Masquerade. Part 13

For the kind of dances she had grown accustomed to the night she had spent in Andrew's company, the sand was an ideal surface and she soon began losing her inhi bitions when she saw everyone else dancing as well.

Their parents were seated on low loungers set in a cir cle round the fire and more drinks were being dispensed by a white-coated waiter.

The roar of the sea was in their ears and the smell of the surf was stimulating. Samantha wished it was warm enough to swim.

She would have adored getting into a bathing costume and allowing the cold water to surge gently over her limbs.

More guests arrived before the steaks were ready, among than Ken Madison with some girls. Soon Saman tha and Andrew were the centre of a noisy crowd with the Frazer children milling round madly and trying to cause a rumpus.

The music was all terribly up-to-date, and the older members of the party sat around talking and smoking and drinking the delicious punch which Giles Frazer himself had made.

Samantha, escaping for a while from the throng, found herself beside Gina Frazer. Patrick's sister smiled encour agingly.

"Do you find us all completely mad?" she exclaimed, laughing. "Most visitors wonder how I cope with such a bundle of live-wires. My only consolation is that I can always tell if any of them are under the weather, they soon show up amongst the others. Ken, you know Ken?"

"Yes. He's Andrew's partner, isn't he?"

"That's right - well, Ken and his friends are as often here as away and my family table usually stretches to twelve or more every night. It's just as well Giles is so easy going. Many men would find our life intolerable."

Samantha smiled. "Well, I think you have a marvellous family. I envy you. I've never known what it's like to have brothers and sisters.

Gina cast a strange glance in Barbara's direction. "No. You wouldn't have. Tell me, doesn't your mother like children?"

Samantha felt awkward and immediately Gina was all contrition. "I'm sorry, dear, I shouldn't have said that I'm always putting my foot in it, only whenever she comes here she seems to avoid contact with them. It's probably my imagination, but I can't help hoping she doesn't marry Patrick if that's the case. He adores our crowd and I'm sure he wants children of his own. My mother is always complaining about his staying a. bachelor!" She laughed "Poor Pat, he's such a nice person. I'm afraid we're apt to allow the children free licence while he's here. They simply dote on him."

"Dote on who?" A husky voice was close to Samantha's ear and she immediately recognized whose voice it was.

Gina smiled affectionately. "As if you didn't know! Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I guess so. Who on earth is that creature with Ken tonight?

The one in the leopard-skin tights and low-cut sweater?" He sounded amused.

"Oh, you mean Angela!" Gina giggled and Samantha, acutely conscious of Patrick's arm, casually across her shoulders, glanced round to see who he was talking about.

"Get the picture?" he asked, his warm breath fanning her cheek..

Samantha smiled, feeling achingly like leaning back against him. "Yes, I get the picture. What does she do, Mrs. Frazer?"

"Mrs? Good heavens, my dear, call me Gina. Everyone does. As for Angela, I believe she's a dancer at some club in town. Ken has all sort of friends. They get successively worse."

Patrick grinned. "She's quite a dish," he murmured, his eyes following her progress as she moved sinuously to the beat music on the record player.

"Do you think so?" Samantha gazed at him.

"Sure. Don't you?" His grin grew wider and more amused.

"No, I do not" Samantha compressed her lips. "She looks ...well...."

"Don't bother to draw me a picture," said Patrick laughingly. "I can see for myself."

Gina had drifted off to speak to another of her guests and for the moment they were alone, just outside the ring of the firelight.

Samantha wriggled free of his arm and moved away walking slowly towards the sea.

"You were just baiting me, weren't you?" she accused him, as he fell into step beside her.

"Now, why should I do a thing like that?" he asked evasively.

"Well." She thrust her hands into the pockets of her slacks.

"You couldn't possibly like a creature like that! Not...

well....not to be with at all!"

"Why not?" He, too, had his hands in his pockets. He had discarded his coat and was just wearing his sweater and slacks.

Samantha looked away in annoyance. "Stop it," she said angrily. "I don't want to hear any more."

They were well out of hearing distance of the group round the fire now, and only their silhouettes could be seen against the pale moonlight.

Patrick halted at the sh.o.r.eline and looked round at her.

"Well," he said softly, "and what would you like to hear?"

Samantha shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing. Every thing."

"There's an answer," he remarked laughingly. "What am I supposed to say to that?"

"Oh, nothing." Samantha trudged her feet through the sand. "We go to Daven tomorrow."

"I know. Barbara told me."

"She would," muttered Samantha moodily.

"My, my, I have annoyed you haven't I? I'm sorry."

"Don't tease me," she exclaimed wearily. "I'm not a child!"

"I know," he said quietly. "You're twenty-one."

Samantha stared at him. "How do you know that?"

Patrick shrugged his broad shoulders. "It's quite simple 1 really. I paid a visit to Somerset House."

"Where's that?"

"In London. Oh, of course, you probably don't know about it. Well, it's the Registry of Births, among other things."

Samantha stared at him. "I see."

"You lied to me," he continued slowly. "You told me you were sixteen."

"I know. But how could I say I wasn't when Barbara .. Oh, what's the use?"

"I imagine Barbara didn't want to admit to having a daughter of that age."

"Yes, you're right, of course. Have you told her you know?"

"Of course not. Why should I?"

"Then why are you telling me?"

Patrick put out a hand and pulled her close to him. "So that when I kiss you, you won't think I'm doing it for kicks," he muttered softly, and encircling her throat with his fingers he forced her face up to his.

For a moment, Samantha resisted, but the urge to res pond was too great for her and she slid her arms convul sively round him and pressed her body close to his. His mouth was warm and pa.s.sionate, and there was nothing gentle in his touch. His fingers bruised the soft flesh of her shoulders, and his mouth forced her teeth apart almost savagely.

