'It would have meant so much to her to see you dance,' he said, when he had finished.
A little hopelessly she shook her head. 'Please… don't ask me again.'
'Why, Sara? Why?' He leaned towards her and took one of her hands in his. She heard the urgency in his voice. There was nothing matter-of-fact now in his expression. His eyes were on her face, not with the deliberate sensualness he had displayed earlier, but with a curious intensity, as if he was trying to penetrate to the feelings and thoughts that lay beneath the surface.
'I never used to think of you as empty or selfish,' she heard him say. 'Is there a reason why you don't want to dance?'
Sara was frightened. She needed all her composure if she was to stand her ground, and composure was the one thing she did not have right now. It was very hard to think rationally when she was so disturbed by Clyde's nearness.
If only she could look on him purely as a doctor making a request for one of his patients. As it was, his impact on her was one of maleness, of devastating attractiveness. As always she could feel her senses leaping in response. But she could not let herself react to him now. She had to think clearly, for he was getting too dangerously near to the truth.
'Sara?' He was insistent.
She tried to pull her hand away. His grip had not seemed firm, but at her movement it tightened, the fingers biting into the delicate skin on the inner part of her wrist. She wondered if he could feel the erratic beat of her pulse.
'I've given up that part of my life,' she said abruptly. 'I don't want to start again. It would mean practising… exercises at the barre. I've finished with all that effort.'
'I don't understand you, Sara.' She heard the disgust in his tone. 'This is such a special case. You'd be giving a sick child pleasure. And not just one child—all the children would enjoy watching you.'
'Can't you leave it alone!' she exclaimed through a half-sob. There was just so much she could take. This time despair lent her strength. She pulled at her hand and freed it, then drew it across her eyes in an unhappy gesture.
She wanted to go home. There was nothing left to say between them. She was turning to him when he said, 'You've hurt yourself.'
'No…'
'Yes—your arm.'
Long fingers touched the skin beneath her elbow. She should be used to his touch by now, yet despite herself she shivered. 'I caught it on a cactus,' she said abruptly, remembering. 'I'll be all right.'
'It needs cleaning.'
'I'll do that when I get home.'
'I'll do it for you now.'
'For heaven's sake,' Sara burst out irritably, 'it's only a scratch!'
'It needs attention. These cacti can be poisonous.' Clyde's voice was authoritative. Sara understood that there was no point in arguing with him.
A spare instrument case was on the back seat.
She sat quite still as he opened it. When he touched her arm again, she was ready for him. Not by a flicker did she betray any emotion.
The cut was cleaned and disinfected, and still his fingers remained on her arm. Until now their touch had been the impersonal one of a doctor. Sara could not have pinpointed the moment at which the touch changed. Now, as Clyde's fingers lingered on her skin, there was a slow sensuousness in the movements which sent the blood racing faster through her veins.
For long seconds she kept herself rigid, hoping he would desist, but if anything, the movements grew more tantalising. 'Can't you stop!' she burst out at length, unable to endure the sexual tension any longer.
'You don't want me to stop.' His voice was mocking, yet unnervingly seductive.
'I do…' she gasped hoarsely. 'Take me home.'
She saw his head descending. She watched it, mesmerised, unable to turn away. Inches away from her, he murmured, 'You want it, Sara.'
She made an attempt to wriggle away as his lips claimed hers. But it was only a half-hearted attempt, for she had not reckoned with the pent-up hunger exploding through her body. With a sigh she relaxed against him.
His mouth left hers and began to plant a trail of kisses over the rest of her face. There was a burning sensation in her ears, her eyes, her throat, as Clyde's lips moved over them. There was a teasing lightness in his lips, as if he remembered the arousal he could achieve with the excitement of his touch.
By the time his lips came back to hers the blood was singing in her veins and she felt as if all her body was on fire. Willingly her lips opened to his, and she was swept by an anguished delight that left no room for thought. Convulsively she reached for him, her hands knotting themselves in the thick fair hair.
She shuddered as his mouth lifted again, then started a nerve-tingling descent along her throat once more, nudging aside the collar of her open-necked shirt. She closed her eyes as she felt his lips in the hollow between her breasts, following the swell first of one breast, then the other, pausing at last to capture a small nipple that had grown pink and hard with her desire.
And then he was pulling her across his lap, and she could feel his thighs hard and muscled against her, could sense that his depth of wanting was similar to her own. He was bending her backwards, one hand supporting the fragile weight of her neck, and she was yielding to him, helping him, the hands that had been in his hair now clasped on both sides of his head, pulling him to her.
Clyde drew away quite suddenly, and through a blur she stared up at him, at a loss to know why his mood had changed.
'Clyde…' It was just a whisper.
'I want you. God, Sara, I want you!'
'Yes.
'But not here, in this car, like this…'
The car! Reality came surging back in a rush as she felt the edge of the steering-wheel against her shoulder, and she wondered how she could have been so lost to all reason to have forgotten where they were.
'Someone might see us.' She struggled up.
'We'll go to your house.'
