For the Love of Sara

by Anne Mather

  Sara slid off the bed and then hesitated doubtfully. "I - I don't have to stay in hospital today, do I ?" she asked anxiously.

  "No." Rachel shook her head. "Today you're only going to see Mr. Lorrimer. You remember Mr. Lorrimer, don't you? You met him the last time we were in London."

  "When we stayed at that big hotel?" Sara's eyes were round.

  "That's right." Rachel half smiled. "Now, go along. Get washed."

  The telephone rang as they were having breakfast and Rachel felt her nerves tighten as she lifted the receiver. But it was only James Kingdom's secretary ringing to ask whether there was anything else they required. Rachel assured her that there was not and thanked her for taking so much trouble on their behalf.

  "That's all right, Mrs. Gilmour, it's my job," the secretary replied politely, but Rachel sensed that she didn't altogether approve of the situation.

  After breakfast they walked to the hospital. St Matthew's was not a new building, but it had been recently modernised and its facilities were as comprehensive as those found in many strictly larger establishments. Fortunately, Sara was used to her attendances at hospital in Whitstone, and apart from showing a natural curiosity about her new surroundings she did not seem nervous. Rachel was more nervous than she was, but then she had more cause. She knew exactly what they were entering into.

  Mr. Lorrimer, the surgeon in charge of Sara's case, was a man in his early forties, of medium height and build, who nevertheless possessed a certain presence that inspired confidence in his patients. He was particularly responsive to children, Rachel had learned this on their previous visit, and although Sara had only met him once, she allowed him to examine her without demur. Because he had seen her before, the examination did not take long, and afterwards Rachel helped the doctor with the necessary documentation while Sara played with Helga. Arrangements were also made for Sara to attend the hospital for her treatment, and by the time it was over Rachel felt infinitely more relaxed.

  James Kingdom came to the apartment again that evening. Sara had had her supper and was all ready for bed when the ring came at the bell, and she scampered to answer it while Rachel hastily tidied the strands of hair that had come loose into the chignon at her nape. Sara was disposed to talk about their visit to the hospital, and about her liking for Mr. Lorrimer, and Rachel was relieved that the child's presence obviated an immediate tete-a-tete. Nevertheless, eventually Sara had to go to bed, and when Rachel rejoined her guest in the living room, he was looking well pleased with himself.

  "You see," he said, when he had settled her in an armchair with a drink, "already Sara is at home here. It's not going to be so difficult, is it?"

  Perhaps not so far as Sara was concerned, thought Rachel, wryly, but she said: "Children soon adapt. That's one of the advantages of being young."

  James clicked his tongue reprovingly. "You talk as though you were middle-aged!" he exclaimed. "Just because I'm some years older, don't pretend that you're not young, too. I like your youth, Rachel. It's one of the many enchanting things about you. Who knows, we may yet have children of our own."

  Rachel stiffened. She couldn't help herself. "Oh, I don't know - " she began awkwardly, but James wasn't listening to her.

  "I shall be away approximately ten days," he was saying, and she dragged her thoughts back to him. "That should be lime enough for Sara to get used to her new surroundings, not only here but at the hospital, and when I come back. He shrugged. "We can talk about that later. Be assured, all the necessary arrangements are made."

  "I know," Rachel nodded. "Mr. Lorrimer told me."

  "Good. And he'll keep you informed all along the line. You have confidence in him, don't you?"

  "Oh, yes." Rachel looked down into her glass. "And - and when it's over..."

  "Greece is an ideal place for recuperation."

  "But-the Bank..."

  "Francis is not a fool, my dear, and Geoffrey Morrison can manage."

  "But for how long? James, you know you told me - "

  "I told you that I'd hoped Joel would follow in my footsteps. This is true. Unfortunately, Joel has rejected all claims to his inheritance. Nevertheless, all is not lost. Francis will have to do for now. At least his name is Kingdom. But, if all goes well, I may yet have a son I can mould in my image."

  His eyes glinted, and it was impossible not to understand what he was saying. He would not have the slightest qualms about disinheriting Francis if it suited him to do so. He was quite ruthless in business; this she had learned from Joel years ago . . . But it was quite impossible to imagine herself the mother of any child of his...

