Masquerade. Part 19

He did not bother enquiring where Stone Cottage was. In a village of this size, surely he could find one cottage.

He left the car on the car park beside the hotel and hands in pockets, he began to walk along the main street. He pa.s.sed the shop, the doctor's house, the churchyard (he smiled at this) and finally a house with a "Police" sign outside. There was no Stone Cottage on this side of the road.

The other side of the street proved just as disappoint ing, and he sighed in annoyance. He had no wish to go back into the bar and ask for more information.

He was standing on the edge of the pavement ponder ing his next move when a voice said: "Why, it's Mr. Mallory, isn't it?"

Patrick swung round. "Emily! h.e.l.l, am I glad to see you!"

Emily frowned. "Are you looking for me, then?"

Patrick nodded. "Are you living in the village?"

"Yes. I'm staying with my friend Mrs. Peel at the mo ment I don't know what I'm going to do yet. I haven't really had time to gather my thoughts together. I was just on my way over to the house to see Miss Samantha. Have you been there, too?"

"Samantha's not at the house," said Patrick, shrugging wearily. "I thought you might know where she was."

"Not at the house!" Emily was taken aback. "But then where is she?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here," exclaimed Pat rick, rather abruptly, and then he sighed. "I'm sorry, that was rude.

It's just that I'm half off my head, looking for her. I've rung Barbara, and she doesn't seem to know where she might be. At least, well, she said that Samantha was at Daven."

"Oh!" Emily frowned deeper. "That is worrying." She looked up at Patrick. "Have you no idea where she might be?

Has she just disappeared?"

"Oh, no, not exactly. I asked an old chap up at the house where she was, and he said that she had said she was going to London. They naturally a.s.sumed she was staying with her mother."

"I should think nothing was further from the truth," said Emily dryly.

"I thought that myself," Patrick nodded glumly.

"Particularly after the row they had the day of the funeral..."

"Row! Did they have a row?"

Emily put a hand to her throat. "Well, sir, I don't like talking about things like this."

"Oh, come on, Emily, this is important. What was it, about?"

Emily bit her lip. "Well, sir, I was talking to Miss Samantha, after you had gone, of course. We were talking about Daven, and Miss Samantha said she would like do the whole place over -make it a proper home again. I said that that was what her grandmother would here wished when who should come bursting in on us but Miss Harriet. She was rude ... very rude ...

to me, really, and Miss Samantha got upset. I was practically ordered out of the house, and after I'd gone, heaven knows what took place. I only hope Miss Harriet didn't tell Miss Samantha about her father's last instructions..."

"What instructions? Has this something to do with Samantha's arrival here?"

"Yes, sir."

Patrick groaned. "I guessed as much. Come on, Emily, let's go and sit in the car. This is not the place for a dis cussion of this sort."

In the car, Emily told Patrick the whole story. Lady Davenport had had no secrets from her companion and Emily related everything. Patrick, who had always thought Barbara's actions were not in character, now understood a lot of things.

He could also see that if Samantha had been told this story, she would feel as though she had been betrayed. Particularly, in her weakened state. On top of everything, this would have seemed the last straw.

"And do you think it's likely that Barbara told Saman tha this?" he asked when Emily had finished.

"Well, sir, judging from her expression, I should think it was very likely."

"Oh, G.o.d!" Patrick rested his chin on his hands on the steering wheel. Poor, unhappy Samantha. She must have thought n.o.body cared a thing about her. He had only made matters worse, treating her as he had done. He could not free himself from the blame he felt in all this,.

Emily sighed heavily. "So she's gone."

"Well, if she was told that, she would feel like running away.

I think I would, too, in her position."

"Yes, sir." Emily bent her head. "And to think I didn't even know she wasn't at the house!"

Patrick sighed. "And when you would eventually have found out, what would you have done? You would surely realize that Samantha couldn't be with her mother?"

"Yes, I suppose I would. I'd have been very worried, sir. Just as I am now. I can't think where she might be. She knew no one in London. She wasn't the sort of girl to en joy managing alone."

