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 se
e 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.
Roberta Leigh - Too Young To Love Page 10