Part 6 (2/2)
Barnes had become more relaxed with her now and they chatted quite amiably on the way over to Barbara's apart ment in Belgravia, thus relieving Samantha of her tension. Barnes left her in the entrance hall of the flats. He told her to take the lift up to the third floor and walk along the corridor until she reached number thirty-three.
”Miss Harriet will be waiting for you,” he said. ”Good luck!”
”Thank you.” Samantha smiled. ”I'm going to need it!”
The lift was a contraption which Samantha had never used alone and it was rather terrifying to press the b.u.t.ton and then leave herself solely in the hands of the mechan ism. However, the lift was well adjusted and in no time at all it had stopped at the third floor and the gates slid back to allow her to get out.
The corridor was carpeted and she walked slowly along it, looking at the numbers on the doors. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three. She was there!
She tapped lightly and then discovered that there was a bell.
She pressed the bell just as the door was opened by a uniformed maid.
”Oh, I'm sorry,” she said confusedly, feeling that this was a very poor beginning. ”This is Miss ... Harriet's apartment, is it not ? ”
”That's right,” said the maid uncompromisingly. ”You must be Miss Kingsley.”
”That's right. My mother is expecting me.”
”I know. Come in!”
Samantha stepped inside on to a black pile carpet. It was so stark that she stared in amazement and had to force her eyes away as the maid urged her into the room.
The room itself was like an advertis.e.m.e.nt for modern living.
The astonis.h.i.+ng black carpet was relieved by pure white velvet curtains hanging across the ma.s.sive window which ran the length of one wall. The furniture was futur istic and uncomfortable-looking; white leather armchairs and an ebony c.o.c.ktail bar, basket-weave loungers in black and white stripes and low coffee tables designed in a kind of stonework into the shape of huge hands.
Samantha felt as though she had accidentally stepped into a shop window, so bare of human habitation was the room, its white walls only relieved by carved plaques in a variety of colours. It was a long, high-ceilinged room and several doors opened from it, although all were closed at the moment. At the opposite end of the room to the window were French doors which apparently led out on to a bal cony and after the maid had departed to advise her mother of her arrival, Samantha gravitated in this direction and tentatively tried the handle.
The French door opened and she emerged on to a wide balcony which overlooked Belgrave Square. She was breathing in the refres.h.i.+ng air, when a voice behind her made her jump.
”Admiring my view?”
Samantha swung round. Barbara was standing in the doorway, dressed this evening in a black c.o.c.ktail dress of heavy silk which clung to every lissom curve of her small body.
Samantha stared at her. She looked so lovely. Howl could she be all bad?
”Yes,” she said at last. ”I gather I'm the first to arrive!!
”Yes. Come along to my bedroom and take, off your coat Clyde can brush your hair, too. It's a little windswept.”
”Clyde? Was she the ... person ... who let me in?”
”Yes. Did she antagonize you?”
”A little”
Barbara smiled. ”Clyde's all right, when you get to know her. Come along.”
Barbara's bedroom was a pleasant oasis after the desert of the lounge. Here the carpet was palest pink while they drapes were rose-coloured brocade. The feminine divan was upholstered in cream and rose-coloured satin and Samantha felt this room was less of a showpiece.
Clyde combed her hair and put a little lacquer on it to keep it in place after she had removed her coat, while Bar bara complimented her on her choice of dress.
”It's the perfect thing for a party of this kind,” she approved.
”Naturally, my dear, you won't be able to drink any alcohol in public, so shall we have a small c.o.c.ktail now before the others arrive?”
”Thank you,” Samantha nodded.
”Good. Clyde, bring the drinks in here for us, will you? We don't want anyone to arrive unexpectedly and find my teenage daughter indulging in secret drinking.”
After Clyde had gone Barbara continued: ”And this way, if anyone does arrive we shall both emerge from the bedroom together and everyone will think we have been exchanging girlish confidences.”
While Barbara and Samantha were in the bedroom, Clyde set out the c.o.c.ktail gla.s.ses, provided trays and on a low table she produced for the purpose were set sand wiches, c.o.c.ktail sausages on sticks, canapes, small slices of toast spread with caviare; everything anyone could wish for at an intimate affair of this kind. The drinks were many and plentiful and by the time the doorbell rang to admit Barbara's first guests, everything was in order.
The first people to arrive were Annabel and Charles Barratt.
Charles was Barbara's agent and his wife was much younger than he was. Annabel chatted away quite charmingly to Samantha, asking about the sheltered life she had led in Italy, and how she was enjoying London.
Samantha had been briefed that she was supposed to have been brought up by an elderly nanny in Italy, edu cated at a convent (which was in fact true) and had been brought into society now at her own suggestion. Barbara was supposed to have been keen on a finis.h.i.+ng school, but she, Samantha, had persuaded heir mother to allow her to come to London.
After the first few explanations, Samantha found her self slipping easily into the part, and presumed it must be her maternal forebears. After all, Barbara must have got her talent from somewhere.
There were several couples at the party who were a.s.so ciated with the theatre, and after the early introductions Samantha lost track of names. Two young men of about eighteen arrived about half an hour after the party had begun, and Barbara brought them straight over to her daughter.
”Samantha,” she said, ”I want you to meet two friends of mine. Ken Madison and Andrew Frazer.”
Samantha smiled and shook hands with the two young men, and then someone else arrived and Barbara excused herself to greet the newcomers.
Andrew Frazer was by far the most attractive of the two and as Ken Madison seemed more interested in speak ing to Barbara's agent than he did to Samantha, Andrew was left alone with her.
”Would you like another?” asked Andrew, indicating the gla.s.s of pineapple juice in her hand. ”What it that? Gin?”
”You must be joking,” exclaimed Samantha, laughing. ”My mother would never allow me to drink spirits ... at my age,” she added mischievously.
”Of course.” Andrew grinned. ”Sorry.” He helped himself to a c.o.c.ktail, and then taking her arm drew her over to a low couch and they sat down together. ”Now,” he said, ”tell me all about yourself.”
Samantha smiled. ”My life hasn't been very interesting. Tell me about you. What do you do?”
”Well” Andrew leaned his head back against the lea ther upholstery. ”Ken and I do a double act together, act ually. If it wasn't for the fact that you have lived in Italy all these years, I venture to say you would have heard of us. We call ourselves the Kendrews. Get it?”
”Yes. Very good. Do you sing?”
Andrew chuckled. ”Yes. With guitars, the lot. It's, the current craze here, or didn't you know that either?”
”Oh, yes, I know that there are a lot of young men about with ... er ... groups. Isn't that right?” ”Yes. Well, we're a group of two. We have a drummer, Ricky Landor, but he's a bit of a drag ...”
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