'No!' She threw the word at him blindly. 'I don't want it…'
'Liar.' The blur had cleared and she could see his eyes. They were blue and clear, and she knew that he could see to the very core of her being. Still she had to try.
'What happened just now…' She struggled for words. 'I didn't mean… didn't think…' It was coming out badly. With an effort she faced him. 'I don't want it, Clyde.'
The corners of his mouth lifted. 'You are a liar.' He laughed softly, seductively, breath so close to her that she trembled. 'You do want me to make love to you. Your body says it all for you.' He paused, and the eyes that held hers were steady. 'In this one respect at least nothing has changed.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Restlessly Sara moved around the shop. Monday. A long week stretched ahead, and for that she was grateful. The holiday season was in full swing now and many tourists came to the Antique Den. Sara was busy constantly. When she returned to Morning Glow at night she was exhausted. It was an exhaustion she welcomed, for it gave her no time to think.
It was more than a week since she had seen Clyde last. The drive back to Morning Glow had been silent and strained. Sara had arranged her dishevelled clothing as best as she could, and had sat stiffly, staring out of her window, willing the miles away. Reaching the house, she had opened the door of the car, then looked back at Clyde. Green eyes had been wide and troubled, and the words that had tumbled on her lips were stilled before they could be uttered.
'There's nothing to say,' Clyde had said enigmatically, reading her thoughts. 'Goodbye, Sara.'
Wordlessly she had closed the door and had watched him drive away. A flame had been rekindled between them. It had seen its first sparks on the beach some weeks earlier, and had flared today almost to the point where it could not be controlled.
It was only when she reached her room that she remembered Andrea. What would be the reaction of Clyde's wife to what had happened? Or was she too sure of Clyde's love to care about an attraction which, on his part at least, was only physical? Had she been married to Clyde, Sara thought, she could not have b
een so forgiving. But Andrea's world was different from her own. Perhaps she herself indulged in an occasional affair, so that what her husband did in the backwoods was of little interest.
And what about Clyde himself? Didn't it worry him that he had been making love to his ex-fiancée when his wife was away from him? She would never have answers to her questions, Sara knew. Clyde's goodbye had had a ring of finality. For her own peace of mind, the sooner she put the whole episode out of her mind the better.
And that was easier said than done. It was impossible to focus her mind on anything else. There had been no word from Clyde on Sunday. Monday, with its return to work, had brought relief, but of a temporary kind only. Sara had found herself tense with waiting.
At each sound of the door-chimes she grew rigid, fearful that the customer who entered would be Clyde. A tall man seen at a distance was enough to make her heartbeat move quickly, subsiding only when the man turned out to be a stranger.
The week passed. The weekend came and went and still there was no word from him. She should be glad, she told herself—and wished that she was not so filled with numbness.
A shipment of porcelain had arrived, and Sara was unpacking it when the chimes sounded. The shop had been especially busy today. This time she did not turn. She had to get the porcelain stacked.
Customers would approach her when they had decided on their purchases.
A low voice, close to her ear, said, 'Hello, Sara.' Startled, she jerked up, and heard a vase break at her feet.
'Do I have such a shattering effect on you?' he asked teasingly.
More shattering than you could ever imagine, she thought. Aloud she said, 'My hand slipped. Did you want something, Clyde?'
'Not even a hello? Are you always so abrupt?'
'I'm busy,' she said shakily.
'I won't keep you a moment longer than necessary,' he countered smoothly, the teasing tone gone. 'Do you still have the Cape silver tea-service? I came in for that the first time.'
'In the corner…' She gestured.
'Show it to me.'
'You can look at it by yourself.'
A lazy flicker of ice-blue eyes. 'I want you to show it to me. I take it you're something of an expert?'
He was baiting her, she knew, but she hoped she was equal to it. Lifting her head, she said, 'I'll be glad to tell you anything you want to know.'
She stood a little to one side as he examined the tea-service. It was very beautiful, attractively shaped and well looked after. Clyde gave it the respect it deserved. Sara watched him touching the tea-pot, running his hands carefully over the milk jug and the sugar-bowl, feeling for the delicate engraving on the tray, studying its identification marks. She could not take her eyes away from his hands, the fingers well-shaped and sensitive. Hands which were as adept in arousing a woman to ecstasy as they were in the art of healing.
Clyde had many questions, and Sara's manner was calm and casual as she answered them, concealing the turmoil that raged inside her. Surely by this time she should be able to remain indifferent to him! But it was hard to remain indifferent to a man who exuded strength and virility and a compelling sex appeal just as naturally as he breathed. Almost unconsciously she found herself noting as she always did every detail of his appearance: the intelligent features, the shock of fair hair reaching to the base of his neck, the muscular build which could so easily have been that of an athlete; the laughter lines beside his mouth. There was power in every line of the long body, and a maleness to which her senses had to respond.
He looked up unexpectedly, a smile in eyes that were as blue as the shirt he wore. 'You really do know something about antiques,' he observed.
For a moment she stared at him wordlessly. She had not seen him smile at her quite like this since she had ended their engagement. If only she could just throw herself into his arms and tell him the truth and to hell with the consequences! She took a step towards him, only to check herself just in time.
