Masquerade. Part 3

She was rather disappointed that her grandmother her self had not come to meet her. She had needed that feeling of being wanted and now all she had was a lonely seat in the back of the huge car, and only Barnes for company.

In front of the Rolls, a low blue Jaguar awaited its occupants and as Samantha waited she saw Patrick Mallory emerge from the building with a small slim blonde clinging to his arm.

The woman was one of the most beautiful Samantha had ever seen. Her hair was short and curly and she was wearing a wonderful leopard skin coat. She was small and daintily proportioned. Every thing Samantha was not. Samantha felt her heart turn over sickeningly and wished Barnes had driven directly away. This was some thing she had expected and yet now she was seeing it she felt a pang. Of course it was to be expected. He was a sophisticated man of the world. There would be plenty of women in his life.

Barnes got into the driving seat at that moment and the car was set in motion. Samantha leant back against the upholstery and sighed. She had no wish for Patrick Mallory to see her.

Besides, he would probably have forgotten all about her by now.

Barnes lowered the gla.s.s part.i.tion and said: "Did you have a good journey, miss?"

Samantha roused herself to reply. "Yes, thank you." Barnes concentrated on his driving and for the life of her, Samantha could think of nothing further to say. He-would, probably think her stupid, but it had been an ex hausting, day, both physically and mentally and she needed^ time to collect her thoughts.

They drove swiftly and silently after that. Samantha got a confused impression of a grey, overcast sky and tall, sometimes grimy buildings. There seemed to be hundreds of cars, all going the same way and the sense of urgency communicated itself to her. There was a hustle and bustle she had never experienced before and yet, for all that, she found that now she was actually in England she did not feel a stranger. After all, this was her homeland, she was English, even if she felt and spoke more like an Italian.

When the car turned into the courtyard of the Savoy Hotel, her underlying fears crystallized into actual terror and she could hardly force herself to get out when the door was opened for her.

The chauffeur followed her inside and spoke to the receptionist.

"Will you see that Miss Kingsley is taken up to Lady Davenport's suite?" he said, smoothly, and Samantha's eyes widened. Lady Davenport. Her grandmother was Lady Davenport. Her stomach turned over. This was even more frightening than she had expected.

One of the bellboys took her suitcase and asked her to follow him into the lift. Speculative eyes watched their progress.

Samantha was made uncomfortably aware of the limitations of her poplin coat and flat-heeled shoes.

The lift halted on the second floor and she was con ducted down the corridor to her grandmother's suite. The bellboy waited until a maid opened the door and then Sam antha was left in her charge.

By this time Samantha felt rather like a parcel that was being handed round from person to person and felt sure her grandmother must be quite an awe-inspiring; person.

However, she seemed to have reached her destination, for the maid took her coat and said kindly: "Sit down, won't you? Lady Davenport will be with you directly."

"Thank you." Samantha complied with her instruc tions and seated herself on a low couch. The maid left the room, apparently to inform Samantha's grandmother that she had arrived and Samantha looked round her with in terest. It was a ma.s.sive room, beautifully decorated, with a thick carpet fitting into all alcoves. The furniture was expensive and luxurious and the room was heated and wonderfully warm after the cold air outside the hotel.

A few moments later a door opened and Samantha looked round and rose tremblingly to her feet as an old lady came into the room, leaning heavily on a stick. She was very small and fragile looking, with grey hair and a lined face. She was dressed fashionably in a mauve silk two-piece and her eyes, which were a definite blue, twin kled a little.

Samantha stood before her, wondering what she should do; or say. Lady Davenport smiled. She had a warm gentle face and Samantha felt some of her trepidation leave her.

"My dear," she said softly. "Samantha, you're here!"

"Grandmother," said Samantha slowly. "It sounds so strange. I never knew I had any other relations."

The old lady made her way across the room until she was close to her and then said: "You may kiss me, my dear."

Samantha bent and touched the soft cheek with her lips, and then the tension she had been feeling snapped and she put her arms round the old lady and hugged her, feeling tears coming to her eyes.

"There, that's better," said Lady Davenport, her own eyes a little moist. "Shall we sit down, my dear? My legs are hot what they used to be."

They sat, side by side, on the couch, and Lady Daven port looked at her thoughtfully.

"You're much more like John than Barbara," she said, at last "Oh, Samantha, you've no idea how I've longed to see you."

"But why ...?" Samantha halted.

"In a moment, my dear," said her grandmother gently. "Let's have some tea first, and then we can talk."

The maid brought in a tea trolley and for a while the clatter of the cups and the tinkle of spoons on bone china silenced both of them. They each seemed to be studying the other. Both had so much lost time to make up.

When they were finished, her grandmother offered Samantha a cigarette from a onyx cigarette box and after it had been lit, Lady Davenport lay back against the dam ask upholstery.

"And now! You feel refreshed?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you," said Samantha, smiling.