This was what it was like to be kissed by a man, thought Samantha, feeling the warmth of his body flooding hers. He smelt so warm and male and just being close against his taut body gave her an aching feeling in the pit of her stom ach. He was no longer mocking her, or teasing her. She could tell from the increased tenor of his breathing that he was wanting her as a man wants a woman and he did not want to let her go.

At last he leaned his forehead against hers, and said: "You wanted that just as much as me, didn't you?"

She nodded and he released her, reluctantly.

"Was I rough? Did I hurt you?"

Samantha pressed her hand to her stomach to quell its nervous acrobatics and shook her head. She did not trust herself to speak. What a thing to have happened! What did he really think of her? Had she goaded him into it by tormenting him about that girl? She did not know and her mind was in a turmoil.

Patrick himself was looking at her rather thoughtfully. He had not wanted to let her go, and his code had never covered this form of self-denial. What he wanted he had always taken and it was not pleasant to release her when his whole body wanted a closer contact with her.

Consequently, he was a little abrupt as he said: "We'd better go back."

Samantha hunched her shoulders. "Are you angry?"

"No. Why should I be angry?"

"You sound as though you are."

Patrick shrugged, and Samantha turned with a sigh and walked back towards the lights of the fire. She felt hurt, and unsure of herself. She could not understand Patrick's att.i.tude and decided he regretted kissing her at all. Really, she must be incredibly naive! After all, he was a man of the world. He probably kissed dozens of women, just when it suited him.

When she readied the rest of the young' group she found Patrick was no longer with her, she looked round disappointedly. Then she saw him. He was standing by Barbara's chair, talking to her, and she was laughing ani matedly up at him.

What were they talking about? Had he told her what he had just done? If he had, Samantha felt as though she wanted to die.

She found Andrew at her side and he was looking at her anxiously.

"Have you been walking with my dear uncle?" Samantha flushed guiltily.

"Well, yes. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." Andrew shook his head. He was frankly puzzled. It was not like Pat to act in this way, and particularly not over a girl who was young enough to be his daughter!

"Come on," he said, sighing. "Let's dance. I've missed you."

Samantha smiled. "Have you? I'm glad somebody has."

The supper was served by more of the white-coated waiters and Samantha found herself seated on a swing couch with another girl while Andrew stood nearby, talkig and getting her anything else she wanted.

She ate very little. Her appet.i.te was practically non existent and it was with great difficulty that she ate any thing at all. If only Patrick had remained what he had been. Attractive, but distant. Now she could only a.s.sume she had in some way disappointed him and it was terrible!

CHAPTER VI.

Patrick was dancing with Barbara. She had not wanted to dance on the sandy beach, but as it seemed the only way to be in Patrick's arms she had allowed herself to be per suaded.

Patrick himself found his eyes continually turning to where Samantha was dancing with one of the young mem bers of Ken Madison's party. She had been instantly ac cepted by than. She was one of than. She was young and beautiful and vivacious.

Her hair hung loose and swung gently against her face; her eyes, veiled by the long lashes darted mischievous glances at her partner; her slim legs moved rhythmically to the music. She seemed to be having a wonderful time.

Patrick looked away. She was young. However old she might be in reality, she was virtually untouched by life. What right had he to torment himself with thoughts about her? Surely, he told himself irritably, after knowing Bar bara all this time, he could not have become infatuated by her own daughter? Yet he felt a protective instinct to wards Samantha. Their meeting on the aircraft had seemed ordained somehow. After all, at that time she had been in limbo, so to speak. She had left her old life behind her and had yet to meet the new life ahead of her. He had been the intermediary. He was a link with both sections of her existence, and he felt responsible for her.

This in itself was ridiculous, he thought angrily. She had now acquired a family of her own. She had a grand mother and what was even more important, a mother.

Why was it he was so involved with her? She had never asked him for help or guidance. Their only contacts had been rather fiery ones. What was there about her that was causing him to feel so conscious of her all the time? She was attractive, there was no denying that, but Barbara was, much more beautiful than her daughter if looks were the only consideration. Barbara was so much more delicately made for one thing,-and there was a kind of agelessness about her.

The only solution to this was anathema to him. That he, Patrick Mallory, who for so many years had scorned anything but desire for a woman, should be feeling this way was ludicrous. He wanted no part of love. It was too tying. Too demanding, Love was for those who were static ally minded.

Like Gina and Giles, for instance. He sup posed they were in love. They certainly acted that way. But to him, the idea of allowing any one person to hold your whole life in their hands was appalling. Besides, he was not built that way. At least he had never believed he was He loved life, and he loved women.

But only to a degree Women were a necessary part of his life.

Like writing for example. But to marry a woman for any other reason than to acquire a mistress for his home and a hostess when nec essary had never touched him before.

Before! His brain baulked at the implied suggestion. He would not admit that he felt anything other than a temporary interest in Samantha.

He suddenly realized that Barbara was speaking to him and he looked down at her. She really did look wonderful tonight and he knew he ought to be enjoying her company. For in reality, nothing had changed between them. He had always accepted Barbara for what she was and he was con vinced that nothing she did could ever disturb him. She was vain, egotistical, at times slightly neurotic, but he had seriously considered her the most suitable applicant should the time ever come when he should decide to take a wife. But Samantha had certainly changed all that. He had to admit he could never marry Barbara now and accept Samantha's his stepdaughter.

Particularly as his feelings for. her were anything but fatherly.

"It's eleven-thirty," Barbara remarked. "What time are we leaving?"

Patrick forced his mind into safer channels. "When this shindig breaks up, I guess. Why?" His dark Irish eyes were lazy.