Masquerade. Part 20

She loved the sea, and she had seen little of it since she left Perruzio about six weeks ago.

Six weeks! What a mult.i.tude of things could happen in so short a time!

The next morning she woke early, to find the sun was shining for the first time since her arrival. She opened her window wide and leaned out. The air was warm and she sighed, feeling more relaxed. It was wonderful how the sight of the sun could make you feel better inside.

She had told Signora Marcasi she would go and see her at three o'clock that afternoon so she had the morning free, to do as she pleased.

After some rolls and coffee, dressed in slacks and a light wool jacket she left the house to do some shopping. Sophia had given her a list, and as she liked to bargain with the shop keepers, Samantha was feeling more herself. Time would heal everything, she told herself, confidently, ignoring the empty ache she felt inside.

It was after twelve before she returned to the Via Algante.

She turned into the road, walking easily, the basket swinging on her arm.

Then she felt her stomach plunge sickeningly. A large continental convertible was parked outside Sophia's small house, looking incongruous in die narrow street, its sleek lines signifying its exclusiveness.

Whose could it be? Surely Sophia and Matilde knew no one with a car like that! Unless of course it belonged to the Marcasis. She relaxed, albeit a little despairingly. It must belong to the Marcasis. No one knew she was here. Not Patrick, or Barbara or Mr. Bolam.

She walked on up the road and entered the house feel ing her nerves grow taut like violin strings. She was tremb ling, and yet there was no reason for all this.

Calm down, she thought, trying to do just that. Stop tormenting yourself with stupid dreams and fantasies.

She walked down the pa.s.sage to the kitchen. Sophia was stirring some soup on the stove as though nothing moment ous had happened. She smiled as Samantha came in.

"Did you get everything?" she asked.

Samantha's heart subsided abruptly. "Yes, I think so. When is lunch ready?"

"In about fifteen minutes." Sophia returned to the soup.

Samantha sighed heavily. "Where's Matilde?"

"Oh, she's in the other room. Someone came to see her. Go in and tell her lunch is nearly ready, and ask her guest if he wants to stay and have some. We haven't much, but what we have is good."

"All right." Samantha left the basket on the table and crossed the pa.s.sage to the room which was only used on special occasions. Knocking lightly, she opened the door and stepped inside.

Then she really felt as though her heart had stopped beating completely. Standing on the hearth, his back to the empty fireplace, stood Patrick, looking as attractive as ever in a lightweight suit of dark blue, and a loose mohair coat.

"Patrick!" she exclaimed, her voice almost breaking in her emotional state.

"h.e.l.lo, Samantha," he said lazily, as though it was the most natural thing in the world that he should be there.

Matilde rose from her seat on the couch. "This ... gentleman has been waiting for you, Samantha," she said. "Are you feeling all right, dear? You look quite pale."

Samantha shook her head. "I'm ... I'm fine," she stammered.

Then she gathered her scattered wits, and tried to take the consternation out of her voice. "What are you doing here, Patrick? Did Barbara send you?"

"n.o.body sent me," he said, his voice serious now. "I came to find you, and bring you back."

Samantha stiffened her shoulders. "Thank you for your trouble. But I don't want to go back."

Patrick glanced at Matilde and with an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, she made for the door.

"I'l leave you two alone," she said quietly. "I'm sure you have a lot to say to one another."

Samantha caught Matilde's arm. Suddenly she felt afraid of this arrogant stranger who stood staring at her with unfathomable depths to his tawny eyes.

"No, Matilde, don't go. There's nothing to be said that you can't hear."

Matilde freed herself firmly. "Samantha, darling, you must face this alone. I cannot help you," and she went out, closing the door behind her.

After Matilde's departure, Samantha leaned against the door, one hand on the handle to make her escape should the need arise. Her colour was high and she felt totally unable to cope with Patrick in this mood.

Patrick shrugged his broad shoulders, and with delib erate movements, removed his overcoat, and loosened his jacket. It was much warmer here than in England and he had not had time to change.

"I don't know what you expect me to say," said Saman tha desperately. "I left England for good. I don't want to go back. I don't like; the people and I don't know anyone any more."

"You know me," remarked Patrick, rather dryly.

Samantha sighed. "I understand you have had an offer to go to the United States to make a film of your last play."

"That's right. I leave in about a fortnight's time. The play in London has been left, in the hands of my agent If my presence is required I can easily fly back."

"I see." Samantha bent her head. "I'm pleased for you. You'll really be famous after this."

Patrick smiled tightly. "Do you think that's important? Being famous, I mean."

"I don't know. It depends who you are. Barbara will love it."

"What has Barbara got to do with it?" Patrick's voice was cold.

"I don't know that either. But I expect you'll work something out. It's a pity she has this play coming up. She could have gone with you.

