Masquerade. Part 8

Andrew glanced wryly at his uncle, and Patrick said: "I've been suggesting that Samantha might like to have dinner with us this evening, but Andrew had other ideas."

"I should think so, too," exclaimed Barbara, with scarcely concealed intolerance. "Darling, Samantha has to make her own friends. She's too old to want to come along with us!"

"She just might enjoy it," remarked Patrick sardonic ally. "To listen to you, Barbara, banishing your 'daughter to Daven as soon as she gets home, refusing to invite her to join us for dinner, anyone would think you didn't want her around!"

Barbara's face suffused with colour, and Andrew turned away to hide his amus.e.m.e.nt. Of all the men Bar bara had known, only Patrick had ever treated her like this, and she suffered his outspokenness hardly.

"That's not the point!" Barbara rushed into explana tions.

"The places we go would bore Samantha. Andrew's much more likely to know what she would enjoy."

Patrick raised his eyebrows, and Andrew's eyes twin kled.

"Get the message, Pat?" he asked mockingly, and Patrick grinned.

"I think so," he murmured, his eyes flickering over Samantha with disturbing intensity. Turning, he took Barbara's arm, guiding her back into the lounge. He said something to her in an undertone, but they could not hear her reply, however, Samantha was sure it would be some thing vitriolic. Barbara had never looked more furious, and it was evidently a novel experience for her to have someone else in the limelight while she was around.

The c.o.c.ktail party ended soon after seven, and as Pat rick Mallory had departed at least half an hour before that, Samantha was quite glad to leave with Andrew at his suggestion. She told her mother she was leaving, but from Barbara's smouldering eyes she gathered she was not in her good books. In fact, Samantha was sure that had they been left alone together, Barbara would have vented the whole force of her temper on her. As it was, she was forced to appear at least outwardly composed and only Samantha saw the fury behind her eyes.

Andrew took her to a coffee bar in Chelsea. As he had said, the music was outrageous, with a beat group hammer ing out tune after tune, and the young members of the club spent their time gyrating madly to one dance after another. To Samantha, it was all astonishingly hew and she could not believe that she was expected to get up and dance in like manner.

When Andrew was recognized, a guitar was thrust into his hands and he was expected to sing. Samantha was amazed, but when he began to sing; the type of folk songs which he and Ken Madison had made famous, she was absolutely enthralled, When he returned to their table she caught his hand enthusiastically.

"You were great!" she exclaimed.

Andrew grinned. "Come on," he said. "Let's dance. And this time we'll dance together. Right?"

"Right"

She enjoyed dancing with Andrew. He held her close against his rather thin frame, and his boyish charm enve loped her. She found herself thinking as a sixteen-year-old might think, and was amused at the swift transition in herself. A couple of hours ago with Patrick Mallory, she had wanted to be a woman of his set like her mother. Now with Andrew she was reverting to a teenage outlook.

At the memory of Patrick Mallory, her new-found contentment partially evaporated. Try as she might she could not rid herself of the magnetic attraction he held for her. Andrew was nice; he was amusing and obviously not with out experience with girls, but Patrick Mallory was a diff erent matter. He, too, would be experienced, and from the rather jaded expression he sometimes wore, his experiences had not all been pleasant ones.

But the charm of his dark good looks and lazy eyes, combined with his cynical out look were a challenge to any woman and Samantha felt all woman in his presence.

"What are you giggling about?"

"Oh, nothing, really," she said, sighing. "Patrick Mal lory is a very attractive man, isn't he?"

"Oh, lord!" Andrew stared at her. "He's far too old for you."

"I know, I know. I was simply being objective."

"Were you?" He sounded sceptical.

"Are you an only child?"

"Me?" he exclaimed. "Heavens, no. I have two brothers and three sisters, inclusive of one set of twins. Why?"

"Is Patrick your mother's brother?"

"Yes. My mother's name is Virginia, but she usually gets Gina."

"Are you the eldest?"

"Yes, we're quarter Italian. Pat and my mother are half Italian."

"That explains your uncle's dark complexion."

"Oh, yes. My mother's fairer. She takes after their father. He was partly Irish, by the way. Quite a compli cated heritage, isn't it?"

"And you? With a name like Frazer, is your father a Scot?"

"Partly." Andrew laughed. "What's it like to be a thor- oughbred?"

Samantha laughed. It was a pleasant uncomplicated evening; and she enjoyed herself. However, she was ex hausted when she reached the hotel, but to her surprise her grandmother was waiting up for her. When she had rung earlier to ask her permission to go out with Andrew her grandmother had said she would have an early night Now she said; "Did you have a good time, my dear? You look radiant. You must have enjoyed yourself."

"I have," exclaimed Samantha. "But it's very tiring."

Lady Davenport smiled "I expect it is."

"Why did you wait up?" Samantha was curious. "Weren't you tired after all?"

Lady Davenport bit her lip. "I wanted to speak to you, Samantha. Barbara ... Barbara came round here this evening.

She was in rather a temper."

Samantha stopped what she was doing. "Why did she come?"

"She was apparently furious because her current ...

admirer... had let her down."

Patrick Mallory?" Samantha stared at her grand mother.

"You know him?"

