Roberta Leigh - Too Young To Love Read online

  Roberta Leigh - Too Young To Love

  "Gavin's right about you," Sara's aunt told her. "You don't love him enough. Maybe you're only in love with the memory of that first love. Perhaps now that you're seen him again you'll be able to forget him." But Sara knew she wouldn't. Even at eighteen she had known Gavin Baxter was the one man for her. Her youth and inexperience had torn them apart. Was she mature enough now to win him a second time? Or had her lack of trust destroyed his love for her forever?

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sara Claremont dropped the letter she had been reading on to her lap and stared reflectively into space. So her father had finally remarried. She had expected it for a long time, in fact since Aunt Grace - her late mother's cousin - had come to live with them five years ago: except that her father had not married Grace after all, but a young and unknown fashion model called Helen who had come to promote British fashions at the Embassy and had also, it seemed, promoted herself to its Ambassador.

  "Helen took some persuading to believe she wasn't too young for me," her father had written, "but luckily I was able to change her mind and we were married quietly a week ago. I didn't ask you to the wedding because I felt it would be an embarrassment for you, but once you and Helen know each other, I'm sure you'll become friends."

  There was more in the same vein, but Sara could not take it in. All she could think of was that Aunt Grace had been left high and dry and that she herself had been presented with a stepmother only nine years her senior. How could her father have done such a foolish thing?

  "What's up with you?" a matter-of-fact voice demanded, and Sara looked up and handed the letter to her friend Ann, with whom she shared a room at Mademoiselle Rose's finishing school in Lugano.

  After a short interval Ann stopped reading and pulled a face. "What a ghastly thing to happen! If it had been my father I could have understood it, but yours has always been such a fuddy-duddy!"

  "It's the fuddy-duddies who generally end up making fools of themselves," Sara said darkly. "I can't think what got into him."

  "Sex," Ann muttered.

  Sara's cheeks flamed, but she was sensible enough to know that other people did not see her father in the same way she did; to her he was a kindly man in his fifties; to strange eyes he was a handsome, sophisticated diplomat of impeccable breeding, wealth and position; an eligible catch at any age.

  "It would have to happen in my last term," she said aloud. "Now I'll have to go home and play gooseberry to a honeymoon couple."

  "Why not come and live with me for a while?"

  Sara thought of the large stone house on the Yorkshire moors where Ann lived with three boisterous brothers and her equally boisterous parents, and decided she would prefer to be a gooseberry.

  "I probably won't stay with Father all that long," she murmured. "I'll have to decide what to do with my life."

  "Get married and have fun."

  "Shouldn't it be have fun and then get married?"

  Ann giggled and Sara joined in, for it was difficult to be in Ann's company for long and remain miserable.

  But later that evening she thought of her future with further misgivings and wondered whether it might not be better to accept Ann's invitation. Perhaps she would stay in Paris for a few weeks and then go to Yorkshire. Whatever she decided to do, she had the feeling she wouldn't want to make a permanent home with her father now that he had acquired a young wife.

  This belief was not quite so firm when Sara met her stepmother for the first time. She had left Lugano in the morning and arrived in Paris later that same day, being met :at the airport by Baker, who had been her father's chauffeur since she was a child.

  "Sir William apologises for not meeting you himself," he said as they drove towards the city, "but he had a meeting with one of the French ministers, and Lady Claremont had an appointment with some interior decorator from New York."

  "Interior decorator?" Sara echoed.

  Baker nodded. "Her ladyship is refurnishing the Embassy. Quite a lot of comings and goings there've been about it too."

  "My father must hate that," Sara smiled.

  "I have the impression that Sir William is delighted, miss."

  To Sara the words were a clear indication that her father had no regrets about his marriage, and she felt some of the tension leave her. Perhaps it would work out well after all. The car swept into the courtyard of a beautiful stone house, and she mounted the short flight of steps to the entrance and entered the cool, flower-filled hall. The decor here was the same as it always had been - formal and functional - hut as she entered the salon her eye was enchanted by the new soft spring colours of the lemon silk drapes at the tall windows and the pale green and lilac patterned settees and armchairs.

  The young woman who came forward to greet her was in stark contrast to the delicacy of the room, having matt white skin, jet black hair that silkily covered her skull and swept forward on either cheek, bright brown eyes with short thick lashes that marked them without softening them, and a small, full-lipped red mouth. Beautiful but hard, Sara thought, and could understand why her father had been captivated. Grace, with her muted appearance and calm manner, must have seemed dull by comparison with this dramatic-looking creature.

  "Welcome home, Sara." Helen's voice was firm but friendly, as was her handshake. She might only be ten years older than her stepdaughter, but she seemed double that in confidence and the air of maturity she exuded. "I suppose our marriage must have come as a shock to you?"

  "A surprise," Sara replied, and saw her young stepmother's mouth part to show even white teeth.

  "You're as diplomatic as your father! You don't look a bit like him, though. I suppose you take after your mother?"

  "I don't look like either of my parents. I think I'm a throwback to some long-dead ancestor."

  "A very pretty throwback too. The picture your father showed me doesn't do you justice."

