Masquerade. Part 14

"Are you tired?"

Barbara made a moue with her lips. "A little bored, perhaps."

"With me?" Patrick could have bitten off his tongue the minute the words left his lips. So long he had used his charm to fascinate people and it was second nature to react in like manner when something even vaguely questioning his authority was posed. Barbara reacted in the expected manner. She wound her arm closer about his neck and murmured: "Darling, I'd never get bored with you." Patrick felt stifled and disagreeable. This was not the way things should be. He wished desperately that the whole affair could wind up right then. He had had enough. After tonight he must find some reason to get away. His commitments might allow him a week, or ten days, out of London. He could go to Killaney. It was wonderful there at this time of year. There would be fis.h.i.+ng and shooting and perhaps some hunting.

Only in Ireland would he find the peace and tranquility he needed to escape from the turmoil of his own thoughts. He already had the germ of a new play circling around in his head.

It would give him an opportunity to get his thoughts down on paper. Away from Barbara, and Samantha, he would be able to see things in perspective again The music ended and he extricated himself from Bar barn's clinging arms just as Giles came striding towards them, a grim look on his face. He gave Barbara a strange glance and then said: "Would you excuse us for a moment. Miss Harriet? I want to speak to Pat alone."

Barbara shrugged and turned away, and Giles drew Patrick to one side.

Patrick frowned. "What's wrong, Giles? Is it the children?"

Giles shook his head agitatedly. "No, no, Pat, nothing like that. Look here, there's been a telephone message from London.

It was someone called Emily. I believe she works for Miss Harriet's mother."

"That's right I a maid. Go on."

"Well, apparently Lady Davenport had a heart attack this evening..."

"What!"

"I'm afraid so. This.. er ... Emily thought it would be best if you broke the news to Miss Harriet."

"Then she's dead?"

"No. At least, I spoke to the doctor and he seemed to think she would be very lucky to last the flight."

"Oh, G.o.d!" Patrick ran a hand over his hair, and then hunched his shoulders. "So I guess we get back there as soon as we can, right?"

"Right. The doctor said she was asking for Samantha. That would be Miss Harriet's daughter, wouldn't it?"

"Yes. Samantha." Patrick looked grimly straight in front of him. Then he seemed to pull himself together. "Look, I'll go tell Barbara and then after we've gone you can explain to the rest of the party. Oh, and I'll tell Sam antha too. She'l come with us, naturally. Tell Drew he'd better stay here tonight. I shouldn't think he'l want to come back with us anyway as things are."

"No, no. I'll speak to Drew. And I'll also explain to Gina.

You just make yourselves scarce as soon as you can. Good luck, Pat."

"Thanks." Patrick nodded at his brother-in-law.

"And drive carefully."

"I will."

Patrick turned to look for Barbara. She was standing by the record player flicking over the records idly and he wondered momentarily how she would take the news he had to break to her. He had thought earlier on he had prob lems, but this created millions of complications whether he liked it or not. Just think, he pondered wryly, he had thought a trip to Ireland was the panacea for all his ills. How wrong he had been!

And Samantha. What about Samantha now? After all, she had been destined to live with her grandmother. They were to have left for Daven in the morning. What would happen to her now?

His stomach contracted. She had become so important to him. The most important thing in his life, and she didn't even know.

He walked slowly over to Barbara and hearing his ap proach, she swung round.

"Well, well," she said. "Conference over already? Why so gloomy? What was it all about? I must admit I thought Giles looked rather green about the gills."

Patrick led her over to one of the benches beside the now empty buffet tables. "Honey, I have something to tell you, so sit down. I want to be quick and get it over with."

Barbara's eyes danced. "Something to tell me? Why, Pat, how exciting!"

Patrick's eyes narrowed, but when she was seated he raised one foot on to the bench and leaned over her. She watched him avidly, her eyes sparkling like stars. She was sure it was something important he had to say and she was praying it was what she wanted to hear.

