Clyde was nowhere in sight, and Sara was glad of the fact. She would not have wanted him to see her, to wonder what had brought her to this spot. She was not certain herself why she was here.
She had had no conscious intention of driving past Stellenberg. Yet in the inner reaches of her mind perhaps, there had been the need to see the place where Clyde worked, where he lived. A little despairingly she wondered whether there would always be the sense of wanting to know where he was and what he was doing. Whether he was fulfilled, happy…
Was that what loving a person was all about? Was it an emotion that remained locked in one's heart long after any hope of a future had vanished? She tried to tell herself that she could not, would not, be forever haunted by thoughts of the man she had so nearly married. Somewhere there must be a man who could make her forget. Yet Peter Burod, with all the love and kindness and humanity that was in him, had not succeeded. Did the man exist who could?
Curiously she looked at the gabled house on the forested slope. She would not have pictured it as a setting for a man of Clyde's ambitions. As before, she wondered too about Andrea. She was unable to visualise Clyde's wife as being anything but restless on this wild and lonely stretch of coast.
Or was just being with Clyde enough for Andrea? Did she love him so much that loneliness ceased to matter? If that were so, Sara would be able to understand.
A lump came into her throat as she realised how close she had been to living here herself. The thought was unbidden, involuntary; it was hard to push away all the same. Only a conversation overheard in a shrub-covered arbour had set her life in a different direction. As Clyde's wife, entitled to witness his work and share his dreams, she would have walked with him along the beach in the evenings. She would have lain in his arms at night, listening as he talked of healing sick children. And later, when they had said all they wanted, there would have been loving…
She did not know that her eyes were wet till her hand brushed against her cheek and felt a tear. This would never do! She had resolved to put Clyde out of her mind. If she could not stamp out her love for him, at least she must remember not to think of him. She swallowed, blew her nose, then turned the key in the ignition. Jerkily she guided the car back on to the tar.
She spent the afternoon at the shop working on the books she had bought. Lynn would be pleased with the purchase, she knew, as she went through them. Not every book was worth keeping, but among them were a few that made up for the rest. One in particular, an account of the Cape hinterland by an eighteenth-century traveller, had Sara enthralled.
It was only as she drove back to Morning Glow that her mind returned to Clyde. Sadness filled her once more but with it came a feeling of pride. She had managed to concentrate solely on her work. For a few hours no other thoughts had intruded.
Clyde and her dancing—two loves that had once been all her world. Both would be a part of her always, but at least the last days had shown her that she was able to make a new life for herself. If it was not the life she would have chosen, she understood more and more that it could be a satisfying one nonetheless. It rested with her to make it so.
On Sunday morning Sara stood at the window of her room and looked over the lawns to the sea. She was strangely restless. Lately her life had taken on new purpose. On weekdays she woke up each morning knowing that she had to be at the shop in time to open the door. It was a satisfying feeling. Today she had nothing to do.
The sky was blue and cloudless, a perfect day for sunbathing. But she had no desire to go to the sands. Since her encounter with Clyde, she had not walked on the beach. Notwithstanding her resolve to be strong, she was reluctant to relive memories that were still very raw.
Frowning, she turned from the window. It was more than a year since she had been in Cape Town. She would go there today. There were friends she had not seen for too long. Running the Antique Den was her first step back towards independence. It was time she went further.
She spent a few moments at the open doors of her wardrobe before deciding on a turquoise slacks suit. The outfit was one of her favourites. Contrasting vividly with glossy dark hair and honey-skinned face, the deep pastel shade heightened an appearance that was exotic yet ethereal. Going back to the world that had once been hers, even if only for a day, should not require an act of courage —but it did. The knowledge that she was looking her best was reassuring.
She did not go directly to the garage, but walked instead to the edge of the lawn, pausing at the top of the path that led down to the beach. A haze hung over the water, so that there was no horizon to mark the line between sea and sky. There was no wind, the water was tranquil. The sand was smooth and untrodden. Involuntarily almost, Sara recalled a set of footprints, parallel-going, one set small and high-stepped, the other deep and large. Abruptly she turned away. Today was not for memories; it was for a fresh start.
Quickly she made her way to the garage. The path she took did not go past the front of the house, so that she did not see the low-slung grey car parked on the drive. The sound of the sea had drowned out its approach.
She was at the door of her own car, her fingers about to turn the key, when a voice said from behind her, 'Going somewhere?'
Shock quivered through her. For a long moment she stood very still, not turning, giving herself time to regain her composure.
When she did turn it was slowly, deliberately. With a steadiness she was far from feeling, she said, 'I'm going to Cape Town.'
'Any special reason?'
His tone was casual, deceptively casual, Sara knew. Clyde had not driven to Morning Glow merely to engage her in small-talk. She felt her muscles tensing inside her.
'Visiting friends.'
'Go another day.'
