No Time For Love (Bantam Series No. 40) by Barbara Cartland

Author:Barbara Cartland [Unknown]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“He who has won some new splendour

Rides on the air,

Borne upwards on the winds of his human vigour

‘Only Apollo,’ she thought, ‘would ride on the air.’

She felt as if she could speak to him as the evening breeze from the sea moved her hair and touched the softness of her cheeks.

Because she did not wish to miss a moment of the sunset or the first shimmering stars that followed it, she had changed for dinner early, putting on her white gown because she had worn her pink one the night before.

Throwing the long chiffon scarf over one shoulder in an unconscious imitation of the Greeks, she walked up to the Temple to stand waiting; almost as one would wait for the curtain to rise in a theatre.

Tonight the sunset was even lovelier than it had been before: the gold was more gold, the crimson more crimson, the blue more blue; and the shining glory of it seemed to blaze as the legends said the whole island of Delos had done when the goddess Leto gave birth to her son Apollo.

Larina felt herself caught up in the ecstasy of it and the music she had heard all day was beating in her ears.

She heard a step behind her and turned her head.

Her eyes were still dazzled from the setting sun, and yet under the shadows of the Temple she could see someone standing. The light from the sky touched his face and as it did so she thought with a sudden leap of her heart that it was Apollo who stood there!

For a long, long moment there was silence, a silence that was not oppressive, merely as if nature stood still and the earth stopped moving.

Then in a voice that sounded strange to himself Wynstan said:

“You are Miss Milton?”

He knew as his voice died away that Larina had difficulty in answering him. Then she said, stammering a little over the words:

“Y ... yes ... who ... are you?”

He moved closer to her and now he could see why for the moment he had thought she was Aphrodite.

She was very slim, in fact the same height as the goddess that stood beside them on a pedestal. The folds of the scarf she wore over her shoulder were Grecian, so was her gown flowing to her feet.

It was unfashionable, and yet at the same time so utterly and completely right that it was impossible to think of her wearing anything else.

He reached her side and saw that the eyes she raised to his were grey, and her hair swept back from an oval forehead was pale gold but without the tongues of fire that had been there when he first saw her.

She was not like any woman he had ever seen before. Yet there was a rightness about her he could not explain even to himself, except that she seemed part of the Temple, part of the garden, and part of the sun which was sinking into the sea.

“I am Elvin’s brother—Wynstan.”

“Is Elvin here?”

There was a lilt, an eagerness in her voice.

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