Roberta Leigh - Too Young To Love

by Roberta Leigh

  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.