When the words came she was astounded as well as horrified and the genuine ageing she experienced showed in her face for a moment She felt like a person who has been standing on two legs and has suddenly had them both swept from under her. She was glad she was sitting down. She was sure she would have collapsed. The disappointment and shock had been too great together.

"Is she dead, then?" she asked dully.

"No. But I understand the doctor thinks she may not last till morning."

"Oh, no!" Barbara's face crumpled. "Oh, Patrick, why did this have to happen?" And then she burst into tears, sobbing loudly.

Patrick turned away. He found himself wondering whether the tears were gauged to extract some kind of sympathy from him, a kind he could not give. If she expected him to take her in his arms, he could not do it. He wanted to comfort her, but as a friend, and Barbara would never accept him as a friend.

At last he turned round and said: "We'll have to go.

Samantha has to be told, and we ought to get back to town as quickly as possible."

Barbara stared at him. It was a strange look, and he felt as though his emotions were blatant for all to see. She rose to her feet and slid a hand through his arm.

"What would I do without you?" she asked softly. "My right-hand man!"

"I guess I'm not much good with crying women," he replied quietly. "I really am terribly sorry."

"I know." Barbara began to cry again, softly this time. "But if she should die, what will I do? I'll be completely alone. I can't live alone."

"But you don't live with your mother," pointed out Pat rick bluntly.

"No. But she's always there if I need her."

How selfish can you get? thought Patrick disgustedly. Did Barbara ever think of anyone but herself ?

"There's Samantha," he went on, "She's alone too."

Barbara looked speculatively at him. "Samantha is an independent sort of person, like her father. She doesn't need me."

"Doesn't she?" Patrick was enigmatic. "She needs someone."

Barbara half closed her eyes. "Do you have any sug- gestions?"

Patrick managed a tight smile. "Why should I have? Look, anyway, she's over there. We'd better let her know."

They walked across the sand to where the group of teenagers were dancing. Samantha, ever conscious of Pat rick, turned to face them and Patrick felt painfully aware of his own feelings again. She was so tall and slim and lovely standing there, and the look in . her eyes, a kind of hurt agony, tore him to pieces. In that moment he knew he loved her.

"Come here, Samantha," said Barbara abruptly. "We're leaving."

The drive back to London was the longest Samantha had ever known. She felt frozen with despair and anxiety, and although she had not shed any tears at the news of her grandmother's seizure, she knew they would come later. She felt numb and disbelieving. That the dear old lady who had made her feel so welcome and so needed here in Eng land should be on the fringe of death was terrifying. Poor, darling Grandmother, to whom she had seemed to give so much pleasure.

Was it possible that her own arrival had precipitated this disaster? Had the over-taxation of her grandmother's health this past week been responsible for her heart giving out?

With thoughts like these for company Samantha was in no mood for Barbara self-recriminations, and spasmodic weeping.

She felt sure her mother was simply "playing to the gallery" and trying to gain Patrick's sympathy.

Patrick had spoken little since their departure. He seemed wrapped in thoughts of his own and Samantha wondered what he was thinking. After all, he had known Lady Davenport too, and he must know how great a shock this had been.

At last they reached the town, and Patrick brought the big car to a smooth halt in front of the hotel. He helped Barbara out, but Samantha forestalled him and sliding out herself she walked briskly into the hall of the building.

Lady Davenport's doctor was waiting for them on their arrival at the suite. A dapper little man in his late fifties, a moustache adorning his upper lip, he looked very perturbed-and was pacing .impatiently about the lounge.

One look at his expression confirmed Samantha's worst fears and her body froze into immobility as Patrick closed the door and they all looked at the physician.

"I very much regret to tell you," he began gravely, "that Lady Davenport died over half an hour ago."

"Oh, no!" Barbara brushed past him into her mother's bedroom and rus.h.i.+ng in fell on her knees beside the bed sobbing wildly. Emily came out of the room moments later and closed the door behind her impa.s.sively. Her face was pale as though she had been crying herself, but she was calm now, and composed.

The doctor rubbed his chin ruefully. Then he turned his gaze to Patrick.