Patrick frowned. "Stop talking in riddles. Barbara and I are nothing to each other. We were... well, friendly... once, but that was all over long ago. She knew it, too. She still does, but she won't admit it."

Samantha twisted her hands together, releasing the door k.n.o.b.

"Then why have you come here? I don't understand."

"Why do you think I've come, you little idiot?"

Patrick crossed the room forcefully, pulling her into his arms. Grasping a handful of her hair, he forced her head back and pressed his mouth against her throat, his lips warm and insistent.

"Go on," he groaned, as his mouth sought the nape of her neck, "tell me why I've come."

Samantha forced herself not to respond and cling to him. It was a torment and an ecstasy to be so close to him. His body was so demanding and pa.s.sionate, his touch left her weak and unable to think coherently.

With a little cry, she wound her arms round his neck, uncaring any longer what he meant by his caresses. She adored him and she could not repulse him. She might be emotional and stupid, but she could not help herself.

"Oh, G.o.d!" he muttered as his mouth found hers, and for a long minute there was silence in the small room which had so suddenly become a paradise to Samantha.

It was with difficulty that he at last allowed her to be free, and his hands gripping her shoulders he said: "Samantha, have you any idea of what you've done to me?"

He shook his head. "h.e.l.l, and I thought I was long past the age to fall in love."

Samantha traced the curve of his jaw with her fingers.

"Oh, Patrick, why didn't you tell me?"

Patrick's fingers tightened so that they hurt, but Samantha loved it. "I tried to tell you, the day of the funeral. But I guess, as usual, I made a mess of it. Even now, you're probably speculating in your mind as to my intentions."

Samantha blushed, revealing her innocence.

"You see!" Patrick grimaced. "What am I? Some evil demon or something! Did you honestly think I might sug gest we had an affair?"

Samantha shook her head. "I didn't know," she con fessed.

"Patrick, tell me properly, please."

Patrick smiled. "I love you. I want to marry you. Will you have me?"

Samantha closed her eyes for a moment. This must be a dream.

"You know I will," she whispered achingly! "But can we? I mean, you're going abroad, and then there's Bar bara ..."

"We've both got a lot of talking to do," he agreed. "To begin with, the trip to America might do nicely as the star of our honeymoon. Would you like that?"

Samantha gazed at him. "Oh, Patrick, you know that would be marvellous!"

"Good. Then that solves that problem. Now, after our honeymoon, we'll return to England. We might even stay at Daven, if that's what you'd like to do...."

"Oh, I would!"

"Good." He smiled mischievously. "And as for Bar bara - well, I don't think we need to concern ourselves too much with her. If the story of your background ever comes out, that's her affair, but I don't think we need be unnecessarily unpleasant about it...."

"Oh, I'm glad you said that," said Samantha quickly. "I don't want to cause her any more trouble..."

"... and that still leaves Killaney. Would you like to spend some of the year there?"

"Will we have time?" Samantha laughed, feeling light-hearted for die first time in weeks. "Patrick, darling Patrick, it's like a dream come true."

Patrick pulled her back into his arms. "Don't look at me like that, honey," he murmured, his mouth against hers. "I'm wanting you so badly, and I know I'm not going to-take you ... not yet."

Samantha hugged him close. "But how did you find me?

How did you know where to begin?"

Patrick signed. "It's a long story. I went down to Daven and you weren't there, so I found Emily and she told me about the row with Barbara the day of the funeral. After we realized you couldn't still be in London, Emily sugges ted here and I contacted the airport and sure enough you were booked on a flight to Milan a weeks before. So I settled my affairs and took a flight to Milan myself." He laughed. "Am I boring you?" and when she shook her head, he continued: "I hired the car and drove to Perruzio. Everyone there knew your name, but no one could tell me where you might be, until I ran into a chap called Benito Angeli...."

"Benito!"

"Yes. A chap in the village said he was the only person likely to know. He said he had seen you a few days ago, and that you had said you were staying with Matilde's sister in Ravenna, and here I am. Does that satisfy you?"

"Perfectly." Samantha drew away from him. "I still can't quite believe it. It's all so wonderful."

Patrick drew her back against him. "But it is what you want, isn't it? You're not in any doubt?"

Samantha slid round in his arms. "In any doubt?" she echoed, shaking her head. "Patrick, I was never in any doubt. I think I knew, right from that moment on the plane."

Patrick pressed her closer against him. "I think this is getting too intense," he muttered softly. "Do you know where we're going now?"

Samantha looked up at him. "No... Where?"

"To a villa on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Como, to see a certain Signora Mallory ..."

"Your mother!"

"Yes, my mother. I think it's about timehe met you, don't you? After all, you'll be related in a week's time."

"All right, darling. I don't care where we go, as long as we're together."

"My sentiments exactly," murmured Patrick, his lips against her hair.

end.