"I met him this evening. Didn't she tell you?"

"Well; yes, actually, she did. Darling, did you say any thing to generate such emotion? She was in a flaming tem per. She said that you made her look a fool."

Samantha's eyes widened* "For heaven's sake! She made herself look a fool. Doesn't she have any pride?"

"It's been a new experience for her, to find a man who is not immediately enslaved by her," replied Lady Davenport. "Patrick Mallory seems to be playing the game rather coolly."

"He would," murmured Samantha under her breath, unaware that for all her grandmother's worried words, she herself had felt a surge of relief ... or something akin to it... that her mother had not been able to spend the even ing with Patrick Mallory.

"Well, anyway, Samantha, do be careful what you do in your mother's presence. I don't want you to be hurt, and Barbara can be a tigress when she is crossed."

"But I don't see that I did anything," exclaimed her granddaughter. "I've just spent the evening with Andrew Frazer.

He's apparently Patrick Mallory's nephew.. What was wrong in that?"

"Nothing. I understand the c.o.c.ktail party caused the disturbance. She seemed to think you were laughing at her.

Were you?"

Samantha sighed. "Not really. Oh, Grandmother, if you could have seen the way she tries to possess that man! He simply didn't seem to like it. It was her own fault if he chose to spend his evening elsewhere. She tries to domi nate him. I don't think any woman could dominate Patrick Mallory."

"Evidently not. All right, Samantha."

Samantha hesitated a moment. Should she tell her grandmother about her meeting Patrick Mallory on the plane?

She supposed she ought to, but she could not find words to begin something like that tonight. She was too tired. Too weary of all the intrigue and secrecy and hate ful deception.

"Do you mind if I go to bed now?" she asked quietly.

Lady Davenport smiled and shook her head. "No, dear. Of course not. 'I'm sorry I had to spoil your evening by this conversation."

"You haven't," said Samantha gently, bending to kiss her grandmother's soft cheek. "Goodnight, darling, and don't worry.

I think I've grown up enormously since our first interview. I'm confident everything is going to turn out for the best."

Her grandmother pressed her hand. "You're a great comfort to me, Samantha. I'm glad your father decided that you ought to come here."

Samantha chuckled. "So am I! It's proving quite an experience, one way and another."

CHAPTER IV.

Lady Davenport went out the following morning quite early.

She told Samantha she was going to see her solicitor and Samantha was left to her own devices. She felt sure that Barbara would appear before the morning was over, demanding an explanation of some kind, and she decided to go out instead, and postpone the row which would surely be coming.

She dressed in green slacks and a red bulky sweater and slipped on a hip-length llama coat which was soft and warm and casual. She was about to leave the suite when the telephone rang.

Shouting to Emily that she would answer it, she lifted the receiver.

"Lady Davenport's suite,"' she said. "Can I help you?"

"Indeed you can."

Samantha felt her heart turn a somersault. It was Pat rick Mallory's voice. It was unmistakable, so deep and warm and lazy.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Mallory," she said rather unsteadily.

"Do you want my mother? Fm afraid she's not here."

Patrick interrupted her. "No. It's you I want to speak to.

Didn't you expect it?"

Last night she had, but this morning she had almost forgotten in the hurried avoidance of her mother.

"I expect so,' she replied with a sigh. "I suppose you want an explanation. I don't really know where to begin..."

"No, I should imagine it would be rather a difficult sub ject to broach. Look, I don't want to hear any confidences over the telephone. I want to see you."

Samantha subsided on to a low chair. "Oh, do you?"

"Yes. Now. Immediately. What are your plans for to day?"

"Well.... er ... Andrew said he would ring. I don't know what my grandmother is doing. She has gone to see her solicitor this morning."

"Good. That means you're free."

"I suppose I am. Why? Are you coming round here?"

"Oh, no." She heard him laugh softly. "I imagine Bar bara will be appearing there some time today. I have no desire to have our conversation broken by the advent of your dear mother."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Samantha felt disturbed. She was not even sure she ought to see Patrick Mallory at all, but how was she to refuse?

"I really don't know whether I should discuss anything with you, without my mother's consent...." she continued slowly.

"If you don't discuss this with me, I myself will have a few choice words with your mother," retorted Patrick, in a voice which was quite cool now and curtly demanding.

Samantha had every belief that he would do just that thing, and her nerves were straining already. She was be ing placed in an intolerable position and the fact that he was creating that position did nothing to endear him to her. She was feeling quite angry herself now, and she said: "All right, Mr. Mallory. As you seem to be holding all the cards, what do you suggest?"

"That's better. Relax, Samantha. I'm not going to eat you, you know, even if you would prove to be a delectable dish, I want you to come to my house."

"Your house!" Samantha was staggered. "You have a house in London."

"Obviously," he returned dryly. "The address is 34, High Tower Road. It's off Great Portland Street, do you think you can find it?"

Samantha bit her lip until it bled. "I should imagine a taxi driver might know where that was," she remarked dryly, and he laughed.

"Oh, Samantha, you have changed. A week ago, you wouldn't have known how to get a taxi."

"People change," she replied tartly.

"Yes, they do." He seemed to wait for her to reply and when she did not do so, he continued: "All right, I'll ex pect you in a short while."