"I know." Patrick shook his head. "I think for a while here she found security, but now, with her grandmother dead, and possibly with the germ of that story you have just told in her mind, she feels completely alone. But where would she go?

Where?"

Emily desperately tried to think. Was there anyone else Samantha had known?

Suddenly she said; "I suppose it's possible that she's gone back to Italy, sir."

"Italy!" Patrick smote a fist against the palm of his hand. "Of course, Emily. I should have thought of that. She had friends there. She may have gone back to see them."

"It may be only temporary," murmured Emily doubt fully, "but if so, why didn't she tell anyone where she was going?"

"That's interesting; Anyway, I now have a lead. I'll contact the airport When I get back to town and let you know what happens. Is your friend on the telephone?"

"Mrs. Peel? No, sir. But a message left at the Queen's Head will reach me."

"Right, thank you, Emily." Patrick smiled. "I'l find her, don't worry."

Emily smiled gently in return. "I always thought it was Miss Samantha who took your eye," she murmured, in a satisfied way.

Patrick grinned. "Emily! Those are private thoughts, you shouldn't broadcast them."

"I know, sir, but Miss Samantha was so upset, and I'm sure you're the only person who can change all that"

"I hope you're right." remarked Patrick dryly. "I'll have a d.a.m.n good try."

Samantha entered Sophia da Silva's house in the Via Algante in Ravenna. Outside it was pouring with rain, and Samantha was wearing a white wet-look raincoat which she had bought in Milan on her arrival back in Italy. Since she returned, over a week ago, it had rained almost every day and it was quite cold too, for the time of the year.

But the weather, if anything, only reflected Samantha's mood. She did not care what it was like really. She was sick at heart and miserable. After all, Ravenna was not like Perruzio, where she had known everyone. Ravenna was a strange place, much as London had been, and old Matilde and her sister Sophia were the only people she knew. She had paid a visit to Perruzio, of course, to see her father's grave. It seemed strange that it was such a short while ago he had been buried. So much had hap pened that it seemed like a lifetime now.

She had been returning to the square to catch the bus back to Ravenna when a voice had hailed her. Swinging round, she had found Benito standing behind her.

"Samantha?" he asked incredulously.

Rain-washed and windswept as she was, she could understand his rather doubtful question. Her hair was dressed differently, and in the cheap but smart raincoat and high heels, she looked much different from the badly dressed girl who had left.

"h.e.l.lo, Benito," she said, managing a smile. "How nice to see you again."

Benito could only stare at her. "But... but..." he be gan, in Italian, and Samantha reverted to his language to speak to him.

"Don't look so astonished," she said easily. "I'm not a ghost.

I'm living in Ravenna with Matilde and her sister at the moment.

I'm going to get a job. Sophia, Matilde's sister, knows of someone who has a young child and who is wanting a nanny-c.u.m-housemaid. I'm thinking of tak ing the position."

Benito looked flabbergasted. "But you can't," he cried, in amazement. "Samantha, you know how I have always felt about you. I thought when I saw you that you were coming to see me."

Samantha's face coloured. "Benito, Benito, I'm sorry if you thought that, but I'm afraid I only came to see my father's grave..."

"And your trip to England? Was it not a success ?"

"No." Samantha spoke shortly; "Then what do you intend to do?"

"I've just told you."

Benito moved his shoulders exasperatedly. "That's rid- iculous," he said angrily. "Samantha, please ..."

"Benito, before I left, your mother and I had a talk. She doesn't really want me as a daughter-in-law any more, and I realize myself now that what was between us was simply not the real thing."

Benito's face grew red. "How can you know that? Have you met someone else in England?" Samantha bent her head. "Yes."

"Then why are you here?" In Benito's simple mind there were only blacks and whites, with no shades of grey.

"It's a long story," replied Samantha, looking up the road for the bus, wishing desperately that it would come. She had no desire to have another argument with Benito. "Are you going to marry this man?" Samantha shook her head. Benito moved restlessly. "But why?" Samantha compressed her lips. She felt the tears p.r.i.c.k ing at her eyes, and she angrily blinked them back.