She looked at him, and then away. Each time she saw him his maleness came as a fresh shock. Though she tried to harden herself against his impact, her senses responded instinctively to the vital attractiveness of him. Just one moment had been enough to take in the long strong line of his jaw, the gauntness of high cheekbones, eyes that were too perceptive, and lips that were mobile and sensuous. There was too much pleasure in the memory of what those lips could do.
'No,' she said as firmly as she could. Deliberately she turned back to the car, made her fingers move to the keys. 'If you'll excuse me…'
'I didn't come all this way to do that.' Still the same easy tone. 'You're coming with me, Sara.'
She swung round. No matter how much she wanted to go with him—God, how much she wanted that! despite the fact that she did not even know where he intended taking her—she was outraged that he imagined she would automatically fall in with his whims.
'You couldn't have heard me,' she said icily. 'I'm visiting friends.'
'I heard you. I also know that you made no prior arrangements.' The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile. 'I gathered from your housekeeper that your trip is impromptu.'
It was the unexpectedness of the smile that was her undoing. It was such a long time since she had seen it. When she said, 'I am going to Cape Town,' she knew that her hesitation had not gone unnoticed.
'Another time.' His gentleness was as unexpected as the smile. 'We're wasting the day, Sara. Put your keys back in your bag and let's go.'
She could feel her anger slipping from her. In this mood he was too hard to resist. 'You're a very autocratic man,' she commented, as he started the engine of his own car.
'If you thought that when you first knew me, you never mentioned it.' His tone was light.
'I was polite.' A swift glance at the strong face told her he knew she was lying. In those first rapturous weeks, when she had been in love with a passion she had never dreamed possible, she had not once thought him arrogant. She had not seen in him any of the qualities she was to glimpse later—contempt, hardness, an ability to hurt. Then, in those golden weeks when they had spoken openly of their love, she had seen only strength combined with a wonderful tenderness.
The strength was there still, every
line of his face, his body, evidenced that. As for tenderness— that would be reserved for Andrea, for his wife. The thought brought pain stabbing sharp inside her.
'So you were polite. Did it ever occur to you, Sara, that there were qualities you hid from me when we met?'
No need to ask what he meant. It was clear that he thought the worst of her, yet she could not defend herself without telling him the truth. The chance to do that had vanished long ago. Even if she did tell him—and the temptation existed—the ensuing conversation would open up other truths: the loss of their baby, her illness, the knowledge that she could never dance again. Tragedies which she was just beginning to accept in her own mind. She could talk about these things to Lynn, the friend who understood what she had gone through. She could not talk of them to Clyde, for after the initial disbelief would come pity, and that she would be unable to endure.
'Well, Sara?'
She looked at him, eyes stark with unhappiness. 'Perhaps it's human nature to show one's best side, especially when…'—the words were hard to get out—'when one is in love.'
'So you did love me?' There was a strange inflection in his voice.
She kept her eyes on the road. 'Yes. I… I never lied about that. Clyde, can we change…'
'But you discovered that you loved your career even more,' he cut in relentlessly.
'Yes.' This time it was easier to reply.
'And that was all-important until you were faced with the temptation of great wealth and a famous name.'
With what ease he had lured her into a trap! A retort was on the tip of her tongue, but somehow she managed to bite it back. Just a few moments ago she had decided that there was no way she would tell Clyde the truth, and the knowledge did nothing to soften her anger and humiliation.
'You know all the answers,' she said very quietly. 'I said just now that you were autocratic. You are also arrogant and a bastard. Let me out, Clyde.'
'No.'
His mouth was set, she saw, and knew there was no point in arguing with him. It was clear that he would not stop the car, and for her to try to open her door would be as foolhardy as it would be melodramatic. She had no choice at all but to stay where she was, and it came to her that some irrational part of her was excited to be a captive passenger. The knowledge gave her no happiness.
'You haven't told me where you're taking me.'
'Stellenberg.'
'Oh!' She should not have been surprised, but oddly she was. 'Clyde, why?'
A pair of intelligent eyes, blue as the sky and as distant, were turned briefly on her. 'I want you to see it.'
'Why?' she asked again.
'Because it's time that you saw another side of life.'
Sara stared at him wordlessly a long moment. If he had said merely that he wanted her to see the place where he worked, that would have meant much to her. As it was, there seemed no end to the pain he wanted to inflict on her.
His concentration was on the road once more when she said, 'Andrea won't like it.'
She told herself that it was only in her imagination that she felt the car jerk. It could have been nothing else, for a split second later it was purring as sleekly as ever over the tar. Once more Clyde turned his head. Something glimmered in his eyes, an expression Sara could not define. As his gaze rested on her face, Sara felt her muscles bunch inside her.
He shrugged. 'Andrea won't mind.'
He gave his attention back to the road. Sitting as far away from him as she could, Sara studied his profile. The determined line of the chin, the strong nose, the hair that curled around his ears to lie against the crisp collar of his shirt. His head was easily erect, the set of his lips relaxed. His hands on the wheel were the sensitive hands of a doctor, hands that healed. They were also the hands of a lover. Once they had stirred Sara to an ecstasy which she knew she would never experience with another man. Now these hands would give pleasure to his wife.
