Another Life Read online

  Another Life

  By

  Rosemary Carter

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  ANOTHER LIFE

  Sara Demaine was young, beautiful, on the verge of a brilliant career, and in love with Clyde Montgomery and looking forward to marrying him. Yet a year later each of them was married to someone else and Sara's career was over. What had gone wrong?

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  Now that, after three years, she had met Jason Peel again, Cindy knew that at all costs she must keep from him the fact that her little boy Jeremy was his son; after all the heartbreak she had been through she didn't want anything to do with Jason, ever. But Jason, she soon found, was not to be got rid of as easily as that…

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  KELLY'S MAN

  It was Kelly's fiancé's fault, not hers, that George Anderson had been injured—but it was Kelly who was doing her best to make amends, helping George's wife to go on running their hotel in the Drakensberg mountains. How galling, then, after all her efforts, that Nicholas Van Mijden should persist in thinking of her as just a spoiled rich girl!

  First published 1981

  Australian copyright 1981

  Philippine copyright 1981

  This edition 1981

  © Rosemary Carter 1981

  ISBN 0 263 73573 7

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cape Town was in the grip of wind. South-easters are always winds to respect, but this one seemed to rage with unusual fury. The waters of False Bay were swirling walls of foam. Table Mountain was invisible, the mist that normally covered its summit now a mass of grey cloud that swathed down the slopes to envelop the city.

  The small red car making its way along the winding coastal road was kept on course only by the firm handling of its driver. More than once the little vehicle caught the buffet of an angry gust, giving Sara Demaine some anxious moments. As her destination came into sight she said a silent prayer of thanks. For more than one reason she was glad to glimpse the haven of her fiancé's home.

  Ballet class had seemed never-ending today. Madame Olga had been more demanding than usual, her mood affected perhaps by the weather. Even less emotional people than the company's volatile teacher were made fractious by the 'Cape Doctor'.

  Leaving the car, Sara made her way to the front of the building that was built into the rocky face of Clifton. The wind caught her as she rounded the corner, and for a moment she swayed with its motion, a slender figure looking almost too frail to meet the arduous demands of her profession.

  Putting out a swift hand to the stone-slabbed wall, she held her balance and waited till the worst of the gust had abated. If Clifton was one of the city's most spectacular suburbs with regard to view, its exposed seashore position must also make it one of the windiest, Sara reflected ruefully. Which was why Clyde loved it so much, perhaps. With his streak of adventure and devil-may-care—an odd combination of elements in a dedicated doctor— her fiancé was rather like the wind himself, she often thought.

  Almost as she rang the bell the door of the apartment opened. He had been waiting for her. He was a tall man, lean and supple, the sharp intelligence in his eyes contrasting with the hint of passion in the shape of his mouth. He was laughing as he drew her inside.

  'You look like a small wind-ruffled sparrow!'

  'More like a wind-ruffled and rather hassled dancer.' She threw a glance through the big picture window at the boiling sea. 'I'll never know why you choose to live in this wind-blown spot.'

  'Because I love the view and the sense of freedom. Just as I love you, my small indignant darling.' She heard the bubble of laughter, husky and seductive. 'And don't pretend to pout. You know you love it as much as I do.'

  The downward curve of her lips relaxed as she responded to his teasing. It was impossible for her to remain cynical in Clyde's company. Not when her senses reacted to him with a passion and an elation she had hitherto experienced only in her dancing. She had never met anyone like Clyde, she thought. She never would again. Not that she wanted to. In just three weeks they would be married, and they would be together always, sharing all the joys and the sorrows that life would bring.

  His hands were at her hair, loosening the glossy dark coil from its confining knot. At his touch she felt the ignition of a flame that was becoming rapidly familiar.

  'What are you doing?' she asked breathlessly.

  'Turning the ballet dancer I respect into the girl I adore.'

  'I thought we were going out for something to eat.' The protest in her voice was only a weak token. Her sudden hunger was not for food.

  'We are, little kitten. I just want to kiss you first. And get a little warmth into those shivering bones.'

  Yes, hold me. Never stop holding me. Her hands had edged beneath the unbuttoned shirt, palms flat between his body and hers as he held her close. She had never dreamed that love could be like this. That all else would pale to insignificance. Even her career, which, until the night the tall doctor with the shock of fair hair and the steel blue eyes had appeared to pay homage in her dressing-room, had been more important than anything else.

  He was drawing the corduroy jacket from her shoulders. 'Don't you have anything warmer?'

  'My winter coat. I didn't think it was warranted today.'

  He began to plant a trail of kisses from the lobe of one ear down the sensitive column of the slender throat. In between kisses his words emerged singly. 'When I'm rich and famous you'll have furs.'

  'I don't want furs.' His lips and tongue were doing intoxicating things to her nerve-stream. It was becoming increasingly hard to answer him rationally.

