"Just my sleep," Sara smiled. "Jet lag is catching up on me." She feigned a yawn. "I'll be glad to get to bed."
"Lie in as long as you want in the morning, and just ring for breakfast when you wake up."
"I'm not used to breakfast in bed. I've been a working girl for a year."
"You aren't working at the moment, so just laze round and take it easy. You look all eyes and brittle bones." The car was parked and the two women went into the house.
In the morning Sara was awakened by the sound of surf pounding on the beach outside her window, and throwing back the single coverlet she padded over to look out. A sharp breeze was blowing and it was this that was making the sea rough, though the sky was still bright blue and cloudless and the sun was a white-gold disc in the east.
Her watch said nine o'clock, which gave her a couple of hours before Andy came to collect her. During a brief moment alone with him last night, when Grace had gone to the cloakroom, she had let him know she was free for lunch the following day and he had immediately responded by inviting her to have it with him. She knew Gavin would be furious to arrive and find her absent, but his anger was unimportant compared with the necessity of retaining command over herself, which she knew she would not be able to do if she were forced to have a lengthy discussion with him. Besides, they had nothing to talk about. No matter what time span had elspsed, she would never be able to forgive him for what he had done. Had it been any woman other than Helen, it might have been different, but she could not forget the bitterness of realising that even while he had professed to love her, he had been making love to her stepmother.
Long before Andy was due, Sara was dressed and waiting for him, supple as an ear of corn in a gold silk dress, with a wide-brimmed straw hat in cinnamon colour casting soft shadows across her delicately beautiful face.
"You look like a dream," Andy's comment was almost reverent. "And to think I nearly took a plane out of here a couple of days ago!" He caught her hand and squeezed It. "I'm glad you didn't insist on our taking Miss Rickards to lunch too."
"I'm not as cruel as that," she smiled. "Anyway, you were extremely kind to offer to do it last night."
"It wasn't a question of kindness, honey, but of necessity. I knew you wouldn't come out with me otherwise!"
He led her to his car, a huge white monster with a mass of gleaming chrome which he handled with unexpected ease. But then for all his lack of pretension and casual manner he was a very rich young man and used to the best.
"I guess you must have seen a great deal of the world," he commented over lunch, "what with your father being an Ambassador."
"I would probably have seen more of the world if he hadn't been quite so elevated," she smiled. "Once you're an Ambassador you tend to stay in one country for quite a few years."
"Even so, I bet you had an interesting time."
"Don't believe all you read in novels," she teased. "Wives and daughters of diplomats often lead very restricted lives. You're hemmed in by protocol and you're pledged to do good works. You also have to be polite to bores!"
"Then I take it you'd never want to go back to that sort of life?"
"Never 1" she cried, and closing her mind to sapphire blue eyes and thick black hair, forced herself to concentrate on her surroundings and her host.
He was improving on acquaintance. Like her he had been born with every advantage, but it had not stopped him from being obliged to work his way up in his father's business.
"I had a year's course in accountancy, a couple of years in management and two years in hotel catering before my father considered me qualified to stand in his shadow!"
"Don't tell me you're a resentful son?" she smiled.
"Far from it. The old man and I get on extremely well - even though I can't stand his choice in wives."
Sara swallowed a too large piece of sorbet and hastily put her napkin to her mouth.
Andy grinned at her reaction. "You obviously don't read the gossip columns or you'd know that my old man has been married five times."
"How many times have you been married?"
"So far I've steered clear. Love 'em and leave 'em is my motto - at least it was until now." He stared at her with frank admiration. "I've fallen for you, Sara, and as far as I'm concerned I would marry you tomorrow."
"I'm flattered!"
"I'm not kidding. Say the word and I'll get the licence. We could have a lot of fun together."
"I'm sure we could," she said equably, "but marriage is more than just having fun."
"I know that. But I was deliberately playing it lightly. You're so cool and distant, Sara, that I'm scared of frightening you off. But I have fallen for you, and I'm willing to wait."
