newspaper when she took the tray through some minutes later.
‘Not going out tonight?’ he asked mildly, taking the cup she poured for him from her.
‘I’ve been out,’ she said.
‘To the beach?’ He shook his head. ‘That’s no way to spend Saturday evening. At least, it wasn’t in my younger days. You spend too much time on your own, Caryn. A pretty girl like you can’t be short of companionship.’
‘None I’m particularly interested in.’ Caryn kept her tone deliberately light. ‘Don’t worry about it, Dad. I like being on my own. Anyway, Jane will be back from holiday next week, so I shan’t be much longer. Unless she decides to get serious over Roy Gillingham, of course, in which case girlfriends have to take a back seat.’
‘She’s too young to be serious about anyone,’ John Gregory declared. ‘So is Roy Gillingham, if it comes to that. Your mother and I were both in our middle twenties before we married, which is why we’ve lasted so well. No teenagers can know their own minds.’
‘Probably not,’ Caryn murmured, steeling herself against the intruding memories. ‘I think I’ll have an early night and catch up on some reading. Mom said she’ll be through in a minute.’
Redecorated by herself only a few weeks ago in green and white with touches of pink in the curtains and covers, her bedroom somehow no longer pleased her as much. Lying on her back on the bed, gazing at the ceiling, she felt confined and restless. There had to be more to life than this day-to-day existence. Perhaps it was time, after all, that she thought about moving away from Barston. Not just to Norwich either, but further afield. There was a whole world out there waiting to be explored.
It was seeing Logan again that had brought this on, she knew. Closing her eyes, she could visualise him in detail. Remembering was painful, but she couldn’t stop herself from doing it…
‘And this is Michael’s little friend, Caryn,’ declared Margot Sinclair on an indulgent note.
Logan Bannister’s smile was slow, eyes riveting as he extended a hand. ‘Hello, Caryn.’
‘Hello.’ Her voice sounded odd, Caryn thought, hoping the warmth she could feel under her skin didn’t show in her face. She wasn’t normally prone to blushing, but then neither was she normally prone to falling in love at a moment’s notice. Logan was devastating; there was no other word for it! Not handsome in the way of her favourite film star, perhaps, yet somehow infinitely more exciting.
The fingers which had closed about hers were long and tensile, his grasp hinting of a latent strength. Without looking directly, she was aware of the crisp whiteness of his shirt cuff against tanned skin, of the glint of gold from the watch encircling one lean wrist. Having contact removed was sheer deprivation.
‘Are you in university too?’ he asked.
Margot laughed. ‘Hardly, darling! Caryn’s still in school. About to sit your GCSEs, I believe?’ she added.
‘Next month,’ Caryn confirmed with reluctance; she would have been more than ready to accept a couple of years’ promotion in this man’s eyes.
‘With straight A passes in all subjects,’ said Michael Sinclair lightly, slinging a casual arm about her shoulders. ‘Isn’t that right, angel?’
‘Hopefully,’ she murmured.
‘Good luck,’ proffered Logan, and she felt the impact of his smile once more.
‘Are he and your sister engaged or anything?’ she asked Michael on what she hoped was a casual note as the older couple moved on.
‘Not as yet,’ came the answer. ‘Although I’m pretty sure Margot has it in mind. And what she wants she usually gets.’
Caryn didn’t doubt it. A sizzlingly beautiful brunette, Margot Sinclair could probably have any man she chose. Logan must be around thirty himself, and eminently eligible. The Bannisters had a stud farm a few miles along the coast, and were said to be extremely wealthy. Logan certainly looked the part. The pale grey suit he was wearing had a cut and fit unmistakable even to her relatively untutored eyes.
She had seen him before, of course, but only at a distance when riding his horse along the beach, which he seemed to do most evenings. Having met him now, there was no reason why she shouldn’t wave a greeting in future, she thought. He might even stop to talk, although about what she had no idea. It didn’t really matter providing she got to be near him again.
Up until now, Michael had seemed so mature and sophisticated at nineteen and in his first year at university. She had been flattered by his attention at the spring dance last month, and hadn’t been reluctant to see him each weekend since, but there had never been any real romantic interest on her side. His kisses were no more than pleasant, while she imagined Logan Bannister’s to be out of this world! He was a man, not a boy. A real man!
She made sure to be on the beach the following evening around six-thirty, heart leaping when she saw him coming. He reined in at once when he spotted her, smiling down at her with every indication of pleasure.
‘I’ve seen you down here most evenings,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t know you were Michael’s girlfriend.’
‘I’m not,’ Caryn denied, and saw his brows lift. ‘I mean we’re just friends,’ she amended.
‘What else, at your age?’ Logan asked lightly. He touched his heels to the stallion’s sides, lifting a hand in farewell. ‘Bye for now.’
That was the beginning. Before too long he was not only stopping to talk to her, but getting down from his horse to walk with her while they talked about everything under the sun. Caryn lived for those moments. Unlike her parents, Logan treated her as an adult. With him she felt like an adult—a grown woman. Certainly the emotions he aroused in her went far beyond a girlish crush.
The suspicion that he might return her feelings came to her gradually, sparked by a certain look in his eyes, a certain note in his voice. Margot Sinclair might have it in sheer looks, but could she hold his interest in quite the same way with her views on current affairs, on literature and art? Could she make him laugh with her comments the way little Caryn Gregory did?
Because of Logan, she found herself reading Romeo and Juliet, which she was studying for GCSE, with new insight, identifying with the lovelorn teenager in a way she had never done before. But it was in Antony and Cleopatra that she found the real stimulation of her awakening senses. Here was a woman whose love for a man knew no bounds—a woman who saw no shame in declaring that love both in words and in action—a woman for whom there could never be any other man but Antony.
For Caryn there could never be any other man but Logan. She already knew that for a fact.
With her mind constantly in the clouds, her GCSEs were a disaster. Apart from English Literature, she doubted if she would finish up with more than Cs or even Ds for the rest. But it was a long time before the results would be through, and at present she had far more pressing concerns. Before anything, she had to know how Logan really felt about her.
Normally she would walk to meet him along the beach. This particular evening she sat and waited for him to come to her, heart thudding against her ribcage in the knowledge of what she was about to say to him. Like Antony, he would sweep her into his arms, press kisses on her lips, her eyes—everywhere and anywhere he cared to press them!
Then he was there, reining in to sit looking down at her with an expression in his eyes that told her she wasn’t mistaken.
‘Take me for a ride,’ she said, and he laughed, swinging her up in front of him, his breath warm on her neck, his body so hard and muscular at her back.
She had never ridden on a horse in her life before, but it felt so good to be up there above the sands, secure in Logan’s embrace, oblivious of the way her short summer skirt rode up her thighs. He kept the animal to a steady walk, one hand on the rein, the other about her waist.