  'I want you to have them.'

  Sara was caught by the note of seriousness in his tone. Pushing herself a little away from him, she looked up. 'I don't need furs. I don't need you to be rich and famous, Clyde.'

  'I need it, darling.' The words emerged with quiet emphasis.

  It was not the first time he had mentioned his ambitions. He meant to achieve great things, he had told her. The ordinary run-of-the mill routine of a family doctor would not be enough for him.

  'It means so much to you?' she asked him now, a little curiously.

  'It does.'

  The jacket was a crumpled heap on the floor. His fingers were at the buttons of her silk shirtwaist blouse. She made no effort to stop their movement.

  'You should understand,' he was saying. 'You know how much your own career means to you.'

  Odd how their minds could function on two levels; the intellectual one occupied with discussion of professional ideals and aspirations, the more primitive, earthy one concerned only with the need to touch and feel and be close.

  'I do understand,' she said, and forbore to tell him that her own priorities had undergone a change since she had met him. Once the need to be a ballerina had been paramount. Dancing wou
ld always be important to her, she knew that with certainty. But it was no longer the most meaningful aspect of her life. Loving Clyde as she did, a new dimension had been added, one which was greater than anything she had ever imagined.

  Now was not the time to tell him her feelings. For the moment her verbal responses could only be brief. They had all their lives in which to talk. Now the responses of her body were such that lucid thought was not possible.

  It was apparent that Clyde's own feelings were similar. He did not refer to his ambitions again as he drew the shirt from her shoulders and undid the clasp of her bra. The small wisp of lace dropped to the floor. He stood away from her for a long moment. Sara looked up, her eyes luminous and unashamed beneath the unconcealed worship in his gaze.

  'My God, you're lovely!' The words emerged on a groan. 'Sara darling, I love you so much.'

  'I love you too,' she whispered.

  And then they were in each other's arms, naturally, tempestuously, neither knowing who had made the first move, not caring, consumed only with the longing to be as close as possible. Sara was aware of the beat of her heart, no less rapid than when she was expending all her energies in her dancing. Somewhere near her mouth she could feel the strong pounding of Clyde's own heart, and she knew that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Against her bare breasts she felt the smooth fabric of his shirt, and through it the warmth of his body. The top buttons were open, and without thinking she pressed her lips against the clean male-smelling skin.

  She felt the tightening of his muscles as his own need deepened. With a groan he lifted her from the floor, as easily as if he had spent hours practising how to do so. With their faces on the same level, her mouth met his eagerly, her lips opening willingly to his. Her body arched towards his in an instinctive movement, born purely of the wish to be part of him.

  His mouth lifted from hers, and he stared down at her still without lowering her to the ground. She could see his jaw, long and hard and with a tiny muscle working beneath it, and the heightened colour in the high-boned cheeks. She could not see his eyes, but she had no need to. She could feel her own longing repeated in him and knew what the expression would be.

  'I want you, darling.' His breath was warm and clean against her face, and she could hear the husky throb in his voice. 'Sara, my darling, I don't think I can stop.'

  Despite the warmth of his arms around her, she was trembling. 'I don't want you to stop.'

  She heard his indrawn hiss of breath. 'We thought we'd wait…'

  'I know…' Passion had flared between them like a raw flame many times in these last weeks, but each time they had managed to control it. They would wait until they were married, they had promised themselves. It was a promise which no longer seemed as important as it had been at the beginning. In three weeks they would be married. Sara loved Clyde more with each day, more than she had ever dreamed possible. Loved him with her mind and with her body. She could not love him more when the ceremonious words had been spoken and the wedding ring was on her finger.

  'Let's not wait,' she whispered.

  No other words were necessary. He understood how she felt; would always understand. She did not need to tell him why she had wanted to wait, nor why she had changed her mind. Perhaps, she thought, when two people loved each other their communication went beyond words.

  The blood was singing in her veins as Clyde carried her from the living-room to the bedroom. As a dancer she was accustomed to being held by men, yet never before had she experienced a similar reaction. With her dancing partners there were only the concerns of precision and timing coupled with a grace that made the motions seem effortless. With Clyde there was the exhilaration of being a woman in the arms of the man she loved.

  Still without speaking he laid her down on the bed. The look of worship did not leave his eyes as he removed the rest of her clothes, then proceeded to undress himself. Her throat was very full as she watched him. His leanness was deceptive, she thought, taking in every inch of the powerful body, the tanned torso, the taut legs, the long arms tapering to sensitive hands and fingers. He was totally masculine, and with it surprisingly sensual.

  And then he was lowering himself on to the bed, and this time as he kissed her there was a fresh depth of passion as well as a new gentleness. As if he understood that through her longing and her willing surrender there might be fear, he was gentle. The long fingers began a slow caressing movement, light and tantalising and so seductive that new fire flamed her nerve-stream. The mobile lips traced a path down the slender column of her throat towards the small perfectly-shaped breasts, playing with each nipple in turn, letting them harden in response. Each touch set off small explosions of reaction. She hardly knew what she was doing when she reached for him, blindly, knotting her hands in the fair hair, pulling his head against her with a tiny moan.

  He lay against her for a long moment, then pushed away. She met his gaze as he looked down at her and she knew that the moment of final surrender had come. She did not shift her eyes as he lowered himself against her once more. There was no fear left now. Nothing but an intense and utter happiness.

  'You are quite crazy?'

  Sara forced a smile at the question—no easy feat when Madame Olga's brow was puckered in an incredulous frown, and when the statement which had preceded the question was one she had desired a long time.

  'No.' Her voice was unsteady. 'I mean it.'

  'Any dancer worth her salt would snap at the chance of dancing Odette-Odile in Swan Lake. And you say no—just like that! No, Madame.'

  Sara's fragile smile vanished before the onslaught. Only with difficulty could she sustain the aristocratic gaze. 'I'm getting married, Madame…'

  'Pouff! You'd give up Swan Lake for a man?' Two months ago, Sara thought, she'd have almost been ready to trade her soul for the opportunity the ballet teacher had just offered her. She had worked very hard for just such a chance. Vivid in her memory were the hours of practice, arduous, sometimes agonising, all in the hope that one day she would rise from the corps de ballet. But two months ago there had been no Clyde in her life. Had she been told that she would throw up the chance of a lifetime for the love of a man she would have laughed.

  'You don't understand, Madame.' Her chin lifted. She did not know that the watching teacher saw through the challenge to the hint of sadness that lay beneath. 'I'm very honoured by the offer. But I love Clyde. I… I have to put him first.'

  'I understand that you are in love,' Madame Olga said, more gently now. Glancing at the proud chiselled face of the teacher, Sara had an intimation of the beauty she must once have been. 'At least, you think you are. And for that you forgo all that you have worked for.' She paused, and the smallest sign of softening appeared at the corners of her painted lips. 'For a few days I keep the offer open. Think, Sara. Perhaps you will come to your senses.'

  And that was the one thing that would not happen, Sara knew as she negotiated the small red car along the mountain road an hour later. She had set her life upon a new course. Not even the temptation of dancing Swan Lake could alter it. There was a time when she had thought nothing could come between her and her career. When the lure of being a ballerina had been the spur that had kept up her enthusiasm when the rigorous demands of the dance might have broken her spirit.

  It had been her dream, her total life ambition. It had been the all-important priority. All other considerations had had to be slotted around it or be discarded.

  Clyde's entry into her life had been unexpected, his impact as dramatic as a streak of lightning in a cloudless sky. And with the same unexpectedness her world had changed. The dream which had hitherto been all-encompassing had been displaced by a new dream. Not that the old dream had vanished. Dancing would always be important to her, Sara knew. But it was no longer her top priority. Marriage and plans for a shared life had that place now. Dancing could only be on the periphery.

  Which was why she had refused the offer to dance Swan Lake. She would continue to work i
n the city, as opportunities presented themselves. Clyde would not mind if she danced, at least until they began a family. But the company would be touring the country with Swan Lake, entailing weeks away from home. Sara's answer had needed little thought. The pangs of refusal—useless to deny that she had experienced some—were meaningless against the idea of separation from Clyde.

  Glancing at her watch, she saw that she was early for the lunch at the home of Clyde's parents. It would be one of several affairs to be held in anticipation of the wedding, her fiancé had told her with a grimace. He would be coming straight from the hospital and would meet her at the house.

  After the discussion with Madame Olga, Sara had been a little dispirited. She felt better as she drove more slowly along the winding mountain road. Today the weather was glorious, one of those perfect Cape days when the sky was cloudless and the summit of Table Mountain was a finely etched line against the blue. The sea was a deep aquamarine with small sailing craft skimming the waves. Silver trees and proteas grew at the roadside. Winding down the window, Sara took long breaths of the spicy air, and felt the depression of inevitable disappointment lifting.

  Just a little more than two weeks and she and Clyde would be man and wife. The apartment high on the windy stone face of Clifton would be home. There would be days of busy activity, nights of love and shared dreams.

  A luminous look came into eyes that were green and vivid against the dark glossy frame of her hair. The night in Clyde's apartment was never far from her thoughts. She had not slept with him again since then, for later, when they had made a meal of cheese and wine and crusty bread, they had decided to keep a rein on their emotions until the wedding was over. Yet she did not regret what had happened. There had been pain, yes, but there had also been a bursting of emotion and a beauty she could not have imagined. Afterwards, in Clyde's manner had been a new tenderness. For her own part, she had been swept with a surge of love that went beyond anything she had felt before.