Masquerade. Part 10

would agree."

"Not even if I invited her too?"

"Oh!" Samantha's heart subsided again. Now the idea was not at all appealing. To spend an evening with Patrick Mallory and her mother would be like playing the eternal gooseberry.

They were so much older and more sophisticated than herself, and having to behave as a sixteen-year-old was infinitely worse than being her own age. She would have to drink lemonade or Coca-Cola and only smoke if her mother permitted her to do so.

"I can see the idea doesn't appeal to you," he remarked, and she realized he had been studying her expressive face. She felt he could read her thoughts and she swallowed hard and said: "I don't think either of you would enjoy having me to tag along," she said quietly. "Besides, Andrew has promised to ring me some time today. He wants to take me out while I'm in London himself."

"I know. He rang me this morning before you arrived. He seems quite smitten for once. Only don't take him seriously, will you? Andrew is not recommended for his constancy."

Samantha rose to her feet and replaced her, coffee cup on the table.

"Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Mallory " she said stiffly."

And for your understanding. I must go."

He smiled and rose also. He was very close to her and she could smell the feint male fragrance about him, min gled with the scent of shaving cream and good tobacco. His nearness disconcerted her and she felt her heart begin its wild tattoo again. Why did he affect her in this way? Like the heady champagne that she and her grandmother had consumed the other evening at supper.

"Don't go cold on me, Samantha," he said softly.

"I don't understand you," she said uneasily. "I think you're laughing at me."

He smiled, and it was the most attractive smile she had ever seen. There was no mockery in it, merely a warmth and understanding and she moved swiftly away from him.

"I.... I've got to go. Goodbye, Mr. Mallory."

"Au revoir" he corrected her lightly, and moving quickly himself he opened the floor to allow her to precede him into the hall.

Patrick Mallory drove his Aston Martin into the quiet mews yard off Kings Road in Chelsea where his nephew Andrew and Ken Madison shared a flat. The mews was small and he had to manoeuvre the big car expertly to circle the central railings within whose protective spikes a lonely poplar spread its branches, thus giving the mews its name.

The flats opening oil to the mews were quite expensive, for all their diminutiveness, and were in the main occupied by theatre people with an occasional artist thrown in for good measure.

Patrick parked the car and slid out, feeling the cool breeze strong upon his bronzed face. Today, dressed in a thick camel coat which was thigh-length, and a dark blue suit, he looked every inch the successful man he was.

He left the car and crossing the yard he mounted the outside staircase which led to his nephew's flat. Alt the flats were self-contained and each had its own entrance.

He had a key to Andrew's flat and opened the door and entered without ceremony. The door opened into the lounge, and as it was only ten o'clock in the morning, the lounge was deserted.

He pocketed the key after closing the door behind him and crossed the lounge to the door leading to Andrew's bedroom.

Opening this door, he looked in. Andrew was buried! under a mound of blankets and had apparently not heard Patrick's entrance.

Smiling, Patrick crossed to the bed and bending over his nephew he said loudly: "Good morning, Drew."

There was a m.u.f.fled gasp and the covers were bundled over and Andrew's head appeared.

"Lord! I he exclaimed, "Do you want me to have a heart attack? Coming here in the middle of the night!"

Patrick straightened up. "I'll have you know it's ten o' clock.

It's time you were up and about, it's a beautiful fresh morning."

Andrew groaned and sat up in the bed, weakly. "And since when have you known what the weather is like at this hour?"

"Since today," replied Patrick easily. "Come on, I want some coffee, and I don't intend making it myself."

"Then why didn't you wake Ken? He's much more likely to appreciate your company than me, at this time in the morning."

Patrick grinned, loosening his coat. "What an uproar ious welcome! What time did you get to bed last night?"

"This morning," corrected Andrew, sighing. "About four o'clock. We went to a party..."

"Oh!" Patrick nodded. "Anyway, come on. I'm serious about that coffee."

With a resigned expression on his face, Andrew slid out of bed. He was wearing only pyjama trousers and he reached for a thick dressing gown which was draped over the end of the bed.

Patrick walked back into the lounge and from there through to the minute kitchen. He filled the coffee perco lator and by the time he returned Andrew was in the lounge and searching for a cigarette.

Patrick offered him his case and then lounged down on to an armchair.

"And what's troubling you, so early in the morning?" asked Andrew as he drew deeply on his cigarette.

"There's nothing troubling me, exactly," replied Pat rick. "I want to talk to you about Samantha Kingsley."

Andrew stared. "Samantha!" he ran a hand over his ruffled hair. "I haven't seen her since the night of Bar bara's c.o.c.ktail party, and that must be about four days ago,"

"I know."

"Well! So where do we go from here?"

"Have you tried to see her?"

"Sure. Are you kidding? She's a nice kid. I liked her a lot."

"I thought you did." Patrick frowned.

"Have you seen her since then?"

Patrick's frown deepened. "Not exactly, no."

"Have you seen Barbara?"

Patrick studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. "Well, I've seen her. But I haven't taken her out, if that's what you mean."

Andrew was transparently puzzled. He couldn't under stand Patrick's interest in a sixteen-year-old girl like Sam antha. Of course, she was Barbara Harriet's daughter, but of late he had thought Patrick was losing interest in Barbara. Before his holiday he had hot gone out of his way to see her, and her pursuit of him was becoming ludicrous in their circles. And Patrick did not like to be pursued liked to do the pursuing himself. That was where so many women failed with him.

