by Janet Tanner
‘Take care, Sarah,’ he said, rising and smiling down at her with a wistfulness that tugged at her heartstrings.
‘I’ll come with you to the gate,’ she offered, jumping to her feet.
‘Don’t trouble. I am sure I can find my way – and don’t you have a demonstration to do?’
‘Oh yes, I do!’ she cried, horrified that she could have forgotten. ‘Won’t you stay and watch?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’ll leave you now. But don’t forget what I said, will you? The door is always open, Sarah. You have only to say the word.’
He smiled at her once more, turned, and was gone, swallowed up in the crowds. For a moment she stood trying to catch a last glimpse of him, then resigned she started to make her way back towards the banqueting hall. Some people in the crowd recognised her, pointing her out and waving. But for once Sarah did not even notice. Her professional smile was set stiffly on her lips and if her eyes shone more brightly than usual it was because they glittered with unshed tears.
Chapter Sixteen
The moment she re-entered the banqueting hall Eric Gardiner could see that something had happened to upset Sarah. Eric was a perceptive young man, as sensitive as he was resourceful. He was also in love with Sarah and had been from the first moment he had laid eyes on her when she had come to ask Auguste Gaudron for a chance to parachute with his team. But in spite of their intimate working relationship and the friendship that had grown and blossomed from it, in spite of the bond that was inevitable between two people who held one another’s life in their hands almost daily, Eric had never been able to get close to her. God alone knows, he had tried. But always he had come up against a barrier and beyond it a bleak no-man’s land behind which the heart of her was hidden like a vista in teasing, swirling mists. Sometimes he thought he caught a glimpse of the real Sarah behind the smiling, confident, public exterior, but as quickly it was gone again and he was left with the unsolved enigma. Who was Sarah? Where did she come from? Where were her relatives and why did she never talk about them – or indeed about anything from her past. She had been hurt, he suspected, by something or someone, hurt so deeply that she had withdrawn into the persona of The Sweetheart of the Skies like an actress living a part.
Because he loved her he wondered about it often, asking himself what it was that could have so affected her that she had locked herself into this ivory tower from which occasionally, like Rapunzel, she let down her hair just a little, only to jerk it back in panic when she thought her fortress might be breeched. She did not like being touched, that much was certain. If ever he made the slightest advance towards her he felt her immediate withdrawal the moment a friendly arm became a little more than friendly, yet he also sensed that there was a great warmth within her, untapped, which she controlled with the same iron will which controlled all her emotions. The casing might be cold and hard, unbreakable as tempered steel, within it burned the embers of a fire which some day some lucky man would be able to fan to life. Eric hoped with all his heart that he might be that man. But he believed that patience and gentleness were the only keys which would unlock that secret heart and free her from whatever memories and experiences had caused her to retreat to her private sanctuary.
Sometimes when they were alone together in some hotel sitting-room after a successful display it was all he could do to control the powerful longing to take her in his arms. Inevitably Henry would take his noggin and retire to bed early while Sarah and Eric would linger, discussing the events of the day over a bottle of champagne. Sarah would be relaxed, shoes discarded to allow her to wiggle her toes in luxurious carpets or tuck her feet up beneath her as she curled in totally unladylike fashion in some deep wing chair, and the mood would be the pleasurable awareness that settled in after the adrenaline ceased to flow, like the drowsy contentment that follows satisfying love making. On these occasions and glowing from the effects of the champagne, Eric felt his love pounding through his veins with his blood, a fever that almost burned him up with its intensity. But he knew that a wrong move on his part could shatter the mood – and with it the whole structure of their relationship and the trust between them which he had taken such pains to establish. Adoring her, he suffered for her and prayed that one day his patience would bring its rewards, the relationship would deepen from loving friends to lovers and the ghosts which haunted Sarah would be exorcised forever.
Now as she walked towards him across the banqueting hall at Alexandra Palace he saw the shadow of those ghosts on Sarah’s face and some sixth sense told him that whoever her visitor had been he had touched deeply on whatever it was that was secret and unmentionable in her past. The knowledge caused him a moment’s anxiety, a creeping sense of unease that he could not have explained, even to himself. The man in himself had posed no threat. He was clearly a gentleman with the easy manners of his station and a set to his face that was totally without malice or Machiavellism. His eyes, very blue, had seemed almost familiar to Eric; when enquiring for Sarah he had sounded concerned, not in any way threatening. And Sarah had clearly been delighted to see him if a little shocked. Yet all the while she had been gone Eric had been on tenterhooks and now knew his concern had been justified. His visit had touched Sarah as nothing else had done in the two years Eric had known her. Somehow, almost imperceptibly, a crack had appeared in the iron fortress and Sarah’s vulnerability was peeping through.
He hurried towards her taking her arm in friendly fashion and she did not draw away.
‘I was beginning to think you were lost!’ he said.
‘Were you?’ She sounded pre-occupied.
‘Yes, who was that man, Sarah?’
‘Oh …’ Emotion flickered briefly across her face before she retreated once more into a world of her own thoughts. ‘Just someone I used to know.’ Her voice was faint.
