Part 4 (2/2)
”I know, and for that I'm grateful. At the bottom of me, I've always longed to see this country. Only circ.u.mstances sometimes contrive to make you believe differ ently.”
In a shop which Lady Davenport patronized, off Bond Street, Samantha really found what it was to have money. From the outside the shop had looked ordinary enough, but inside a whole new world opened out for her.
It was called, simply, ”Helene”, but it was one of the most expensive dress establishments in London. Inside the door, Samantha's feet sank into the pale mauve carpet, while the hangings and furniture deepened to a richer purple. They were shown into a salon and were attended by Helene herself, who turned out to be an elderly Frenchwoman, with hands almost crippled by arthritis.
Samantha was stripped down to her undies and measured and weighed up intently. Unused to undressing in front of anybody, she felt embarra.s.sed and stupid, and wished it would soon be over.
”Your granddaughter has a wonderful figure,” remarked Helene. ”Tall and slim, but rounded. There are no angular bones to disguise.”
Lady Davenport looked pleased. ”Exactly what I myself thought,” she said, smiling. ”I think she will dress well, don't you?”
”But of course. Our new designs, slanted at the younger woman, will suit her admirably. She is sixteen, you say?”
”That's right.” Lady Davenport did not sound at all perturbed, but Samantha felt herself blush scarlet.
They spent over two hours in Helene's establishment and by the time they emerged, Samantha felt as though she would never feel modest again. Gone were her old cot ton underclothes and in their place were the sheerest nylon garments she had ever imagined.
Suits, dresses, c.o.c.ktail numbers suitable for a teenager, one long evening dress for special occasions, skirts, slacks, blouse, jumpers. Samantha's head spun from the enor mous amount of clothes that had been hastily slipped over her head and examined critically. Then there were tights; dozens of pairs, and shoes to match every outfit. She could not help feeling thrilled to own so many beautiful things and to know she need not make any more clothes for herself, at least for years.
Barnes had packed heaps of boxes into the boot of the Rolls, but what were left were to be delivered later in the day.
Samantha was now dressed in an orange Courtelie suit, with a short pleated skirt and a loose jacket top, which left her throat bare. Her old clothes had been left at the salon, apparently fit only for throwing away, and even her shoes had been replaced by squat-heeled cream pumps.
The difference in her appearance was staggering and she had stared in amazement at the transformation as it was taking place.
Lady Davenport was a.s.sisted into the back of the Rolls and after Samantha had joined her, she said: ”And now, your hair.”
Samantha ran a questing hand over its silky softness. ”What do you intend shall be done with my hair?” she asked, reluctantly.
Lady Davenport smiled. ”Don't worry, my dear, noth ing much. Teenagers these days wear their hair long, but! it is a little ragged at the ends and I think Raphael might make it a little more stylish. A fringe, I think. Much deep er than the one you have at the moment. To draw attention to those beautiful eyes.”
Samantha coloured again. She was unused to being paid any kind of compliments of this sort.
Raphael's salon was not far away and Lady Davenport left Samantha there, after going in with her and ascertaining that Raphael himself should attend to her, and that he knew exactly what was needed.
While Samantha was under the drier, she was given a manicure and her skin was tested with several different creams.
Finally she was made up by the skilled a.s.sistant and when Lady Davenport arrived to collect her she clap ped her hands in delight.
”Marvellous!” she exclaimed. ”My dear, you look wonderful.”
Samantha was not so confident. She felt awfully like a guinea-pig, but her grandmother was deriving so much enjoyment from the affair that she could not fail to re spond.
The returned to the hotel for lunch and had it down stairs in the restaurant. Samantha attracted a great many interested glances from the other diners and Lady Daven port smiled a little wryly now.
”I think perhaps it is just as well that you are supposed to be only sixteen,” she said thoughtfully. ”I don't think Barbara had any idea you would turn out to be so lovely. Indeed, you are the perfect mixture of both John and Barbara. You have her looks in many ways, and yet you are much taller than she is, and your eyes are certainly more like John's”
Samantha looked down at the grilled salmon on her plate.
”How much longer will it be before I meet my mother?” she asked.
Lady Davenport glanced at her watch. ”Barbara said she would arrive some time this afternoon. She rarely gets up before lunch time when she is not working, and at the moment she is between plays. She has just completed a six months' run on Broadway, and is resting for a month or so, before going into rehearsal for a new play, due to open in the West End.”
”I see.” Samantha nodded. ”And when does she expect to start exhibiting me in public?”
”Please, my dear, don't look at it like that. I'm not sure, anyway. It may be this evening, but I doubt it. Tomorrow evening she is giving a c.o.c.ktail party at her flat, before dinner, so possibly that is when you are to make your debut.”
”Why don't you stay at her flat, while you are in London?”
”Well, Barbara's pace of life would not suit me, my dear.
She may keep late mornings, but they only match her late nights.
She is rarely in bed before the c.o.c.k crows, as the saying goes.”
Samantha, who had been used to both retiring and ris ing early, wondered whether she herself would be expec ted to keep these hours.
After lunch was over, they went up to Lady Daven port's suite. The boxes from Helene's had all been un packed by the maid, whose name, Samantha had found, was Emily. She had been with Lady Davenport for over twenty years, and Samantha wondered what her reaction to all this deception was. She must have known Samantha as a child, too, and would be in no doubt as to her real age.
But Emily kept her own counsel and if this piece of in trigue was to please her mistress, she was not the one to spoil things.
She adored Lady Davenport and would do nothing to hurt her.
Lady Davenport retired to her room to rest for an hour and Samantha was left to her own devices. She lit a cig arette and lounged on the couch, reading some magazines that Emily provided for her. She was restless, and could not decide whether she wanted her mother to arrive or not. She felt a faint revulsion towards her already, and she did not wish to feel any worse about it when she met her. She hoped that Barbara had mellowed with age, but from what her grandmother had said, that did not seem likely.
The door behind her opened and Samantha swung round, expecting to see Emily. Instead she was confronted by a small, exquisitely lovely woman, with short blonde hair and blue eyes.
She was dressed in a clinging suit of crimson velvet and looked vividly exotic as she leaned back against the pure whiteness of the door.
Samantha realized this could only be her mother and she rose involuntarily to her feet. Later as she got to know Barbara better she realized that Barbara had planned such an entrance as this. She knew perfectly well how out standingly beautiful she looked against the background of the door and her daughter was intended to see her this way for the first time. Around her neck was a necklace which sparkled brilliantly, while diamond studs glinted in her ears.
”Well,” she drawled slowly. ”So you are Samantha!”
Samantha felt herself trembling. The moment had come and she was practically speechless. ”Yes,” she man aged quiveringly.
”And you.... are my mother.”
”Obviously.” Barbara straightened and walked negligen tly across the room. ”Well, Mother has certainly worked wonders with you. You look quite ... attractive.”
Samantha felt her body coming back to life. Her moth er's half-sardonic remark had brought the resentment she had been feeling back to the surface.
Barbara halted a few feet away from her and said: ”You'll forgive me if I don't kiss you, won't you? Kissing women is not a habit I enjoy, and besides, there has been too much between us for too long for there to be any real affection between us now.
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