Patrick, seeing the concern on his nephew's face, smiled suddenly.

"All right, Andrew, don't get worried. I'm not going overboard for a teenager, if that's what you think. I am concerned about Samantha, though."

Andrew heard the percolator and walked into the kitchen to get the coffee. When he returned with the tray, Patrick said: "I met her on the plane coming over."

Andrew's eyes widened. "From Milan?"

"Yes."

"But at the party you never acknowledged that fact." He frowned. "Neither did she, for that matter. Come to think of it, though, when you arrived, she did go rather pale. I wondered why, at the time."

Patrick shrugged, "There were reasons that I don't intend to divulge here, why we preferred to appear stran gers."

"But why?" Andrew shook his head as he handed Patrick a mug of steaming liquid.

"As I have already said, that's our affair." Patrick grimaced.

"There's no great secret, believe me. It's Samantha's affair, not mine. The reason I came here is because I want you to do something for me."

Andrew looked wary, and slowly seated himself on the arm of a low chair. "You surprise me," he said dryly. "I thought you'd come here out of kindness of your heart!"

Patrick looked amused. Then he said: "When you tried to see Samantha again, what happened ? "

"Well, I telephoned, but Barbara answered. She said that Samantha was not feeling too well after the sudden change of climate, and that she had developed a chill."

"When was this?"

"The day after the party, of course. When else?"

Patrick was thoughtful. "I see. And have you rung since?"

"Yes. Yesterday. I wanted her to come to this party we were going to last night, but this time Lady Davenport answered, and she said that they would be leaving for Daven in a couple of days and that Samantha was too tied up with her mother's plans to see me."

Patrick rose to his feet. When he had seen Barbara, by accident yesterday, at a restaurant they both patronized, she had been gus.h.i.+ngly effusive about Samantha. She had said that she was sorry she had not been able to see him but with Samantha being, here she was completely absor bed with being a mother.

She had completely ignored the fact that Patrick had made no attempt to see her and al though Patrick did not mind her self-deception he was disturbed about Samantha's part in all this.

He wanted to see Samantha himself, he had something to ask her. But he did not see how he could possibly do so without her mother being present, or alternatively preven ting such a meeting altogether. He had been foolish to show his feelings so plainly the night of the party. If he had acted as the dutiful suitor, none of this would have happened.

But his absolute astonishment at seeing the girl he had so strangely been drawn to on the plane had thrown Ms whole system into turmoil and to spend the rest of the evening alone with her own mother had been anathema to him. He had to have time to think. After all, the night of the party he had been told she was only sixteen.

Now he seemed to be no further forward. He had hoped that Andrew might have had access to Samantha, but it seemed that Barbara intended severing all connections her daughter might have with his family.

And, if she whisked Samantha away to Daven, it would. be practically impossible for anyone to see her. Daven was a remote village to begin with, and apart from that, what excuse could he offer as to the reason he wanted to see Samantha?

"Look," he said., turning back to his nephew, "I've had a phone call from your mother this morning. She says that they are holding a barbecue this evening."

Andrew nodded. "I know, I saw Dad in town yesterday.

"Are you going?"

Andrew shrugged. "I wasn't. But I suppose you have some reason why I should."

Patrick half-smiled. "Well, I wondered whether Bar bara might agree to attending such a thing. If so, I could invite both her and Samantha, explaining that you are go ing and would like Samantha to go, too."

"And do you think Barbara will agree to that?"

Patrick shrugged. "Well, I like to think I have some in fluence with Barbara."

"That's the understatement of the year!

"... and if I should invite her to go, I doubt whether she would refuse."

"Agreed."

"So, if I invite Samantha to go with you, it might crane off."

"I don't understand all this," exclaimed Andrew. "I gather it's Samantha you really want to see."

"Yes."

"But why?"

Patrick shrugged his broad shoulders. "Are you seri ously interested in her?"

"No more than usual. She's a decent kid. I won't hurt her.

I'm not inhuman, you know. Who knows, it might come to something yet!"

"I doubt it," replied Patrick, frowning. "I .... I might have other plans for Samantha."

"But you said ... I mean... she's only sixteen ..."

"Is she?" Patrick looked enigmatic. "We'll see. So, any way, I can count on your a.s.sistance?"

"Of course. You could have rung to tell me all this. At a more convenient hour."

"I like to perform my duties early in the morning," re marked Patrick, smiling mockingly. "I'll go now, and you can return to your slumbers. I'll ring you later in the day with the final arrangements."

"Do that thing," said Andrew dryly, and Patrick finished his coffee and left.

Patrick drove back to his own house. As he had said it was a beautiful September morning, and apart from the cool breeze it promised to be a really warm day. He left his car outside the front door and let himself into the buil ding. Mrs. Chesterton emerged from the kitchen at his entrance and said hurriedly: "You have a visitor, Mr. Mallory."

For a moment, Patrick wondered whether it might be Samantha, but he was swiftly disillusioned.

"It's Miss Harriet, sir. She has been waiting for half an hour."

Patrick raised his eyebrows. "Indeed!" He removed his overcoat. "All right, Mrs. Chesterton, I'll see her."

"Yes, sir!" The housekeeper took his coat. "I put her in the morning room."