He glanced at her quickly. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, of course.’ But her eyes still held that faraway look. He was alarmed suddenly at the realisation that in less than an hour they would be making their parachute jump of the day. Jumping required complete concentration, anything less could spell disaster. Sarah was an experienced parachutist now of course with a totally professional approach. In all likelihood she would be able to put aside whatever it was that was troubling her for the duration of the display at least. But if she did not … Eric felt his blood run cold at the thought of some mishap or error of judgement. If anything happened to Sarah he did not think he could bear it.
In the aeronauts’ workshop it was hot and dusty and the noise of the sewing machines was deafening.
‘Let’s go and get some fresh air,’ he suggested.
She allowed him to lead her outside. They found a bench on the shady side of the banqueting hall and sat down, Sarah staring into space, her lower lip rucked by her teeth.
‘Whoever he was he seems to have upset you,’ Eric commented.
Sarah came back from her reverie, her eyes expressing surprise.
‘Mr Morse? Oh no, he hasn’t upset me! He couldn’t! He is a wonderful person. It’s just that he … reminded me of some things I would rather forget.’
‘But who is he?’
‘Gilbert Morse. Have you ever heard of Morse Motors? If you haven’t I dare say you soon will. He is thinking of going into the manufacture of engines for aeroplanes and knowing him as I do I should think he would make a tremendous success of it. He is so forward looking and everything he touches – well, he seems to touch it with success.’ Her face was glowing, suddenly she looked alive. A terrible suspicion assailed Eric.
‘Are you in love with him?’ he asked before he could stop himself.
She swung round and the sheer amazement on her face dispelled his doubts instantly.
‘Good heavens no! He has been like a father to me. He took me in when I was orphaned – arranged for my education – everything.’
‘So you are an orphan?’ Eric pressed her gently.
‘Yes. My mother died when I was nine
. I never knew my father. I was always told he had been a soldier and died in the service of his country but I’m not so sure that is true. Alicia said something once – Alicia is Mr Morse’s daughter. She called me … a name. I didn’t want to believe it then. I was very young and I didn’t care to think that my mother was ‘‘no better than she should be’’ as they say. But now … well, I think it is very likely the truth – or something close to it.’
He nodded almost afraid to reply in case he stopped her flow. It was the first time Sarah had ever talked about herself and he felt that at last he was getting some insight into what made her the person she was.
‘How did your mother die?’ he asked at last when it became clear she had relapsed into silence.
‘I don’t know what was wrong with her. She wasn’t ill for very long. I came home from school one day and found her in a coma.’ Her hands were making baskets in the folds of her skirts. ‘I blame myself, you know. If I had fetched the doctor before I went to school she might be alive today. But I didn’t. She said she would be all right and I believed her.’
‘You were nine years old,’ he comforted her. ‘You couldn’t have known. And maybe there was nothing anyone could have done in any case.’ She was silent. ‘So where does Mr Morse come in?’ he pressed her gently.
Softly, haltingly, as if she were talking to herself she sketched in the details of her story and as he listened the love he felt for her began to swell inside him until he felt he would burst with it. He wanted to hold her and comfort her as she spoke of that last vain dash for the doctor; his hands balled into fists when she described Mrs Pugh and the treatment she had meted out. But he heard the genuine affection in her voice whenever she mentioned Gilbert and as she finished her story and fell silent, looking down at her twisted hands, he had no way of knowing there was a great deal more which she had omitted to tell him and the real reason for her withdrawal into that ivory tower was still a secret between her and certain members of the Morse family.
No wonder she withheld affection, he thought – she was desperately afraid that she would be hurt again. Maybe even this Morse man had exacerbated the situation for she plainly adored him and perhaps had hoped that he might take the place of the father she had never known. Eric was no psychologist but his love for her made him long to understand and his sensitive nature provided an instinctive insight. He reached out and covered one of her hands with his own, tenderness and concern for her sweeping aside all restraint.
‘Sarah – let me take care of you. You have had a very hard time. I’d like to make sure nothing bad ever happens to you again.’
‘Oh Eric!’ She turned her hand over so that her fingers clasped his. ‘You are sweet. But that would be a pretty tall order.’
‘I suppose so.’ He laughed a little self-consciously. ‘But no trouble seems so bad when there is someone to share it with. And I swear I would do murder before I would let anyone hurt you. I love you, Sarah. You must know that. If you would marry me I would be the happiest man alive. And I promise you would never be alone, unwanted or pushed from pillar to post again.’
His voice was low and eager and Sarah experienced a quick stab of guilt. It was true – she had known how he felt about her for a long while and although she had done nothing to encourage him she had not discouraged him either. It was agreeable to bask in the adoration of an attractive man, particularly one who set the hearts of the ladies aflutter wherever he went. But to have him propose to her … Unexpectedly a lump rose in her throat. Eric was a good man and a wonderful friend. In the two years she had come to know him she had come to rely on him in a hundred ways and he had never let her down. She was fond of him – more than fond, she loved him like a brother. But that was all.