  "By the way," James emptied his glass and regarded her thoughtfully, "I've made arrangements for Mrs. Talbot to come round here and stay with you while Sara is in hospital."

  "Mrs. Talbot?" Rachel frowned. "Oh - your housekeeper?" She shook her head. "That's not necessary."

  "I disagree. I don't like the idea of you staying here alone when I'm not around to take care of you."

  "You mean - when you're in hospital, too?"

  "And while I'm away."

  "But Sara's only in the hospital overnight."

  "Nevertheless, I would prefer to know you were not alone."

  He was adamant, and short of having an argument with him there was nothing Rachel could say. But she couldn't help wondering whether his concern for her welfare had anything to do with Joel.

  The next morning, before James left for Frankfurt, he rang Rachel from the airport.

  "I forgot to tell you, my dear," he said, "Miss Clay will be calling for you this morning to take you to that dress salon I was telling you about." Miss Clay was his secretary.

  "But I don't need any more clothes," protested Rachel.

  "Let me be the judge of that." James paused. "Rachel, much as I admire your appearance, as my fiancée you must understand you will be in the public eye. Allow me to dress you as a member of the Kingdom family should be dressed."

  "I'm not a member of the Kingdom family yet, James."

  "You soon will be, Rachel. Humour me! I shall look forward to the transformation on my return."

  Rachel had made no definite promise when she rang off. As usual, there was little point in trying to explain that she would prefer to remain independent until they were married. But if Miss Clay was going to insist on taking her to the Grey Salon, what little money she had would soon be swallowed up if she attempted to buy her own clothes.

  Lydia Clay was a woman in her late forties who had worked for the Kingdom organisation since she was a young girl. The fact that she was now secretary to the chairman revealed a Certain singularity of purpose. Looking at her immaculately made up face and city-smart navy suit, Rachel couldn't help wondering whether she had never entertained any feelings for her undoubtedly attractive boss. Rachel had sensed the woman's disapproval of her relationship with James Kingdom from the first occasion she had visited the office, and could only assume she found the disparity in their ages totally incompatible.

  Lydia had arrived in a taxi to take them shopping, and it was waiting downstairs when they left the building. The Grey Salon was in a narrow alleyway off Regent Street, and from outside had little to commend it. But once within the swing glass doors, once stepping across the soft grey carpet, one was immediately aware of a hushed air of expectancy that intrigued the buyer. Rose-pink chiffon drapes concealed all but what one was allowed to see, and there were none of the racks of suits and dresses Rachel was used to flicking through. Sara, small and somewhat incongruous in these surroundings, in her jeans and anorak with Helga dangling from her hand as usual, looked about her with interest. Then she said, with childish candour: "The shop's empty, Mummy. Have they sold out?"

  Even Miss Clay's lips twitched at this, but a sales assistant was crossing the floor, and she controlled herself sufficiently to say: "Good morning."

  "Oh - good morning, Miss Clay." The assistant evidently knew her, and Rachel wondered whether it was on her own account, or whether part of
the reason for Miss Clay's antipathy was that she had done this sort of thing before.

  "We'd like to see Miss Grey," went on the secretary smoothly. "Is she available?"

  "As a matter of fact, she is," replied the assistant, her gaze flickering rather wryly over Rachel's plain pants and vinyl jacket. "If you'll come this way..."

  They passed through the chiffon drapes into an inner salon. The carpet here deepened to charcoal, and there were chairs and cubicles, and a small dais for modelling. The assistant saw them seated, and then went away to find her employer.

  Rachel felt tense. She was remembering what James had said about this Miss Grey being a friend of Joel's. What kind of a friend, and how close a friend, was she? And when she saw

  Sara, would she raise her eyebrows as Miss Clay had done? Or would there be some stronger reaction? ; Rachel had expected someone of Junoesque proportions, but Erica Grey was tiny. Elegant, in a slim fitting grey suit, her darkish hair a mass of curls, she made Rachel feel tall and ungainly, and the swift appraisal she made of Rachel's clothes was denigrating.

  "So you are Mrs. Gilmour," she greeted her coolly. "Mr. Kingdom told me you were coming. How do you do? I'm Erica Grey."

  Rachel shook hands. "How do you do?"