"There was little I could do," he said slowly. "Her heart had been rapidly weakening over a period of years. Only a fortnight ago when she advised me of her arrival in London, I advised her to take things very, easily. She was an old lady. It did not take much...."

"I understand," said Patrick, nodding. "And I'm sure Miss Harriet would like me to express her grat.i.tude for all you tried to do. She's upset. She needs time to collect her-self. To reconcile herself to the inevitable."

"Yes...well..." The doctor turned to Emily. "Will you tell Miss Harriet I'll come round in the morning to see about the death certificate and clear up the details? There's nothing more to be done tonight."

"Yes, sir." Emily moved forward. "Thank you for everything."

The doctor smiled, albeit a little sadly. "Thank you. You've been a tower of strength."

Emily looked pleased. Always in the background Em ily's life had been an uneventful one, constantly in Lady Davenport's service. She had been grateful for the oppor tunity to try to save her mistress, even though it had been in vain.

After the doctor had left, Patrick loosened his coat and turned thoughtfully to Samantha. She still stood in the same spot as when she had first come in, as though she were rooted there. She looked stricken.

When Patrick addressed her she looked up at him with drowned green eyes and he moved closer to her.

"Samantha!" he muttered, uncaring of Emily behind them.

"Samantha, please!"

"She's dead!" said Samantha, s.h.i.+fting her head. "Oh, Patrick, why do all the people I love die?"

Patrick's hard fingers closed on her shoulders and be shook her gently. "Stop it," he said sternly. "Your grand mother was an old lady, very old, as it happens. You heard what the doctor said. This could have happened at any time. Naturally she was excited about your arrival, but she fulfilled her wish to see you and have you here and that was enough." His eyes grew tender.

"You've got to believe that, Samantha. It's true."

Samantha sighed. "I know. And in a way I'm sure you're right, but it seems so unfair. She never had a chance. We were leaving for Daven... tomorrow ... today! And now it's all over."

"What's all over?"

"This whole affair! This masquerade! I won't stay here now.

Not with Barbara!"

Patrick's eyes hardened. "Oh, yes, you will, Samantha You belong here now. There'll be no running away."

"Running away? From what? Barbara never wanted me here."

"I shouldn't bank on that," remarked Patrick dryly. "I should imagine she had no choice in the matter. And if you leave now... No, I think you'll be required to stay."

"And if I don't want to?"

"Barbara will find a way to make you, never fear."

At that moment Barbara emerged from her mother's bedroom. She had dried her tears and looked touchingly wan and defeated.

"Oh, Patrick."' she exclaimed, "I'm so sorry. I completely forgot myself. Do forgive me. And Samantha! Darling child, can we bear this together?"

This was too much. Samantha felt nauseated and she looked desperately from one to the other of them. Then, with a little m.u.f.fled cry, she ran across to the door of her own room and opening it she went in. The door slammed behind her.

Barbara shrugged and looked, as though puzzled, at Patrick.

"Dear me! The child is upset." She sighed. "Things are going to be difficult."

"Why should they be?"

Barbara cupped her chin in one hand, her long nails curving lovingly about her creamy cheeks. "I'm not sure. I feel it somehow. Samantha is not an easy child to know."

"Child? She's not a child."

Barbara's eyes narrowed. "She's only sixteen," she said a little defiantly.

Patrick let the myth pa.s.s. This was not the time or the place for that particular argument. "I must go. I'll be round in the morning to see if there is anything I can do. By the way, the doctor said he, too, would be round in the morn ing. To clear up the details and so on. I expect the papers will have the story by then."

Barbara looked speculative. "Quite possibly. All right, Patrick. Thank you."

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "I seem to have to prompt you every time these days," she continued, a little coldly.

Patrick smiled mockingly. "So you do! I must try to be more aspiring. Good night, Barbara."

After he had closed the door, Barbara lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. She felt absolutely furious. Impotently furious.

With Patrick she was so malleable, but he didn't even want to know. Why? Why? Why?