  "I didn't know my father had any pictures of me," said Sara.

  "It was a snapshot taken with Grace Rickards."

  Sara deemed it wiser to let this remark pass and looked around the room instead. "I like the alterations you have made here."

  "That's sweet of you to say so." The older girl looked pleased. "I've re-done all the personal rooms except your bedroom. I thought you might like to do that yourself."

  Sara was touched by the suggestion but said she wasn't sure it would be worthwhile doing, since she did not know how long she would be staying in Paris.

  "Your father is hoping you will make your home with us," Helen said. "And I'd love it if you did. You'd at least bring some young people into the Embassy instead of a lot of middle-aged bores."

  "My father is middle-aged," Sara blurted out.

  "I don't think of William in that way. It's only when I see him with his friends that I realise how much older than me he is. Once he sits down at the bridge table the generation gap rears its head!"

  "I play bridge," Sara smiled.

  "You're a diplomat's daughter. I'm sure you do many things I don't do."

  Sara could not think of any until Helen elaborated. "You know how to ride and to play tennis. You speak French like a native and probably Italian too, and I bet you never get fussed by protocol."

  "Those are all very unimportant things," Sara assured her. "I'm sure you could do them too if you wished."

  A sound behind her made Helen turn and she moved forward as the door opened and her husband came in.

  Sara's first thought was that he looked exactly the same as ever, and her second was wry humour at herself for thinking he might not have done. What had she expected him to do? Dye his grey hair black and sport coloured shirts and corduroy suits? S
he should have known that even marriage to a girl young enough to be his daughter would not change her father's outward appearance. Tall, suave and distinguished, he was every inch the successful diplomat, a success he would have achieved, she was sure, even had he not come from an ancient and illustrious family with an ancient and illustrious fortune to boot. He kissed his wife briefly and then turned to his daughter.

  "Sara, my dear, welcome home. Forgive me for not inciting you at the airport."

  Sara hugged him and blinked back the tears. "It's lovely to be home, Father."

  "Have you had a chance of getting acquainted with Helen?" He drew back and held out his arm for his wife to join the circle.

  "We haven't talked much," Sara said. "I only arrived a few minutes ago."

  "Luckily I've managed to keep tonight free, just for the three of us," Sir William said. "I thought it would be nice to have a family get-together."

  "I wish you'd warned me, darling," Helen intervened. "I asked Mike to dine with us. I thought it might be amusing for Sara to have a man nearer her own age around."

  "If that was in your mind, my dear," her husband replied, "it would have been more to the point to have asked Gavin. He at least is unattached."

  "So is Mike."

  "Only because his wife is with her parents in Yorkshire."

  "I can easily ask Gavin to join us," Helen said swiftly.

  "I have an idea he's already engaged for dinner. I'll have a word with him myself and suggest he comes in for coffee, if he can get away early enough."

  "You don't need to go to such bother for me," Sara protested. "I'm more than happy just to be with you." She squeezed her father's arm and was warmed by its echoing pressure. Despite his marriage she felt as close to him as ever. It had been silly of her to have such fears for the future. "I'd like to go to my room and unpack," she murmured.

  "I daresay you'll want to buy yourself some new clothes now you've left your schooldays behind you?" her father teased.

  "I have masses of clothes."

  "I've never known a girl turn down the chance of having more." He glanced from his daughter to his wife. "Helen, for instance, is always complaining she never has a thing to wear, yet to my knowledge she averages one new dress a day."

  "You're exaggerating as usual," Helen said. "Anyway,

  I get my clothes at a massive discount." The dark eyes fixed themselves on Sara. "I'll be able to arrange it for you too. Being in the business, so to speak, I'm well in with all the top houses. They're more than pleased to give me a special price so long as I can guarantee to get myself photographed in their clothes."

  "I don't think I can guarantee that," Sara said. "I'm just the Ambassador's daughter."

  Helen looked so pleased that Sara wondered if her stepmother was conceited. If she were, it would be as well to pander to it, for it might smooth the path of their relationship.

  "We can go shopping tomorrow," Helen said. "I'm sure Jacques Domas does the right sort of clothes for you."

  Smiling her agreement, Sara went to her room. It was difficult to believe she was not home merely for the holidays but for as long as she wished to remain. The need to stay with Ann in Yorkshire did not seem quite so pressing and, if she could maintain the status quo with her stepmother, might not arise at all. Sooner or later she would have to make a decision about her future, but for the moment all she had to do was enjoy the fact that school wan behind her. From now on she must think of herself as an adult.

  The dress she chose did everything possible to enhance this status. Of cream silk jersey, it folded itself around her tall slender body and gently defined the outline of breasts mid hips. The neckline was softly cowled and her shoulders rose in a perfect curve from it, the skin as satiny in texture as her toffee-coloured hair which fell dramatically straight from a centre parting. Thick golden eyelashes, the ends sable dark, curled round large smoky-grey eyes, their irises rimmed with darker grey. They were astonishingly beautiful eyes, silver in colour when she was excited or angry and the grey of woodland smoke when she was sad. Now, with her mood indefinable, the grey irises were flecked with light, the pupils wide and dark. Her delicate features were saved from indistinction by the slight tilt of her straight nose and the passionate fullness of a mouth whose pink colour drew attention to its delightful shape. In a room of vividly coloured beauties like her stepmother, she would pass unnoticed, though the discerning eye would see the promise of the greater beauty to come.

