Masquerade. Part 4

Samantha wondered what her father would think of her if he knew. After all, it was he who had virtually sent her back to her mother. She guaranteed he would never have agreed to anything of this kind. Subterfuge was ab horrent to him. And yet, her mind argued, had he not practiced a certain kind of subterfuge himself, allowing her to believe her mother was dead when actually she was very much alive?

"All right," she said at last, "I'll agree. At least for now. I won't guarantee my actions until I try out this masquerade."

"Oh, my dear. I'm so glad, and so grateful. You've made me so happy." There were tears in Lady Davenport's eyes and Samantha felt glad she was able to make at least one person happy.

"And now," said Lady Davenport, "we can get down to details."

"What details?" Samantha was puzzled.

"Well, I'm afraid that Barbara has already given it out that she contracted a secret marriage, seventeen years ago, when she was seventeen. You were the outcome and your existence was kept a secret so that you might grow up without the usual hoo-ha attached to children of famous people."

"Wait a minute." Samantha frowned and stared at her grandmother. "How could she give that out? She didn't know that I was going to agree."

Lady Davenport looked uncomfortable. "My dear Samantha, Barbara banked on your acceptance of her plans. No one ever refuses her anything."

Samantha shook her head. "Oh, G.o.d, so I'm just an other p.a.w.n in her game."

"Don't, please, Samantha. Let it go. You won't regret it, I promise you."

Samantha was not convinced, but as the whole plan had her head in a spin already, she could not voice her objec tions. She felt heartily sick of the whole business, and won dered what was behind it all. There must be something. From what she had gathered about her mother, Barbara never did anything without good reason.

"And when do we leave for Daven?" she asked now.

Lady Davenport looked thoughtful. "Well, not for a week or so, I'm afraid. Barbara wants to have time to in troduce you to her friends. She has planned parties, dinners, etc. When we leave, you will not need to worry about coming back to London for some time."

"I see." Samantha bit her lip. Dinners, parties! And she was to be sixteen again!

CHAPTER III.

The next morning Samantha awoke in an enormous bed, with soft sheets and a creamy silk counterpane. For a mo ment she lay wondering where on earth she was and then it all came flooding back to her. She was in England. She was staying in London with her grandmother and today she was to meet her mother for the first time in seventeen years.

At the remembrance of this, she turned over and buried her face in the pillow. It was no more palatable today than it had been yesterday.

Last evening she had spent alone with her grandmother.

Lady Davenport had said that Barbara had an important engagement and would not be around to greet her daughter until the following day. To Samantha, tensed and curious, this in itself was a revelation. Had her mother no interest in her at all?

This morning Lady Davenport had said they were to go shopping. Samantha had to be fitted out with suitable clothes, and her hair must be shampooed and set. To Sam antha, who had never seen the inside of an expensive Lon don salon, this was to be a rather terrifying experience and she had asked why she could not set her own hair as she had always done in the past.

Lady Davenport had smiled. "My dear, you must get used to the idea that you are now a comparatively wealthy young woman. As such you do not 'do' your own hair. You have it shampooed and styled regularly at a salon and you must never be seen looking dishevelled or untidy."

Samantha had still thought it was an unnecessary ex pense, but had refrained from making any further comment.

Now she slid eagerly out of bed, glancing at her watch as she did so. It was already eight-thirty and back home she would have been up and breakfasted by now. "Back home!" She sighed. Would she ever get used to calling London her home? It seemed unlikely at that moment She was bathed and dressed by the time the maid knocked and brought in her breakfast tray.

"Oh, miss, you're up!"

"Yes." Samantha looked anxious. "Does it matter?"

The maid smiled. "Bless you, no, miss. But I was sur prised, that was all, I thought you would have been tired after your journey yesterday."

"Oh, I'm all right. This looks an enormous breakfast."

"Why, it's only cereal, bacon and eggs and toast!"

Samantha smiled. "I'm been used to managing on rolls and b.u.t.ter. My .. my ... I've been told about this Eng lish meal." She had nearly said her father and she swal lowed hard.

"Well, you do your best," said the maid easily, not no ticing any change in Samantha's expression. "Lady Davenport said to tell you that she will be up and ready for your chopping expedition at ten o'clock."

"All right. Thank you."

Samantha ate her breakfast on the table below the win dow in her room and looked out on the busy thoroughfare below.

Already the surrounding buildings were giving her a closed-in feeling and she would be glad to get out and see something of the town.

She dressed in the dress she had worn the previous day.

