck. "Did you tell Jane why
you ran away from Paris?"

"I was too ashamed," Sara confessed. "If Jane could forgive Mike for what
actually happened, how could I tell her I'd made you suffer for four years for

something that never happened?"

His answer was to gather her closer, but it did not lessen her guilt. "I don't think
I'll ever forgive myself for that," she whispered. "I'll do everything in my power
to make it up to you."

"You've done that by coming back to me today. And there'll be no more parting

for us," he went on thickly. "Our future is together."

"What a wonderful thought! Can we begin the togetherness now?"

"You're a temptress," he warned.

"And are you tempted?"

"What do you think?" he replied, and not waiting for her to answer, kissed her
deeply on the mouth. Held close, Sara knew she had at last come home.
Document Outline

CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
 Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE