A tiny pink flowering plant ran rampant over some of the bricks, and she hesitated as she looked at it. Weed or flower? She ought to have bought herself a gardening book this morning. She had fully intended to, but she had forgotten.
As silkily as a serpent, the thought slid into her mind that Jonas would know. Dismissing it, she got up and hurried across to the paddock where Carly was talking to the donkey. A placid, good-natured child, Carly made no demur when she was told that she would have to go to bed early as her father was expecting guests. Sam oversaw her bath and preparations for bed, while Sara got on with the meal.
The mahogany table and chairs which had initially belonged to their parents and which Sam and Holly had inherited looked at home in the beamed dining-room. Sara had managed to unearth an old lace tablecloth, dulled from its original white to a soft cream that matched the walls, which she remembered as belonging to her grandmother, and the delicate lace-edged linen set off the silver and china Sam and Holly had been given as wedding presents very well.
She had been rather dubious about using them, not wanting to hurt Sam by reminding him of Holly, but when she had tentatively started to get out their everyday crockery he had frowned and asked why she wasn’t using the Royal Doulton. She had to admit that the rich dark green and gold pattern looked lovely against the tablecloth; she only hoped that the meal lived up to the elegance of the plates. It was just as well she had brought the salmon, otherwise they would have been reduced to giving their guests beefburgers and salad.
Her mother had been an inventive cook, and she had passed on her love of cooking to Sara. She had made a special sauce for the salmon and a soufflé topping, adapting the ordinances of nouvelle cuisine cooking to provide a meal that would both look and taste good.
‘That looks lovely,’ Sam told her, wheeling his chair into the dining-room while she was putting the finishing touches to the table. Flowers from the garden had provided an attractive centrepiece, and Sara stood back to study her handiwork, frowning a little critically.
‘You’re a real old-fashioned girl at heart, aren’t you?’ Sam teased her with brotherly affection, waving his hand in the direction of the table. ‘You’ve inherited our mother’s gift for homemaking, Sara.’ His eyes held hers as he added sombrely, ‘At the moment you’re living in a vacuum, but one day I hope you’re going to find a man who can give you a home and children of your own.’
‘I have a home here with you,’ Sara reminded him tersely. ‘I don’t want another one.’
She looked away from him as she spoke, biting her lip as she recognised the bitter resentment in her voice.
‘I can’t replace Rick,’ she told Sam huskily, ‘and… I don’t want to.’
‘He wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone, Sara. You’re only twenty-five…’
‘You’re only thirty,’ she said coolly.
‘Yes, I know. But, unlike you, I haven’t cut myself off from the rest of the opposite sex because of what happened to Holly.’
Stunned by his statement, Sara looked at him with shocked eyes. She had thought that Sam felt as she did…that he could never ever feel for someone else what he had felt for Holly, and that, like her, he wanted nothing more than their fraternal relationship and the love they both shared for Carly.
‘You mean you would marry again?’ Her voice whispered past dry lips, her eyes huge with shock and disbelief.
‘If I found the right woman, yes, I would. I’m not a monk,’ he told her hardily, ‘and Holly wouldn’t want me to live as one. I can’t replace what I shared with her, and nor would I want to, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t love someone else—in a different way.’ He frowned and glanced at his watch. ‘Jonas and Vanessa will be here soon. I’ll finish off in here; you go upstairs and get changed.’
Get changed? Sara stared down at her jeans and shirt uncomprehendingly, her eyes swivelling unwillingly to her brother’s lean body. Sam had changed into a white shirt and a pair of black trousers. Suddenly she felt terribly alone, as though in some way he had abandoned her. Blinking away stinging tears, she went upstairs and opened her wardrobe doors. What on earth should she change into? She stared blankly at her clothes. It had been eighteen months since she bought anything new. The last semi-formal dress she had bought had been chosen with Rick in mind. She had bought it to go to his firm’s annual ‘do’, but he had been killed before it took place.
Her fingers felt stiff and clumsy as they touched the soft silk, jumping away from the disturbing contact with the sensual fabric. When she had bought this dress she had been a very different woman from the one she was now. It was a wrap-over style, stylish but unmistakably sexy—the sort of dress a woman bought to wear for a man.
S
huddering, she pushed it out of sight, dragging off its hanger a plain black linen dress. The same dress she had worn for Rick’s funeral, she recognised numbly, letting it fall to the floor.
She could remember buying it in minute detail, but up until this moment she had almost forgotten she had got it. It must surely be some macabre hitherto unrecognised tendency towards masochism that compelled her to put it on. She wasn’t going to listen to that distressingly uncompromising inner voice that said she was wearing it for protection against Jonas, that she was wearing Rick’s funeral black like a suit of armour. Zipping up the dress, she studied her reflection with detached interest. Black had always suited her, but since she had lost weight it made her look almost ethereal. She found a pair of court shoes at the bottom of her wardrobe and slipped them on, quickly applying fresh make-up. For some reason it seemed that Sam wanted her to dress up.
She couldn’t escape the suspicion that he was trying to do a little discreet matchmaking, hence the pep talk earlier about putting the past behind her. But she didn’t want to forget Rick, she thought fiercely; she had loved him. Had loved? Still loved, surely? Of course she did. Rick had been her whole life. All that had been left since his death was the shell of the woman she had once been. All? Hot colour crawled over her skin as she remembered the wild passion with which she had responded to Jonas’s touch. Shuddering, she put down her lipstick and went into Carly’s room to check on the little girl.
She was fast asleep, lying on her side, with one small starfish hand under her pink cheek. Her face softening, Sara bent to kiss the small forehead.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘THAT was the most delicious meal! You must let me help with the washing up.’
Vanessa Chesney was nothing like her brother. Petite and blonde, she exuded an air of willingness to please that had instantly made Sara feel protective towards her. It amazed her that a woman of her own age could remain so open and vulnerable to hurt. Vanessa had all the engaging warmth and genuineness of a small child, and like a small child she seemed almost achingly anxious to gain other people’s approval.
Once they were away from the men in the kitchen, a little of her anxiety seemed to drop from her, but Sara was still left with the impression that Vanessa considered herself in some way inferior.
‘You’re a marvellous cook,’ she praised Sara as she watched her prepare the cooker. ‘I’m afraid I’m worse than useless. Jonas is the domesticated one. I think he only puts up with me out of a misplaced sense of duty—’ she grimaced ruefully. ‘Not that he ever lets me see it. I doubt if there are many women lucky enough to be able to depend on their brother to provide a roof over their heads and a job. Oh, and that reminds me, we’ve still got Miss Betts’s cats and the dog. Jonas said to tell you that you can come and pick them up whenever you’re ready.’
‘Jonas has been looking after her animals?’
Vanessa seemed perplexed by her shock.