"I was sorry I could not meet you at the airport, but I have a little trouble with my old body and my doctor insists that I rest after lunch every afternoon. Did Barnes find you satisfactorily?"

Samantha smiled reminiscently. She was thinking again of Patrick Mallory. "Yes, he found me" she replied quietly.

"Good." Lady Davenport bit her lip. She was obviously finding it difficult to begin. At least, Samantha thought, she was no ogre. She was a sweet old lady, but where was her mother?

"I suppose I must begin by telling you about my daughter,"

said Lady Davenport slowly.

"My mother?"

"Yes, your mother. Barbara." Lady Davenport sighed. "Your mother is my only child. She was born when both Harold and I were past believing we would ever have any children. I'm telling you this because Barbara was always spoiled and I'm afraid Harold and I were to blame. She grew up accepting everything as her right. When she met your father she wanted him, too. She was eighteen at the time and far too young really to know her own mind. They were married two months later. It was just after the war as you know, and Barbara was an up-and-coming actress in a London repertory company, mainly entertaining the troops and going on tours. You know the sort of thing. Your father was in the Navy and looked very handsome in his uniform. Lots of couples were getting married at that time and Barbara was so sure she was in love. Naturally, soon after the wedding John went back to sea and they saw little of one another for some time. By then you were a little over a year old." She paused and twisted a ring round her finger.

"When Barbara found she was pregnant in the first place she was furious. She had to leave her career and come home to Wiltshire. After you were born, she could not wait to get back again." She frowned. "Oh, my dear, I'm sorry about this, but you were an enc.u.mbrance."

Samantha felt the tears come to her eyes, but she forced them back. "Go on," she said, longing to know and yet dreading the inevitable.

"When John was demobbed, he came home to find you living at Daven with me, and a nanny, of course, and Bar bara back in London. I did not mind. You were a delightful child and I thought the world of you. Unfortunately, John did not see it that way. He thought, and naturally so, that Barbara herself ought to have care of you. Before the war he had been a schoolmaster and he had seen the result of this kind of upbringing on a child whose parents were separated. At any rate, he took you away from me and got a flat in London. For a while the old attachment seemed to work on Barbara, John was so masterful and still a very handsome man. For a while she did only bit-parts and looked after you and lived with John.

"I was sure everything was going to turn out all right, now that John was home again. Barbara seemed happy enough..."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, my dear, but I must be frank, John found out she was having an affair with a film producer. He had probably promised her all sorts of parts in his films. He was a married man too." Samantha felt dreadful. Was this the mother she had so urgently wanted to meet?

"By then, you were nearly four. John refused to speak to Barbara after that. Without our knowledge, he sold everything he could lay his hands on, drew his savings out of the bank and disappeared, with you. Later his solicitors contacted us from Milan to say that he was living in Italy and did not wish to let us know his address.

"Barbara seemed not to care and without her support there was little I could do. She began getting bigger and better parts and as the years went by she became famous. Now she is able to choose her own parts. She is a remark ably good actress, whatever her faults may be."

"I can't believe it," exclaimed Samantha. "How could she do such a thing?"

"Barbara is willful and single-minded. She always inten ded being a success and she has succeeded in her object. She likes men. There have always been men hanging around her. She's like a child in many ways. She does not want to grow any older. The eternal Peter Pan.

"But she must be quite old. I'm twenty-one."

"Yes. She will be forty next birthday. But I defy any one to guess her age correctly."

"You still love her?" exclaimed Samantha, in wonder ment.

"Yes, I love her. She will always be my daughter, my only child. My husband died when she was only seven years old. I blame myself really for the bad things she has done in her life. I was too easy with her. I denied her nothing.

Samantha shook her head. "And .. and did they div orce?"

"Oh, yes, there was a divorce. John's solicitors had plenty of evidence. It was undefended and hushed-up. It was all over before she became famous. No one today knows anything about it", "Oh!" Samantha was silent for a moment. "I'm afraid I've never heard of her. What does she call herself Barbara Davenport or Barbara Kingsley?"

"Neither. Her full name is Barbara Harriet Davenport. Her stage name is simply Barbara Harriet."

"I still don't know anything about her."

"No. Well, you have lived a rather sheltered life, haven't you, and I doubt very much whether John would have risked you seeing much about her."

Samantha felt herself shiver involuntarily. Altogether she did not much like the sound of her mother. She sup posed it was natural that her grandmother should be able to see Barbara's side of things, but from her own point of view Barbara had behaved abominably. She seemed to care for no one but herself.

"So she has never married again?" she asked now.

Lady Davenport shook her head. "No. She has never felt the desire to tie herself completely to one man. At least, she hadn't. I think she is feeling a little differently now. There is a man M Well! That can wait." Lady Dav enport frowned and then straightened her back. Taking one of Samantha's hands she said: "My dear, there is something more you have to know."

