"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 ser
ved 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 an
d 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.
Roberta Leigh - Too Young To Love Page 6