  Erica's cool surveillance took in Miss Clay, and then alighted on Sara. "This is - your daughter, Mrs. Gilmour?"

  Sara wrinkled her nose, and half hid herself behind her mother's legs, and Rachel nodded. "That's right. This is Sara."

  Erica's thinly moulded lips curved downwards. "How do you do, Sara?"

  The child made no reply, staring at them mutinously, and a slight frown marred Erica's smooth brow. Clearly, the Kingdom resemblance was striking her too, and thankfully Rachel remembered that James was a Kingdom himself.

  "She's not very like you, Mrs. Gilmour, is she?" Erica suggested, veiled insolence giving an edge to her voice.

  Rachel summoned all her small store of confidence. "No, Miss Grey, she's not. Actually, she very much resembles her grandfather!" And let her make what she likes of that, she thought childishly.

  Whatever Erica Grey's personality might lack, her clothes sense was impeccable, as Rachel soon learned. The casual slacks and sweater she had worn to come in were stripped away, and their place was substituted by well-fitting suits and dresses in strong colours that accentuated Rachel's fair colouring. But her skin was not the normal skin of a blonde, its pigmentation was darker, and tanned easily in strong sunlight. Consequently it was apt to look sallow in pastel shades. Erica, however, discarded anything that she felt did not blend well with the image she wished to create, and Rachel emerged as a slender young woman who while needing a little more flesh on her bones, had nonetheless the ideal figure for high-waisted, longer skirts, flared trousers, and floating drifts of chiffon lace. Carried away by the artistry involved, Erica paid little attention to the protests Rachel voiced from time to time, simply assuring her that she had had her orders from Mr. Kingdom, and it was up to her to carry them out.

  Miss Clay sat through the proceedings saying little, and ignoring Sara completely. For a while Sara was patient, sitting in her chair, enchanted by the transformation being wrought upon her mother, but as the minutes stretched into an hour, and one hour into two, she began to get restless and kept asking how much longer they were going to be.

  Rachel would have liked to have been able to tell her, but in Erica Grey's hands she was given no opportunity to do so. Besides, it was so long since she had taken any trouble with her appearance, other than making sure she was neat and clean, that she, almost against her will, found herself enjoying the experience.

  And then, as she emerged from one of the cubicles wearing a long sapphire blue velvet gown, with a low tight-fitting bodice and long sleeves that fitted her upper arms closely before belling out in mediaeval fashion from her elbows, she heard a male voice in the outer salon, and before she had time to gather herself, a man strode through the draperies and confronted them. It was Joel, and at once Erica left what she was doing to go and greet him.

  "Darling!" she exclaimed warmly, reaching up to touch his cheek with her lips. "What are you doing here?" Joel looked over Erica's head at Rachel and the look in his eyes brought the hot colour to her cheeks.. , "Oh, I - er -I just thought I would come and take a look at my - stepmother-to-be!" he remarked mockingly.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE only person who showed no surprise at Joel's words was Erica. But then Erica was already dressing Rachel on James Kingdom's instructions, and so far as she was concerned, the situation was a fait accompli. But Miss Clay looked disapproving, Sara was scowling, and Rachel . . . Well, Rachel thought, as she strove for composure, his words had been intended to shock her, and they had succeeded.

  Joel turned from Erica to Sara, and bending down beside the child, he said: "And what do you think of Mummy's new clothes?"

  Sara wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips and stared at him and he grinned, surprisingly, wiping several years off his age. "That's a pretty face," he commented dryly. "Now pull an ugly one!"

  Sara pursed her lips even tighter, but something about his grin made them wobble. "Go away. I don't like you," she declared, when she could no longer sustain the grimace, and Miss Clay clicked her tongue reprovingly.

  "Sara!"

  Rachel spoke for the first time, and Joel looked up at her in insolent appraisal. "Well, well. You shall go to the ball, Cinderella," he mocked, and her face suffused with colour. But in this instance, he did not wait to see the results of his offensive, but turned back to the child. "Aren't you bored sitting here watching the fashion show?" he asked, taking hold of Helga's free hand. "I know a place where they sell strawberries topped with ice cream and nuts and chocolate sauce. Wouldn't you rather come with me to see what we can find until Mummy's finished?"

  Sara jerked Helga away from him. "No."