"It will be a long wait, then. I have no intention of getting married for years. I want to see much more of the world."
"I can show it to you. I'll only be on the island a few more months, then it will be Mexico and Rio and after that Europe."
"A veritable Cook's tour!"
"I'm not kidding," he repeated. "I think we could be happy together."
"Do you always make such fast decisions?" she temporised, reluctant to tell him he left her totally unmoved.
"I know when I meet a girl who is unique." His eyes crinkled. "I also know when I'm leaving a girl cold."
"I'm sorry, Andy."
"Forget it. It won't stop me from trying. And talking about trying, the lovely Lydia has just come in."
"Lydia?" Sara was puzzled.
"The lovely lady who's trying to get the Governor. She's been chasing him for months. Everyone is taking bets on whether or not she'll get him. Personally I think she's got him already."
Sara set her spoon carefully on to her plate. "Is that gossip or knowledge?"
"A bit of both. She practically lives at Government House and you don't get a man like Gavin Baxter and a woman like Lydia Stacey spending tropical nights together playing gin rummy."
Sara longed to turn round and see what the unknown Lydia looked like, and she hoped it was coincidence and not the fact that she had given herself away that made Andy murmur that the woman had seated herself at a table by the window on their left. A slight movement of Sara's toffee-coloured head and the table came into vision. Her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, for its occupant could have passed for a younger, petite version of Helen.
As if aware that she was being scrutinised, the woman immediately pushed back her chair and came over to greet Andy.
"I had dinner with your father and his wife while I was in New York. He gave me a pair of cuff links for you. I'll send them to your hotel." She gave Sara a questioning smile and Andy immediately introduced them and, after a momentary hesitation, suggested she join them for lunch.
"I wouldn't dream of intruding on a'tête-à-tête," Lydia Stacey said. "I only came over to tell you about the cuff links."
"You won't be intruding," Sara intervened, and without more ado Lydia immediately took the chair Andy proffered, and gave her order to a waiter. As Sara drank several cups of coffee she was disconcerted to find she did not dislike the woman who, apart from her unfortunate resemblance to Helen, did not appear to resemble her in character, being vivacious, humorous and a keen lover of sport.
"That's why I enjoy these islands so much," Lydia explained. "If it weren't for the fear of sharks it would be even more fun. But knowing they are lurking around puts me off deep-sea diving."
"The sharks are more likely to be afraid of you," Andy chuckled.
"That's what Gavin says." Lydia looked at Sara. "Have you met our Governor yet? He's an absolute dish."
"Sara knew him in Paris," Andy said to Sara's annoyance. "Her father is Ambassador there."
"Then you know Gavin quite well. Isn't he sensational?" She saw Sara hesitate and laughed merrily. "I don't mind who knows I'm crazy about him. I've been that way from the minute I set eyes on him."
"You're just an uninhibited American heiress I" Andy teased. "Don't you know that Englishmen don't like being chased?"
>
"Englishmen are men, when all's said and done," Lydia retorted, "and there isn't a man born who doesn't respond to flattery. Don't you agree with me?"
Dark eyes stared into grey and Sara half nodded. "I suppose so. I haven't given it much thought."
"Then take my word for it - Jack, my late husband, was the most hard-headed guy you could have met, but if you flattered him he was putty in your hands."
"Like the Governor is in yours?" Andy ventured.
"Unfortunately not." Lydia gave a dramatic sigh, though her smile robbed it of meaning. "But then he's different from any man I've known."
Reluctant to continue listening to eulogies about a man she was trying to forget, Sara gave Andy a hard look. Correctly interpreting it, he signalled for the bill.
"Can I drop you anywhere?" he asked Lydia as they stood on the steps of the restaurant a few moments later.
"No, thanks, I'm going to the Governor's residence for tea. It sounds frightfully Victorian and la-de-da, doesn't it? Makes me think of silver tea-kettles and maids in starched aprons and caps!" She grinned at Sara. "I hope to see something of you while you're here. I'll invite you to one of my parties."