Compared to her grandmother's expensive clothes her things looked rather shabby and her underwear had seen better days. It was embarra.s.sing to feel like this. But she had naturally a.s.sumed that her grandmother would be very much the same as themselves. She had certainly never dreamed of having a member of the n.o.bility for a rela tion, Lady Davenport emerged promptly at ten in a town suit of light Donegal tweed. She looked small and elegant and Samantha envied her her a.s.surance. Beside her she felt gauche and bulky, and much top tall.

"Do not slouch, my dear," said Lady Davenport, study ing her severely. "You are tall, yes, but that is something to be proud of. You will soon be wearing high-heeled shoes which will add a couple of inches to your ... what ... five feet five?"

"Five feet six," said Samantha quickly.

"Very well. That will make you five feet eight. If you find yourself with smaller people, do not stoop to their level. Let them look up at you. You have the advantage. Use it. Don't pander to yourself."

"Yes, Grandmother," said Samantha dutifully, and smiled.

"You're rather severe when you're roused, aren't you?"

Lady Davenport chuckled. "It depends who I am with. Now, shall we go? Barnes is waiting for us."

The Rolls awaited them in the courtyard and Samantha helped Lady Davenport in, before following her: Barnes shut the door and then walked round and climbed in him self. Now that they were on their way, Samantha felt ex cited and stared unblinkingly out of the car window, not wanting to miss a thing.

They crossed part of London, Barnes, on Lady Dav enport's instructions, driving round Piccadilly Circus so that Samantha could see the statue of Eros.

"You will have to go sight-seeing properly one day," said Lady Davenport. "Do you know much about Lon don?"

"Well, I know about the Tower of London and Buck ingham Palace," Samantha replied. "My father told me quite a lot really.

He loved the museums and the art galleries. He once took me to Rome to see the Colosseum and, the Vatican."

Her grandmother smiled: "And did you like these sort of things too? The art treasures of the world?"

"Oh, yes. I would like to explore London, really. There are heaps of things I want to do."

"Well, you will have plenty of time."

"I know, and for that I'm grateful. At the bottom of me, I've always longed to see this country. Only circ.u.mstances sometimes contrive to make you believe differ ently."

In a shop which Lady Davenport patronized, off Bond Street, Samantha really found what it was to have money. From the outside the shop had looked ordinary enough, but inside a whole new world opened out for her.

It was called, simply, "Helene", but it was one of the most expensive dress establishments in London. Inside the door, Samantha's feet sank into the pale mauve carpet, while the hangings and furniture deepened to a richer purple. They were shown into a salon and were attended by Helene herself, who turned out to be an elderly Frenchwoman, with hands almost crippled by arthritis.

Samantha was stripped down to her undies and measured and weighed up intently. Unused to undressing in front of anybody, she felt embarra.s.sed and stupid, and wished it would soon be over.

"Your granddaughter has a wonderful figure," remarked Helene. "Tall and slim, but rounded. There are no angular bones to disguise."

Lady Davenport looked pleased. "Exactly what I myself thought," she said, smiling. "I think she will dress well, don't you?"

"But of course. Our new designs, slanted at the younger woman, will suit her admirably. She is sixteen, you say?"

"That's right." Lady Davenport did not sound at all perturbed, but Samantha felt herself blush scarlet.

They spent over two hours in Helene's establishment and by the time they emerged, Samantha felt as though she would never feel modest again. Gone were her old cot ton underclothes and in their place were the sheerest nylon garments she had ever imagined.

Suits, dresses, c.o.c.ktail numbers suitable for a teenager, one long evening dress for special occasions, skirts, slacks, blouse, jumpers. Samantha's head spun from the enor mous amount of clothes that had been hastily slipped over her head and examined critically. Then there were tights; dozens of pairs, and shoes to match every outfit. She could not help feeling thrilled to own so many beautiful things and to know she need not make any more clothes for herself, at least for years.

Barnes had packed heaps of boxes into the boot of the Rolls, but what were left were to be delivered later in the day.

Samantha was now dressed in an orange Courtelie suit, with a short pleated skirt and a loose jacket top, which left her throat bare. Her old clothes had been left at the salon, apparently fit only for throwing away, and even her shoes had been replaced by squat-heeled cream pumps.

The difference in her appearance was staggering and she had stared in amazement at the transformation as it was taking place.

Lady Davenport was a.s.sisted into the back of the Rolls and after Samantha had joined her, she said: "And now, your hair."

Samantha ran a questing hand over its silky softness. "What do you intend shall be done with my hair?" she asked, reluctantly.

