Part 6 (1/2)
She was crossing to the lift back in the hotel when a voice hailed her. She swung round. It was a man's voice and as far as she knew, she knew no men in England.
A man of medium height and build was coming towards her.
His fair hair was tinged with grey in places and he looked about forty, Samantha thought.
”Yes?” she said curiously. ”Can I help you?”
”You are Barbara Harriet's daughter, aren't you?”
”Yes, that's right. But who are you? Why are you speaking to me?”
The man smiled, turning his rather harsh face into a more human countenance. ”My name is Martin Pryor. I'm a... friend of your mother's.”
”Oh, really. And how did you know I washer daughter?”
”You're rather like her,” h replied, and noticed with shrewd eyes the way Samantha looked a little startled at this. ”Would you like a drink?”
Samantha looked up at him with surprised eyes. ”I'm not eighteen yet,” she replied smoothly, not quite liking his manner.
The man half-smiled at this, and Samantha felt un- comfortable.
”Look,” he said, ”it's nearly twelve, but how about hav ing some coffee in the lounge? I'm sure I could arrange it.”
”I'm sure you could,” remarked Samantha coldly. ”However, I'm not in need of any refreshment at the mo ment, thank you. If you will excuse me ....”
”Hey, wait a minute. I've been waiting here over half an hour to see you.”
”Have you?” Samantha frowned. ”Did you contact my grandmother to letter know you were here?”
”Actually, no. When I arrived I asked to speak to you and I was told you had already left the hotel. I decided to wait,”
Samantha looked sceptical. ”Well, surely anything you have to say to me you can say right here, in the foyer.”
”Okay, okay. Let's sit down.”
After they were seated he said: ”I suppose I ought to tell you I'm a newspaper reporter.”
Samantha stiffened. ”Indeed you ought!”
”Don't freeze up on me, honey. I only want a story from you.
Like how long have you been living in Italy, and how well do you know your mother...”
Samantha rose to her feet angrily. ”I don't intend discussing my private affairs with you or anyone else,” she said coldly.
”Now you really must excuse me. I have thing! to do .. .”
She turned and strode away, and Martin Pryor lay back in his seat and watched her with an amused look in his eyes, So that was the seventeen-year-old daughter; or had Bar bara said sixteen? Either way, she was a very self-possessed teenager. He smiled, and rose to his feet, and walked into the bar.
”Good afternoon, Mr. Pryor,” said the bartended ”Your usual?”
Martin nodded. ”And have one yourself, Harry.”
”Thank you, sir. Did you see Miss Kingsley?”
”Yes, I saw her.” Martin sipped his drink. ”Barbara has certainly produced a beautiful daughter, hasn't she?”
Harry grinned. ”If you say so, sir. I must say I've not seen much of her.” ”No, you wouldn't have.”
Meanwhile, Samantha had reached her grandmother's! suite and when she opened the door she found Lady Davenport seated at a bureau, writing a letter.
”Oh!” exclaimed Samantha, as she entered. ”Grandmother, do you know a man called Martin Pryor?”
Lady Davenport swung round. Her face was disturbed.
”Yes, I know him, child. Why do you ask?”
”Because he's just waylaid me in the foyer and started asking questions about me and Barbara.”
”Oh, dear.” Lady Davenport frowned. ”And what did you say?”
”I refused to answer. I didn't like him at all. He seemed too confident for my likings.”
Lady Davenport smiled wryly. ”Martin Pryor is very confident. He is also one of the most influential men in Fleet Street, He writes a gossip column for the Amba.s.sa dor. The whole paper is slanted at famous people and his 'column is the Mecca for anyone wis.h.i.+ng to make, their name known to the public. Everybody reads it.” She turned back to the bureau so that Samantha could not see her face. ”It is especially enlightening about any scandal in the film or theatre world.”
”I see. I suppose he is one of the people who would make a beano about Barbara having a twenty-one-year-old daughter.”
”Precisely.” Lady Davenport turned back to her grand- daughter. ”You did perfectly right, downstairs. Never say anything unless you have been briefed first. Statements made to the press can be misconstrued and quoted out of context.”
”All right, Grandmother, I understand. Have you had lunch yet?”
”No. We'll have it up here. Ask Emily to see about it, will you, dear?”
Samantha nodded and Lady Davenport smiled. ”Are you looking forward to the party this evening?”
”Not particularly. It's quite frightening.”
”Nonsense. Remember, however you may feel, people will want to meet you simply because you are Barbara Har riet's daughter.”
”I know. That's what bothers me.” Samantha managed a smile. ”Anyway, it will soon be over.”
”It will only be the start,” replied her grandmother, sighing.
”You are in for quite a lot of publicity, one way and another.”
It had been arranged that Barnes should take Samantha to her mother's apartment that evening at about five-thirty. The party was due to begin at six, but Barbara wanted Samantha there in good time to show her the apartment and to give her her instructions. Samantha felt rather like I maid who had been hired for the evening to act as Barbara's daughter and who had to learn her lines beforehand.
She was dressed this evening in a tunic of apricot Courtelle, which hung straight to her hips, only to fall into a thousand tiny pleats from there to the short hem, which seemed indecently short to Samantha.
She wore a brown corded velvet coat over her dress and dark brown shoes. Her hair was left loose and she looked young and lovely.