Sara smiled and nodded, though she knew that nothing would induce her to visit any place where she might encounter Gavin.
"She's nice, isn't she?" Andy commented as they left Pango behind and drove along the coast road.
"Very. I can see why everyone is speculating about her and - Gavin."
"She'd improve him no end. He needs a bit of warming up'. Sometimes I get the impression that he hates having to make small talk and that he's bored by everything going on around him."
"If he is he should know better than to show it."
"He doesn't show it to the islanders," Andy admitted. "He's very popular with the ordinary local people. It's only with some of the British colony and us rich foreigners that he's a bit stand-offish."
"That means he's a good Governor," Sara assured him. "After all, he is here for the islanders, not for people like you."
"Ouch!" Andy rubbed an imaginary wound in his chest. "Let's change the subject and talk of our future!"
"I would rather you told me about the island."
He proceeded to do so and was still talking about it when they reached the small but pretty bungalow where Grace Rickards lived. "Can I see you tonight?" he asked.
"I don't think so. I don't want to leave Aunt Grace alone. After all, I came here to spend my holiday with her."
"Tomorrow, then?"
"May I call you?" asked Sara.
"Don't forget," he pleaded, "and make it dinner in preference to lunch. Then I can spend more time with you."
He climbed out of the car, but she did not ask him to come in, and waved to him from the front door before going through the house to the verandah beyond.
Grace Rickards was relaxing in a chaise-longue and she gave Sara a distinctly dry look. "Enjoy your lunch?"
"Very much?"
"No qualms of conscience?"
"About what?"
"About Gavin driving out to see you. He came on the dot of twelve-thirty. You knew, of course."
Sara stared down at her feet. "I didn't ask him to come, nor did I promise to be here if he did."
"But you knew he was coming to see you, and he is the Governor."
"Spare me that I It wasn't in his official capacity that lie came to see me."
"Oh, really. Why did he come, then?"
Sara clenched her hands. By her own stupidity she had invited this question and there was no way she could avoid answering it. Quickly she searched for a plausible reply. "Probably to talk over old times or - because I'm my father's daughter. Gavin is ambitious and - "
"What has that to do with it?"
"My father has the ear of a lot of people in Whitehall," Sara said evenly.
"That's just the sort of thing I could hear Helen saying!" Grace snorted. "She always believed there was an ulterior motive behind everyone's behaviour."
"That's not a bad premise by which to live."
"You can't mean that - and you certainly can't think it about Gavin. He would never let anyone help him. He doesn't need it either."
"Must we go on talking about him?" Sara jumped to her feet. "I'm going to change and go for a swim. Care to join me?"
Grace shook her head and waited till Sara was halfway into the sitting-room before she called her back. "Don't you want to know if Gavin left any message?"
Sara looked round with studied indifference. "Did he?"
"No."
No matter how many times during the rest of the day Sara told herself she was glad she had not seen Gavin, she could not genuinely believe it, and the more she thought of the way she had behaved that morning the more angry she became with herself. By running away she had made it clear that she did not want to see him; a fact which he was intelligent enough to see as a fear of him. What price her pretended indifference to him of last night I Had she acted with logic she would have seen him today and been politely friendly. She should have given him a drink and chatted about the past as if it no longer mattered to her, instead of which she had run away, thereby repeating her behaviour of four years ago.
She toyed with the idea of telephoning him and apologising for having gone out, then decided this would look as if she was worried. It was better to apologise when she met him again. Somehow she felt it would be soon. If it was conscience which made Gavin want to talk to her, then he was the sort of man who would want to get his apology over and done with, though what he could say - other than to continue to lie about what had happened in Paris - she could not begin to imagine. At least he had shown sufficient good sense not to make himself available to Helen now that she was free, for it would do his career no good whatever to marry the ex-wife of an Ambassador.