‘Eric – I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered and, yes, surprised. But it’s no use pretending. I don’t love you. Not in that way. I’m sorry.’
She glanced at him, knowing she was hurting him and hating herself for it. But it seemed that having taken the bull by the horns Eric was determined not to let the matter rest.
‘You may grow to,’ he said earnestly. ‘You don’t dislike me, do you?’
‘Oh no, of course I don’t! It’s just that …’
‘I wouldn’t rush you, Sarah,’ he promised eagerly. ‘I wouldn’t… well, demand anything that you felt you were not ready to give. I just want to take care of you and make you happy. And I don’t want you to feel you are alone and friendless ever again.’
She nodded, her heart full. After the emotional turmoil of the last hour the pressure of his hand on hers felt good and safe and she wondered if perhaps she was making a mistake to turn down his offer out of hand. She did not love him it was true but perhaps there were worse things than a marriage without romantic love. He would be good to her, she knew, and do everything in his power to make her happy just as he had promised. In many ways it was a tempting prospect.
‘Will you at least think about it, Sarah?’ he begged her and again she found herself nodding.
‘Very well, Eric.’ A new thought occurred to her, catapulting her back to reality with a small shock. ‘What is the time? Shouldn’t we be getting ready for our parachute jump?’
Eric took out his watch and looked at it.
‘Good lord, Sarah, you’re right! Henry will be wondering what has happened to us!’
‘Knowing Henry, I doubt it, but we’d better be getting back all the same!’ She stood up and moved out into the sunlight which seemed to put a golden aureole all around her. ‘Thank you for asking me, Eric,’ she said softly. ‘And I promise I won’t keep you waiting too long for an answer.’
The air was crystal clear and very still. Swaying in her small sling beneath the balloon basket Sarah waved at the crowds far below. But for once there were other things on her mind than the simple exhilaration of silent flight and appreciation of the scene laid out beneath her like an intricate crazy paving or mosaic. Automatically with the ease born of long practice Sarah watched her height on the aneroid waiting for the moment to launch herself free from the balloon so as to land on the designated site below. But she could think of nothing but Eric’s proposal and her promise to give him an answer very soon.
What should she do? she asked herself and the currents of air lifting her hair and rustling the skirts of her pantaloon suit seemed to toy with the possible answers tossing them hither and thither. If she refused life would most likely go on much as before though she doubted if she and Eric would ever quite regain their former easy relationship. If she accepted she would be his wife and everything would certainly be changed. She believed him when he said he would not rush her into a physical union until she felt she was ready but she hardly considered that as an option. Such an arrangement would be grossly unfair to him and though some women might be only too glad of an excuse to avoid that side of marriage Sarah dismissed such an idea as unthinkable. No, whatever her feelings, if she agreed to marry him she must become his wife in the full sense of the word and do her best to make him happy. It would be the least she could do in return for all he would do for her, for she had no doubt he would prove to be a wonderful husband, kind, generous and understanding, and she would at last have a measure of security in her life which she had so far been unable to find. Never again would she need to feel isolated and lonely, never again need she worry about her future – or her past. What more could she ask for?
A small wistful smile played at the corners of Sarah’s mouth as the breeze tossed the answer to her. Was it greedy of her to wish that she might also be in love with the man she married? Perhaps it was. Nothing in life was ever perfect, she of all people should know that. She liked Eric, respected him and believed she could submit to his love making without being constantly reminded of Hugh and how he had used her. Perhaps it was wrong of her to feel that there should be something more than mere submission, that with the right man there should be joy in giving, in sharing … not only physical love making but every other aspect of life too.
Sarah looked down at the ground, a world in miniature spread out beneath her feet and tried to clear her mind as she prepared to jump.
It was unlikely that the man who could make her feel that way existed – and if he did it was too late for him now. She was going to accept Eric’s proposal. Her mind was made up. The minute she landed she would tell him and she would back up her decision by doing everything in her power to make him as good a wife as she was certain he would be a good husband.
Sarah checked the aneroid once again. Three thousand feet. Resolutely she put all thought of Eric and private matters from her mind and pulled the cord that would release her from the balloon.
Chapter Seventeen
‘There is someone I want you to meet, Sarah,’ Eric said, setting down his teacup on the glass topped cane table that graced Molly Norkett’s minute sitting-room and glancing at Sarah who sat curled up on the comfortable sofa beside him.
Sarah’s heart sank. Since she had agreed to marry Eric he had proudly introduced her to a seemingly endless stream of relatives and she was beginning to grow a little tired of fobbing off the inevitable question – when was the wedding to be? All very well for Eric to assure her he would not rush her until she was ready – aunts and cousins, eager for an excuse to buy a new hat and join in a celebration were less patient and she did not care for the raised eyebrows and the exchanged glances when she explained that the date had yet to be agreed upon. But she had the grace to feel a little guilty at the stab of irritation. Eric was sweet, patient and kindness itself to her. The least she could do was to meet his relatives with good grace.
