Part 5 (1/2)

We couldn't possibly feel as any natural mother and daughter should feel. I'm sure John put paid to any ideas you may have had about me.”

”He told me you were dead,” said Samantha in a cold little voice.

Barbara smiled at this. It did not disturb her one iota.

”Did he, indeed? Well, he certainly wasn't taking any chances, was he? Was he afraid the same thing might hap pen again, I wonder?”

”There was no fear of that,” retorted Samantha heat edly.

Barbara smiled again, more broadly. ”Oh, really! And are you such a woman of the world that you can pa.s.s judgment, just like that?”

”I don't know what you mean, but I think you behaved badly.” The words were out before Samantha could pre vent them.

”Do you, indeed? And have you never been attracted by a man who seemed slightly out of reach?”

”No.”

”Of course, you wouldn't have.” Barbara's voice was bored.

”But you would hardly find any eligible men in a village in the back of beyond.”

”We lived in a beautiful village,” retorted Samantha angrily.

”We were very happy together. I never needed any other man.”

”How charming!” Barbara turned away, and as she did so, something about her struck Samantha as being famil iar. It was strange, as they could not possibly have met before, and yet...

there was something about her.

”Well, I suppose Mother has explained the position,” said Barbara now. ”Are you agreeable?”

”Obviously,” returned Samantha. ”Or I shouldn't be here, should I? Wasn't I to be s.h.i.+pped back where I'd come from, if I refused?”

Barbara laughed softly. ”My dear, don't hate me so much. I am your mother after all, and I don't want anyone to think we don't like each other.”

Samantha took a cigarette from the box on the low walnut table and lit it abstractedly.

”Do you smoke much?” asked Barbara thoughtfully.

”Why?”

”Well, my dear, you won't be able to smoke in public, will you?”

Samantha frowned. ”I don't smoke a lot,” she said bluntly.

”And I'm seriously considering whether to go through with this.”

”I shouldn't change your mind, now, my dear. After all, think of all the money that has already been spent on you. Mother did take you shopping, didn't she? That suit looks like one of Helene's creations.”

Samantha pressed her lips together mutinously. Of course, her mother was right. Lady Davenport deserved some consideration. After all, had it not been for her, Samantha would never have agreed to this in the first place.

”Yes, it is,” she said now, staring angrily at the other woman.

”I thought so.” Barbara smiled. ”Do relax, darling. I haven't committed a murder, you know. John probably lived a much happier life alone than he could ever have done with me. We just didn't mix. Like oil and water.”

Samantha thought how hard Barbara was. She was used to people being open and frank about everything. If Bar bara believed that, she was practising the art of self-deception.

Perhaps she did that all the time. Or had she really no conscience? It seemed this was nearer the truth.

”Now,” Barbara lounged on to a low chair, removing her gloves, ”I want you to call me Barbara. I'm sure you'll find it much more to your taste, too. You could hardly call me Mother after this, could you?”

”Frankly, no.” Samantha felt disgusted.

”Good. What did you call John?”

”John.”

Barbara smiled. ”How amusing! You must be one of the few children who have called both your parents by their Christian names.”

Samantha drew on her cigarette and walked over to the window. Barbara watched her speculatively. Her eyes nar- rowed. Samantha was really not at all what she had expec ted.

She was much lovelier than she had ever imagined. And her height gave her an added advantage.

Still, reflected Barbara brightly, most men preferred a woman to be small and dainty like herself. Samantha could never bring off the kittenish things she could.

But her hair was a glory of gold and silver and Barbara wished her own hair would stay that way without the in-numberable rinses she had to have nowadays, to rid her self of the few grey hairs.

Samantha for her part was wondering how she was go ing to stand this continual bickering with her mother. It was a kind of polite bickering, that was true, but there was no love lost on either side. To Samantha, who had come to England prepared in part to accept her mother uncondi tionally, this was doubly unsteadying and she felt out of her depth.

She could understand slightly that it must be frustrat ing for Barbara to look so young and yet be verging on forty, and had she been welcomed, as she had expected to be, she might have agreed willingly to this scheme. But after learning about the past history which had led up to her father's exile, she could not help but feel differently. And now, to be confronted by this cold, calculating female, who seemed unable to have any normal parental feelings, the world seemed a very hostile place indeed.

She reflected than in twenty-four hours she had had her childish dreams burst like balloons before her eyes. Already she felt older, more mature, and certainly more wary.

She was inestimably relieved when a few moments later, Lady Davenport emerged from her bedroom. She stopped abruptly at the sight of her daughter.

”Barbara!” she exclaimed. ”You're much earlier than I expected.”

Barbara had crossed to a table on which was a tray con- taining an a.s.sortment of drinks, and was in the process of pouring herself a whisky when her mother came in.

”Yes, I am, aren't I? I couldn't wait any longer to meet my charming daughter.”

Samantha turned away at this.

Lady Davenport bit her lip and looked questioningly at them.

The atmosphere in the room was not pleasant and she was wondering what had been said to make Samantha look so weary and dejected.

”Well,” she said, ”don't you think you have a beautiful daughter?”

Barbara turned round holding her gla.s.s negligently. ”Yes, indeed. In fact, she's quite a surprise in many ways.” She sipped her drink, eyeing her daughter mockingly over the rim of the gla.s.s.