His wife… So Andrea wouldn't mind Sara's coming to Stellenberg with Clyde. It could only mean that she was now so secure in her relationship with her husband that his renewed acquaintance with an erstwhile fiancée did not threaten her at all.
They were still some distance from Stellenberg. Sara turned to the window. There had been a few moments today when she had been so swept with the joy of being alone with Clyde, that she had forgotten that he was married. Sitting beside him there had been memories of other drives. Then she had been close to him, not huddled against her door. There had been a lovely ease between them, laughter and talking and endearments. And when silence had fallen it had been the comfortable silence of two people who understood each other.
If only Clyde had not re-entered her life, she wished now. To some extent the memories had faded in the two years since she had seen him. There had been so much else to occupy her mind— the death of her baby, and then of Peter; the break with her dancing. Now, with Clyde just inches from her, the memories had been awakened with as much vividness as if the events themselves had only just taken place.
She tried to focus her attention on the scenery beyond the road, but awareness of the long hard body behind the steering-wheel made concentration difficult. The road was part of the lovely coastal stretch called the Garden Route. Each twist and bend gave on to breathtaking vistas. On one side, dropping steeply away from the edge of the kerb, was the sea, a study in blues ranging from turquoise to deepest Prussian. There were narrow inlets and tiny coves and lagoons which cut through the land to the water. On the other side of the road were mountains; rugged-faced slopes giving way to lush forests treed with timber from which costly furniture was made—stinkwood, kiaat and yellow-wood.
One could never tire of the beauty, Sara had often thought in the past. Yet today, much as she tried, the loveliness was no more than a blur before her eyes. In sharper focus, despite the fact that she had turned away from him, were Clyde's lean features. Every inch of his face was engraved upon her mind with the clarity of a photograph. There would never be a time when she would need pictures to remind her of Clyde, Sara knew, and wished that she could banish him from her consciousness now, even for just a few minutes.
The enforced proximity was dangerous, wrecking her peace of mind and doing alarming things to her senses. She ached with the longing to move across the seat, to lean against him, arm brushing arm, thigh lying against thigh, head resting against the hardness of his shoulder. As that could not be she wished they would come quickly to Stellenberg. She had to get out of the car and away from an atmosphere that threatened to overpower her with its sensuousness and sexual tension.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Stellenberg was all that Peter had described it, and more. As Clyde showed her around, Sara was struck by the airy brightness of the place. There was suffering here, and pain. But there was also peace and serenity.
There were children of all ages, many of them in wheelchairs. Sara was filled with compassion as she walked past them. At the same time she realised that her dread of coming here had been unjustified. The atmosphere at Stellenberg was not one of despair but rather of hope. The children seemed to have an eagerness common to all children. They did not seek her pity, Sara realised. They wanted to be treated as normally as possible.
Which was what Clyde did. Sara followed quietly as he led her from one group to another. From the moment that she had learned where he worked, she had found it hard to believe that with his ambitions he would be content for long in a place so far removed from the nerve-centres of medicine—the hospitals of the big cities. Though she had not yet asked him the question, she had been certain that his position could only be temporary. And yet, as she watched Clyde with the children, she was struck by his manner. Something about it spoke of permanence, of a deep attachment for this home where so many children were helped. Sara was not sure why she felt quite so moved.
He knew each child by name. He seemed to be acquainted with their anxieties and their interests. He had time to spare for all of them. A boy, his leg in a cast, was h
aving trouble assembling a model plane. Clyde helped him, but only as much as the boy wanted, Sara noticed. A little girl was writing a letter; when she saw Clyde she asked him the spelling of a word.
The children called him Dr Clyde. Sara saw smiles when he came near and eyes that brightened. One child threw her arms about his neck and hugged him. The affection was a lovely thing to see, it was deep and spontaneous.
Once, a long time ago, so it seemed, Sara had thought of Clyde as a man possessed of force of character and authority, a man with charisma and great personal charm. In his lovemaking there had been gentleness coupled with passion.
The discovery that he could also be arrogant was recent. Just today she had called him autocratic and a bastard. Now, as he moved among the children, a new aspect of his personality was revealed, a dedication she had not suspected. It was hard to reconcile this quality with the man who had said his ambitions were to become rich and famous, and who had married the one girl who could further his desires.
It came to Sara that Clyde Montgomery was totally committed to his work, not for the fame that he might achieve, but for the healing he could effect. The compassion and affection he revealed were not assumed; if they had been she would have seen through the deception. In the last two years Clyde had changed even more than she had realised. Unbidden came the wondering whether Andrea had had something to do with the change.
Questions tumbled on her lips, but she could not frame them. She had thought she knew Clyde as well as one person could know another. The last weeks had shown her that she did not know him at all.
But there was one question she did need to ask. 'Clyde, where is Andrea?'
He looked at her, and the tenderness she had seen in his face a moment ago was gone. 'In Cape Town.'
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