  Sara was downstairs before her father and stepmother. Normally she would have gone into her father's room to chat to him while he finished brushing his hair and putting on his jacket, but tonight she had not done so, knowing that his room was no longer hers to enter freely. It brought with it a momentary droop to her mouth and she was toying with the idea of taking a drink to revive her spirits, when a man came into the room. He looked so much a Mike that she knew he was. He was slightly above average height with rugged features, lightish brown hair and a skin that spoke of outdoor living. He looked as if he would be more at home on the rugger field than in diplomatic circles but his manner, as he came forward to greet her, was as impeccable as his old school tie accent.

  "Good evening, Miss Claremont," he said easily. "I'm Mike Evans. I've heard so much about you in the last couple of weeks that I feel I'm meeting an old friend."

  "Then you must call me Sara," she smiled.

  He smiled back, then glanced round as Helen and Sir William came in.

  "So you two have met already," the older man said.

  "I've introduced myself, sir."

  He bowed slightly in Helen's direction and she returned the gesture with a cool smile. She wore a dress in vivid blues and greens which made her look like some tropical bird of paradise. Her glance at Sara was friendly but appraising, giving Sara the impression that she was being carefully assessed.

  "What news do you have of your wife?" Sir William asked.

  "She called me earlier this evening. She's been in bed with a heavy cold, but apart from that she's enjoying herself." He looked at Sara. "My wife is very much a country girl. If she had her way I would have retired from the service and taken up farming."

  "You look the type to have enjoyed it."

  "I like the open-air life," he agreed, "but not the dull grind of being tied to the land."

  "Think of all the hunting you could do," Helen said.

  Mike laughed. "I prefer to do my hunting in the ballrooms of Paris!"

  "There speaks a lonely husband," Sir William commented. "I must warn your wife not to stay away so long in future."

  The younger man conceded the point and then began to talk of hunting proper, a subject that appeared dear to his heart.

  Sara sat back and watched him. Mike had not been at the Embassy the last time she had come home, which meant he had been here for less than three months. Yet as the evening progressed she saw how well he fitted in, displaying the right blend of deference and formality, both towards her father and his bride. It was difficult to think of Helen as a bride, for there was nothing romantic in her manner towards her husband and; though Sara had not expected her father to act the gay lover, she had anticipated some suggestion of it from his wife. Perhaps Helen was embarrassed to be affectionate in front of her stepdaughter until she had assessed Sara's opinion on the subject of her father's second marriage.

  "What did you think of the dinner?" Helen asked her as they returned to the drawing room for coffee.

  "It's the best meal I've had here," Sara said truthfully.

  "I engaged a new chef. It was quite a feat to get him: two other Embassies were competing for his services."

  "How did you manage it?"

  "Bribery and corruption," Helen said matter-of-factly.

  "Helen is a meticulous "hostess," Sir William, who was close on their heels, said. "She has even surprised me by the way she has taken over all the domestic chores."

  "I'm determined to make this Embassy the smartest in Paris," his wife replied. "I
don't see why we should let the Americans have it all their own way. Do you know I heard that their main rooms are just crammed with Impressionist paintings?"

  "I am afraid I can't oblige there," Sir William said with a sly smile. "French art was something my family never went in for. However, I can bring over a Holbein or two."

  "I don't think I could bear to have your ancestors staring down at me all the time - even if they were painted by a genius!"

  "Suits me," said her husband promptly. "Family portraits should be kept in the family house." He looked faintly pensive. "I must say I'll be glad when I can retire there. Dorset is a lovely part of the country."

  "You won't be retiring for a long time yet." Helen seated herself by the french windows, as if knowing that the lemon silk curtains acted as a foil for her brightly patterned dress. "Right now I'm concerned with making the most of living here."

  "You've already gone a long way towards doing that," Mike intervened. "You've worked wonders with the house and if you keep serving up meals like tonight, people will be clamouring to come to your parties."

  "That's exactly what I want," she replied.

  "I dare say it will bore you after a time," Sir William said.

  "I don't see why. You've been living this sort of life for so long, you've become bored with it. But I'm only just beginning and I intend to make my mark. We're going to be renowned for our entertaining."

  "I'm quite content to leave things the way they are. The quieter the life the better, as far as I'm concerned."

  "But you are no longer the only one who is concerned," his wife said. "You have me to consider - and Sara as well."

  "I can't see Sara enjoying Embassy dinners - no matter how successful they are. Isn't that right, my dear?" her father asked her.

  Sara longed to say yes, but felt it would be tactless to disagree with Helen at this stage. She was surprised at the woman's insistence on achieving a social position, and then immediately acknowledged her own naivety. After all, this was one of the reasons Helen had married. Much as Sara adored her father, she could not envisage any girl of twenty-eight wanting to marry a man of fifty unless social position, wealth and a title were important to her.