Lydia would be ideal for him, as Andy had rightly said, and it was surprising he had not succumbed to her obvious affection for him. Was she still at Government House? Sara's watch showed four o'clock, which surprised her, for she felt as if the afternoon had dragged on and on.
The sound of a car on the road made her jerk into an upright position on the sand, and her pulses only settled to a steady beat as it droned on into the distance. Without putting her reaction into words she knew she had assumed it to be Gavin, and irritably she draped her towelling jacket over her shoulders and padded over the sand to the garden. Grace Rickards' was the only house on this part of the coast, and she knew that she would find it too lonely to live here for months on end. It was a pity Aunt Grace did so, wasting her time writing books when she should have been living her life instead.
"That's why I'm here," she muttered. "To make her see that her future lies with my father."
As she showered and changed into a clinging silk jersey dress, she felt suddenly lighthearted. She was young and beautiful and in a matter of weeks would be living in a capital city and acting as interpreter to a host of interesting people. She had more money than she wanted as well as beauty and health. Everything to live for, in fact, and it wits stupid not to acknowledge this and act accordingly.
"How about some champagne to celebrate?" she said, coming into the sitting-room a little later.
"I always keep a bottle on ice when the Claremonts come to call!" Aunt Grace chuckled. "That's one thing I
learned when living with you and your father."
"You must have found it quite a wrench to leave the Embassy."
"It wasn't the Embassy I minded leaving," Grace said with honesty. "It was you and William."
"Then the quicker you go back, the better for all concerned." Sara stopped as a servant came in with the champagne and proceeded to open it. Only when they were alone again and she held a glass in her hand did she speak. "Why not pack up and leave when I do?"
"I'll think about it."
"My father made a mistake when he married Helen," Sara said bluntly, "but you can't go on blaming him for it. He paid for his folly and you should be prepar
ed to forget it."
"You're perfectly right, dear. I'm so glad that's your philosophy, too. So many young people are unforgiving."
Sara gave the older woman a penetrating look, for the remark seemed deliberately pointed. Yet Grace did not know about Gavin and Helen, nor about Gavin and herself. Deciding she was being over-sensitive, she sipped her drink and talked of her years at university and her working year in London.
At eight-thirty they sat down to dinner. The wind, which had been fresh all day, had died completely and the air was still and warm enough for them to dine alfresco. The terrace was lit by candles and the garden illuminated by a crescent moon which turned the landscape into a black and silver etching. Occasionally the narrow road in the distance showed the gleam of car headlights and each time it did, Sara was hard put not to rush from the table, so convinced was she that Gavin would be calling.
"You're very edgy tonight," Grace remarked. "Is anything wrong?"
"Of course not." Sara forced herself to relax, but another pair of headlights set her quivering again, and she was glad when dinner ended and they returned to the sitting-room to listen to some music. Only then was she genuinely able to relax, though the ringing of the telephone almost made her jump out of her skin and she listened tensely as Grace answered it. It was someone on a local charity committee, and she leaned back in her chair and hoped her agitation had not been noticed.
Ten o'clock came and went, but not until the clock chimed eleven did Sara allow herself the final relief of admitting that Gavin was not going to come tonight. Perhaps her behaviour this morning had made him realise it might be better to allow the past to remain past. Indeed if Lydia had been at the cocktail party last night he might not even have suggested seeing her again.
"I'm going to bed," Grace announced. "But you stay up if you like and listen to some more music. It won't disturb me."
"I might go for a walk along the beach. It's safe, isn't it?"
"Perfectly." The older woman went to the door, hesitated for a moment and then went out.
Sara put on another Chopin Nocturne and when it came to an end she wandered over to the piano and ran her hands across the keys. It was in tune, but it lacked tonal quality, which was one of the penances of living in the tropics. Despite this, it was more satisfying to play than to be played to, and she sat down and drifted into the Moonlight Sonata and then a more agitated piece by Prokofiev which fitted her jangling nerves far better.
Roberta Leigh - Too Young To Love Page 11