Samantha felt apprehensive. What more could there be?

"What else?" she asked cautiously.

"Well, as I have told you, Barbara is a very famous actress today."

"Yes."

"And as such, she must appear to her public as a young and attractive woman."

Samantha frowned. As yet she could not see what all this was leading up to.

"Go on," she said. "Has she refused to acknowledge me as her daughter?"

Lady Davenport smiled wryly. "You are becoming wary, Samantha. I'm sorry about that." She sighed. "No. She wants to acknowledge you as her daughter."

Samantha swallowed. "So where is the problem?"

"You are twenty-one, my dear. That is the problem.

Everyone would know, if she told them your age, that she was much older than she has claimed to be."

"Oh, lord!"

"Samantha dear, try to understand. Barbara looks very: young. At most she could be taken for thirty-two or three."

"So! What is your suggestion, or should I say Barbara's j suggestion?"

"She wants you to agree to being a teenager..."

"A teenager!"

"Yes. Shall we say ... sixteen or seventeen?"

"Absolutely not!" Samantha was indignant. "How can you ask me to do such a thing, after the way she has acted j all these years? No, I refuse."

Lady Davenport sighed heavily, and sank back against the couch.

"I told her you would not agree," she said weakly.

"Well, why should I? I owe her nothing. Nothing at all."

"I agree with you, my dear, but those are the only terms on which she would agree to me having you here. You haven't heard everything yet. You are to live with me at Daven. You will only be in town very occasionally. It is only on these occasions when you need to be a teenager! Back home in Daven you will be able to be yourself. It is a quiet village. No one need know your true ident.i.ty, if you don't wish it so." She took Samantha's hand again. "Is this so much to ask, for myself? It was my idea that you came here. For so long I have wanted to know you. I'm a lonely old woman, Samantha. It would give me great pleas ure to have you with me. Is there so much for you in Italy, that you cannot give it up?"

Her words brought Samantha up with a start. It seemed that there was very little for her in Italy. She had never expected such a thing as this to happen. She had been quite confident that her family would like her, she realized that now. Her only concern had been that she might not like them. Now, knowing the devious methods her mother had used all these years, it was not really surprising that such a proposition should be put to her.

She looked gently at her grandmother. Whatever Lady Davenport's faults had been, she was a sweet and loving old lady. Samantha felt sure she could grow to love her too. They had so much to say to one another. Already she felt a kind of kinship with her. For a moment, she half-wished she had no mother to complicate matters. She could have lived with her grandmother quite happily without any qualms "And if I still refuse?" she asked. "Why couldn't we live in Daven and forget about Barbara's schemes?"

"Harold, my husband, left the house at Daven to Bar bara. He left sufficient for me to live on comfortably, but the bulk of the estate is your mother's. She could make my life a misery, if I disobeyed her wishes. As I've said, Barbara is a very single-minded person. If she is not crossed, she is charming enough. I'm too old now to start crossing swords with her, I'm afraid, and she knows it."

Samantha was genuinely shocked. "Why, that's terri ble!" she exclaimed, a feeling of protectiveness towards her grandmother sweeping over her.

"Yes, well, I've told you the situation. That's how it is."

"But why, if she doesn't want to have a daughter of twenty-one, why does she want to acknowledge me as her daughter, at all? Surely I could be a distant cousin, or a close friend... anything."

Lady Davenport shrugged. "That is Barbara's problem, not mine. I only know that she wants you... but as a teenager. Now, are you agreeable or not?"

Samantha rose to her feet, feeling slightly nauseated about the whole affair. The problem was really quite a simple one.

Either she agreed to Barbara's schemes or she could pack her bags, metaphorically, and go.

She felt that were she better acquainted with this country, that was exactly what she would do, but in her case, Italy was more welcoming.

Then there was the problem of what she could do. She was more than ever convinced that marriage to Benito was not the answer. He attracted her physically, but possibly only because they had been brought up in such close contact with each other.

And finally there was her grandmother. Try as she might, she could not rid herself of the feeling that she was needed here.

Lady Davenport was very old. Might it not be kinder to her to agree to Barbara's plans and then later, when Lady Davenport could not be hurt, explode her plans in her face ?

Had she the right to leave her only relations, however tardy they had been in the past? She was needed now, albeit cunningly, and since heir father died, no one had needed her.

She turned back to her grandmother, sitting hopefully watching her.

"You are young," said the older woman quietly. "Couldn't you afford a few months, a couple of years at most, out of your life?"

"I feel like a publicity gimmick," said Samantha at last. "If I agree, do you think I could look sixteen?"

Lady Davenport smiled. "Easily. At the moment you look little older. Samantha, your life has been calm, un troubled. Your face shows hone of the stresses and strains evident in the faces of some young people. Teenagers to day are a provocative bunch at best, you might even find you enjoy it. I promise you, you will not find life dull."