Lady Davenport smiled. "Don't worry, my dear, noth ing much. Teenagers these days wear their hair long, but! it is a little ragged at the ends and I think Raphael might make it a little more stylish. A fringe, I think. Much deep er than the one you have at the moment. To draw attention to those beautiful eyes."

Samantha coloured again. She was unused to being paid any kind of compliments of this sort.

Raphael's salon was not far away and Lady Davenport left Samantha there, after going in with her and ascertaining that Raphael himself should attend to her, and that he knew exactly what was needed.

While Samantha was under the drier, she was given a manicure and her skin was tested with several different creams.

Finally she was made up by the skilled a.s.sistant and when Lady Davenport arrived to collect her she clap ped her hands in delight.

"Marvellous!" she exclaimed. "My dear, you look wonderful."

Samantha was not so confident. She felt awfully like a guinea-pig, but her grandmother was deriving so much enjoyment from the affair that she could not fail to re spond.

The returned to the hotel for lunch and had it down stairs in the restaurant. Samantha attracted a great many interested glances from the other diners and Lady Daven port smiled a little wryly now.

"I think perhaps it is just as well that you are supposed to be only sixteen," she said thoughtfully. "I don't think Barbara had any idea you would turn out to be so lovely. Indeed, you are the perfect mixture of both John and Barbara. You have her looks in many ways, and yet you are much taller than she is, and your eyes are certainly more like John's"

Samantha looked down at the grilled salmon on her plate.

"How much longer will it be before I meet my mother?" she asked.

Lady Davenport glanced at her watch. "Barbara said she would arrive some time this afternoon. She rarely gets up before lunch time when she is not working, and at the moment she is between plays. She has just completed a six months' run on Broadway, and is resting for a month or so, before going into rehearsal for a new play, due to open in the West End."

"I see." Samantha nodded. "And when does she expect to start exhibiting me in public?"

"Please, my dear, don't look at it like that. I'm not sure, anyway. It may be this evening, but I doubt it. Tomorrow evening she is giving a c.o.c.ktail party at her flat, before dinner, so possibly that is when you are to make your debut."

"Why don't you stay at her flat, while you are in London?"

"Well, Barbara's pace of life would not suit me, my dear.

She may keep late mornings, but they only match her late nights.

She is rarely in bed before the c.o.c.k crows, as the saying goes."

Samantha, who had been used to both retiring and ris ing early, wondered whether she herself would be expec ted to keep these hours.

After lunch was over, they went up to Lady Daven port's suite. The boxes from Helene's had all been un packed by the maid, whose name, Samantha had found, was Emily. She had been with Lady Davenport for over twenty years, and Samantha wondered what her reaction to all this deception was. She must have known Samantha as a child, too, and would be in no doubt as to her real age.

But Emily kept her own counsel and if this piece of in trigue was to please her mistress, she was not the one to spoil things.

She adored Lady Davenport and would do nothing to hurt her.

Lady Davenport retired to her room to rest for an hour and Samantha was left to her own devices. She lit a cig arette and lounged on the couch, reading some magazines that Emily provided for her. She was restless, and could not decide whether she wanted her mother to arrive or not. She felt a faint revulsion towards her already, and she did not wish to feel any worse about it when she met her. She hoped that Barbara had mellowed with age, but from what her grandmother had said, that did not seem likely.

The door behind her opened and Samantha swung round, expecting to see Emily. Instead she was confronted by a small, exquisitely lovely woman, with short blonde hair and blue eyes.

She was dressed in a clinging suit of crimson velvet and looked vividly exotic as she leaned back against the pure whiteness of the door.

Samantha realized this could only be her mother and she rose involuntarily to her feet. Later as she got to know Barbara better she realized that Barbara had planned such an entrance as this. She knew perfectly well how out standingly beautiful she looked against the background of the door and her daughter was intended to see her this way for the first time. Around her neck was a necklace which sparkled brilliantly, while diamond studs glinted in her ears.

"Well," she drawled slowly. "So you are Samantha!"

Samantha felt herself trembling. The moment had come and she was practically speechless. "Yes," she man aged quiveringly.

"And you.... are my mother."

"Obviously." Barbara straightened and walked negligen tly across the room. "Well, Mother has certainly worked wonders with you. You look quite ... attractive."

Samantha felt her body coming back to life. Her moth er's half-sardonic remark had brought the resentment she had been feeling back to the surface.

Barbara halted a few feet away from her and said: "You'll forgive me if I don't kiss you, won't you? Kissing women is not a habit I enjoy, and besides, there has been too much between us for too long for there to be any real affection between us now.