  "Are you sure?" he persisted. "They sell iced lollies, too - "

  "I don't like iced lollies!" retorted Sara, but she didn't sound at all convincing.

  "Stop trying to bribe her, Joel," burst out Rachel then, aware that Erica was regarding him in some amazement. "Sit down, Sara. We won't be much longer, and then I'll buy you an ice cream."

  Sara ignored what Rachel had said to move nearer to her mother's skirts. But she didn't take her eyes off Joel, who straightened and hooking his thumbs into the low belt of the corded pants he was wearing, said: "Now who's bribing her?"

  "Sara doesn't want to go with you, Joel," said Rachel shortly. "I should have thought that was obvious."

  "Would you?" He switched his attention to Sara. "Is it obvious, Sara? Wouldn't you like to come for a ride in my car? And I'd like to draw a picture of you."

  "A picture of me?"

  Sara's eyes were wide and Rachel felt furious. "Joel, please," she exclaimed, but he ignored her.

  "Yes, Sara. A picture of you. Like this one."

  He drew a folded sheet of sketching paper out of his pocket and beckoning her to come closer, he opened it up. Sara hesitated a moment, looking up appealingly at her mother, begging her approval, but Rachel couldn't give it. She was far too finely drawn. She didn't know what Joel's game was, what he was trying to do, to prove, but she despised him for using Sara in this way.

  Sara, however, was unaware of any undercurrents. Her initial antipathy was fading beneath a natural curiosity, and when she ventured to take a look at the paper he held in his hand, she gave an excited cry: "Why, it's me! Isn't it? It's me!"

  "Mmm, mm." Joel nodded indulgently. "Do you like it?"

  Sara snatched the paper out of his hand and darted back to her mother, exhibiting the charcoal sketch of her head and shoulders which Joel must have drawn from memory, with great pride. The sketch, like all Joel's work, was .excellent. A clear impression of how she had appeared to him, straight from sleep, that day at the Hall. Rachel's stomach muscles tautened nauseously, and it took an immense effort of will power to nod and say: "It's - it's very good, darling."
>
  Sara took the sketch again, turning it this way and that, admiring her image. "My hair looks nice, doesn't it?" she asked, of no one in particular. "But I wish I'd been smiling."

  "You didn't smile at me," commented Joel wryly, and she looked up at him steadily, almost assessingly.

  "If I let you draw me again, will you make me smile?" she demanded, and Rachel said: "Sara! Mr. Kingdom is a busy man. I'm sure he has better things to do than draw little girls."

  Her eyes challenged Joel's, but were not equal to the task. "On the contrary," he contradicted her, "I'd like nothing better than to draw Sara again. That is, if she'll come and have that ice cream with me. I hate eating ice cream alone."

  Sara chewed thoughtfully on her lower hp, and Erica said: "I thought you told me you were lecturing this morning, Joel!" in rather terse tones.

  Joel shrugged. "I decided to give it a miss. I - er - I didn't feel like lecturing today. Not to students, at least."

  Erica made an impatient gestures. "Don't be facetious!" She glanced irritably at the child. "I'm quite sure you didn't come here just to invite Sara for an ice cream."

  Joel narrowed his eyes. "Why, Erica, would you like an ice cream, too?" he mocked, and she turned away in disgust.

  Sara had turned her attention to Rachel. She was clearly torn between the desire to do what her mother obviously wanted her to do and the attractive temptation not only of enjoying a delicious ice cream sundae, but also having her picture sketched.

  "Mummy?" she murmured doubtfully. "Mummy, would you be awf'ly cross if I went with - with Mr. Kingdom?"

  Rachel avoided Joel's gaze. "Is that what you want to do?" she asked jerkily.

  "Well, only a little while," admitted Sara reluctantly. "I wouldn't be long, really I wouldn't. Would I?" She looked up at Joel.

  "You can be as long as you like," replied Joel, shrugging his shoulders. He forced Rachel to meet his stare. "I know where you live. If you're going back there after you're finished here, I'll fetch her home in time for lunch, hmm?"

  Rachel was in an impossible position and both of them knew it. "Oh, very well then," she muttered with ill grace. "And - and Sara!" This as Sara took a couple of skips across the soft carpet. "Sara, behave yourself. And - and no gossiping!"