"Because he doesn't want me," she cried. "Now leave me alone. Please."

Benito ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Sam antha."

Samantha moved her shoulders helplessly. "Oh, Ben ito, what can I say?" She ran her tongue over her upper lip. "How have you been?"

"Oh, I'm all right. Silvana had another bay." Silvana was Benito's sister. She already had three boys.

Samantha smiled. A couple of months ago this conver sation would have been her whole world.

"Was she disappointed?"

"No. Mario wants plenty of good sons to follow him."

Samantha turned and looked up the road again. If only the bus would come!

Benito, sensing her distress, thrust his hands into his pockets.

"Well," he said, "I'll go. Mama is expecting me back."

Samantha signed. "All right, Benito. It was nice seeing you again." It was inadequate, but there was nothing else she could say.

Benito nodded, and then ambled off down the street, glancing back occasionally at her. Samantha waved, and wished again that the bus would come, and suddenly it did. She was so thankful. Nothing was the same any more. She realized that with a sharp sense of loss. Even Perruzio, her home for so many years, had become alien to her.

But that was four days ago now, and today she had been to see Signora Marcasi. The stout, fulsome Italian woman had not impressed Samantha, any more than her podgy, spoiled little boy hall done. Young Vittorio was certainly a handful, and his persistent attempts to annoy Samantha had eventually succeeded. She had wanted to rush out of the house in the rather select area of the town and never see either of them again.

But she had apparently impressed Signora Marcasi, and as her husband, an industrialist, was taken with the idea of having an English nanny for his child, Samantha had been offered the position.

Strangely reluctant to commit herself, Samantha had asked if she might have a day to think it over. Signora Marcasi had obviously thought her rather impolite to sug gest such a thing, but she had had no choice but to agree and it was with these thoughts in her mind that Samantha entered the house in the Via Algante.

Matilde came to greet her as she was removing her mackintosh.

"Well! 1 she said eagerly. "Was the interview a suc cess?"

Samantha sighed and ran a hand over her damp hair. "I suppose so," she said wearily. "Signora Marcasi was pleased anyway. Oh, Matilde, I just can't see myself get ting along with the family, that's all. I've asked for a while to think it over.

Signora Marcasi wasn't pleased, but I have to have time."

"Of course." Matilde nodded understandingly. "But Sophia may be disappointed you did not accept at once. She thought it was a wonderful opportunity. The Marcasis are rich people here.

They are respected and liked."

Samantha walked down the stone-floored hallway to the kitchen where they spent most of their time. The house was not large, only two rooms up and two down. There was no bathroom, and no privacy from the other occupants of the house. It suited Matilde and Sophia, but Samantha knew she would have to find somewhere of her own soon.

Sophia was out shopping, and Samantha gratefully ac cepted the cup of coffee Matilde thrust into her hand.

"If you do not take this position, little one, you may find the next one even more objectionable," said Matilde shrewdly.

Samantha smiled affectionately at her. "Dear Matilde, I know. And of course I will take the job, I suppose, it's just that I feel so unsettled."

Matilde nodded. Samantha had told her the whole story when she arrived, and she had not made any comments, neither for nor against Samantha's actions. Samantha her self did not even know whether she was doing the right thing, as yet, and she wondered if she had been foolish to flee from a life of luxury to comparative penury.

But even as these thoughts crossed her mind, she thrust them back. She could not stay in England, risking the chance of meeting Patrick and her mother together. Possi bly even witnessing their eventful marriage. She wanted to know nothing more about them, so that her thoughts could stay as they were now. At least, without knowledge, she could not torture herself with thoughts of them to gether.

Sophia returned and they ate their evening meal in sil ence.

Sophia was younger than Matilde and a widow. She seemed surprised when Matilde told her of Samantha's interview and her subsequent request for time to think about the proposition, but fortunately she sensed that Samantha was in no state to be lectured to, and kept her own council.

After supper, Samantha put on her coat again and went for a walk. It was a fine evening, after the terrible day, and she enjoyed the fresh, clean air, blowing in her face. She wished Ravenna was a coastal town, so that she could walk by the sea.