'You really are a chauvinist,' she said crossly.
'Don't you recognise a compliment?' He was still smiling. 'Do you like the set, Sara?'
'I love it. It's one of the finest things in the shop.'
'Hm. In that case I think I'll take it.' There was an expression in his eyes which she could not define. Just as she could not have explained why the blood flowed suddenly faster in her veins.
She was carrying the tea-service to the counter when he said, 'I have an invitation.'
'An invitation?' She was all at once breathless. And then, to cover her eagerness, 'You can tell me about it while I put this in a box.'
Carefully she began to wrap each piece in paper tissue. The awareness which had been with her since the moment Clyde had stepped into the shop had not left her. To conceal it she made her movements deliberately slow.
'If you have nothing planned, come to Cape Town with me on Saturday,' he said. 'I have tickets for something special.'
'Oh?' She looked up at him, and this time she could not hide her eagerness. She did not know that to the watching man her eyes were like sun-warmed sea. She was about to say yes, yes, of course I'll go, I just want to be with you, when something made her ask, 'Tickets for what, Clyde?'
'Ballet.' His voice could not have been more casual. 'A new production of Romeo and Juliet.'
She looked down quickly, concealing her eyes beneath long curling lashes. She went on wrapping the silver, but now, though her movements were even slower than before, she could not hide their trembling.
'Well, Sara, will you come?'
'No!'
A hand reached for her chin, cupping it, tilting it upward. Eyes in which the light had died were forced to meet his gaze.
'Why can't you come?' he asked grimly.
'Because I… I'd forgotten a date. There… there's this man in the village. He asked me ages ago—'
'I couldn't ask you to break an arrangement,' he said so flatly that the double meaning was not lost on her. 'Tell me what I owe you for the silver, and we'll take a rain check on the ballet.'
'Let's do that,' Sara agreed, but as Clyde left the shop she knew that she would never accompany him. The new production of Romeo and Juliet was not unknown to her. Peter had been working on the choreography at the time of his death, and she knew that Madame Olga had considered it one of the best things he had done. It would not seem right to watch it with another man. But sentiment was not the only consideration that would keep her from going.
The pain of giving up dancing was with her still. Watching a ballet, particularly this one, would intensify the wounds. Much as the thought of going out with Clyde had excited her—and there was no denying to herself that she had been excited—she knew that seeing her old friends go through the motions which were now denied to her would be more than she could endure.
As before she wondered about Andrea. Clyde had said nothing about a threesome. A thought came to mind, not a new one. Andrea could be temporarily away from the city—a fact which would answer a few of Sara's questions about what seemed an unusual relationship. That being the case, it was possible that Andrea did not object to her husband escorting another girl, especially when she knew of his basic contempt for her.
The running of the shop was becoming routine. Never boring—it was impossible to be bored when she was surrounded by objects each with their own individual history and beauty, but routine all the same.
Now and then postcards arrived from Lynn, breezy, cheerful comments on the sights she was seeing. Her mother had all but recovered from her illness and was enjoying the trip with the same enthusiasm as her daughter. 'Bless you for helping me out,' Lynn would write. But she never added an address at which she could be reached. Perhaps it never occurred to her that her deputy might run into difficulties, Sara thought wryly. She could not know that Sara wanted to give up the running of the shop so that she could leave Morning Glow to find a place to live where she would never see Clyde.
She closed the shop earlier than usual one after
noon so that she could attend an auction of Cape Dutch furniture, but one look at the objects on display told her they were not right for the Antique Den. There was no point in staying.
It was still early as she made her way back along the coastal road. Turning a bend, she saw the white-walled beauty of Stellenberg against the forested mountain slope. She slowed the car.
She had thought of Jenny often of late. She had not been able to forget the little girl with the huge eyes in the tiny white face. Though she had had good reason for refusing to dance at the concert, the child's disappointment had nevertheless weighed on her mind. Sara hated to hurt people, and the knowledge that she had hurt a child as ill and as lovely as Jenny was not easy to live with.
For days she had toyed with the idea of visiting Jenny. All the children she had met at Stellenberg had drawn her compassion, but Jenny had touched a special part of her heart. She knew that only the dread of running into Clyde had kept her from going back long ago to see the little girl. Which was ridiculous, Sara had told herself firmly this morning; she could surely not be quite so weak-willed as to let Clyde inhibit her. She wanted to see Jenny, and she did not need Clyde's permission for that.
With this thought in mind she had packed a few books in a bag—ballet books with photographs of famous dancers and stories of the better-known classical ballets. She had known that she was going to the auction, and that there was every possibility that she might leave early, giving her a chance to visit the home before dark. If she did not manage to see Jenny today she would find another opportunity to do so.
As she took the turn-off that led to Stellenberg she could not help hoping that she would not see Clyde. Just the thought of him made her feel suddenly weak at the knees. She could no more stop loving him than she could stop breathing. But it was a love that had been doomed a long while ago, and for her own peace of mind the less she saw of him the better. That being the case, the visit would be more comfortable without him. At this time of day, she assured herself, he would be working. It was unlikely that she would see him.
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