I switched out the lamp on the desk and listened. As there was no light, whoever it was outside might think I was asleep.
The moonlight shining through the blind over the window was strong enough for me to see that now somebody was turning the handle of the door.
I could see the knob twisting, but as it was locked, the door would not open.
Then I heard a whisper.
“Samantha! Samantha!”
I knew who it was, I knew that silky over-confident voice only too well, even though he was whispering.
‘He’ll think I’m asleep,’ I told myself.
I was glad that I had had the sense to lock not only the bedroom door but also the one out of the bathroom.
I thought I heard footsteps going down the passage, but I wasn’t certain because the carpet was very thick and yet I was sure that he had gone away.
I gave a sigh of relief.
It was rather frightening and eerie to hear those knocks and my name whispered on the other side of the door. I stood up from the writing table and walked towards the bed.
I was just beginning to undo the sash of my dressing gown when I heard a sound, just a tiny scrape, as if someone moved a chair. It came from outside on the balcony.
I held my breath and then I saw against the blind a huge dark shadow.
I don’t know why but the shadow was more frightening than if I had seen Lord Rowden himself.
It was like all the goblins that had frightened me as a child rolled into one.
I remembered then that I had not locked the window. I had merely pulled it to. I was terrified and it made me run across the room and unlock the door into the passage.
The landing and stairs were in darkness, but the windows in the hall were un-curtained and the moonlight was streaming in.
I flew down the stairs and knew with some detached part of my mind that the front door would be heavily bolted and barred. So I rushed down a passage that led to a door at the side of the house, which opened onto the swimming pool.
I had come in that way in the afternoon when I had said I would fetch my bathing suit. I reached the door, found it was locked, but the key was in the lock and there was only one bolt at the bottom.
I opened it and still driven by a wild fear that I could not explain even to myself, I started running away from the house in the direction of where I thought the stables would be.
I passed the swimming pool and was moving over the grass with a high yew hedge on one side of me when I ran into a man.
I gave a scream of terror and then, as his arms went round me, I realised that it was David!
“Samantha!” he said sharply. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh – David – David!” I said, my voice almost incoherent because I was so breathless, “take me away – please – take me away – I can’t stay here – I can’t!”
“What’s happened? What’s the matter?” he asked again.
I held on to him, finding it very hard to get my breath, terrified that he would leave me.
“Take me away!” I cried again. “He’s trying to get into my bedroom from the balcony.”
“Who is?” David asked then added before I could speak, “Need I ask? I should have known that swine would try something like this.”
He held me very close and I felt secure and safe and no longer so afraid, but I was still trembling.
“Where were you going?” he asked.
“I was just trying to get – away,” I answered. “He – terrified me.”
“I’ll take you back to London,” David said and added savagely, “We shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”
I had no answer to that and with his arm round me we walked through the garden until we found the stables where the cars were garaged.
There was nobody about and David brought out his Bentley.
“Get in,” he said. “But I can’t take you to London like that.”
For the first time I realised that I was only wearing my nightgown and a dressing gown.
“I-I can’t – go b-back to my – room,” I said, my voice shaking.
“No, of course you can’t,” he said. “Don’t be frightened, Samantha, everything is all right now.”
“You are – not still – angry with me?” I asked.
He didn’t answer for a moment and then he said,
“I have a feeling that I have behaved rather badly. Do you forgive me, my darling?”
“Of course I do,” I said quickly. “It’s just that I’ve been so – unhappy. Lord Rowden – frightened me – and everything has been – h-hateful!”
My voice broke on the last word.
David put his hand over mine.
“You are cold,” he said gently. “I am going to fetch you some clothes and then we’ll go back to London.”
He started up the car without saying anymore and drove round to the kitchen quarters of the house.
He stopped.
Then he bent forward and kissed my mouth.
“Don’t be frightened, my sweet,” he said. “I may take a little time to collect your things, but you’ll be quite safe here until I come back.”
He went away, disappearing into the darkness of the house, and I was no longer afraid. Actually, I don’t think I was even cold.
I was happy – ridiculously, gloriously happy, because David had kissed me again.
Reflection 13
Lady Meldrith looks more like a pretty parakeet than when I last saw her.
She is obviously delighted to see Giles and gushed,
“How sweet of you to come and to bring little Samantha with you.”
As I am at least six inches taller than she is, I can’t help feeling that the ‘little’ refers more to my station in life than to my actual height.
The drawing room, when it isn’t full of people, is most impressive and the flowers, all hothouse and very expensive, are beautifully arranged.
I hoped I would see someone I know, but, although they are familiar faces from the magazines, there is no one I have actually spoken to before.
Prince Vezelode of Russia is rather disappointing. He is tall and was obviously good-looking when he was young, but he is now over fifty.
“What has the Prince been doing since the Revolution?” I asked the man standing beside me. I never heard his name, but I gathered that he is a Member of Parliament.
“Washing up in some sleazy European restaurant, I expect,” he answered.
I look surprised and he said,
“We ought not to laugh about it – the Russian aristocracy have had a terrible time in the last eleven years since they escaped from the Bolsheviks.”
“The Prince looks very prosperous now,” I said.
I noticed that he has enormous pearl and diamond studs in his white shirt. My companion smiled.
“He has Wilfrey’s Waffles to thank for that.”
I wait for the explanation and he added,
“That’s the Princess – the fat little woman with dyed hair talking to our host. She was a Miss Wilfrey and a packet of their famous waffles stands on every American breakfast table.”
I laugh and then I said,
“Talking of waffles makes me feel quite hungry. Surely it’s time for dinner?”
I am hungry owing to the fact that we worked all through lunchtime with a very special order that Giles had promised to do in record time.
I wish that editors were a little more considerate and would make up their minds what they want before the last moment. We always have a rush just as the paper is ‘going to bed’ – which seems to me a most inappropriate expression.
My companion is counting.
“We are twenty-nine,” he said, “and, as I imagine that there will be an even number of dinner guests there is obviously one more to come.”
Even as he spoke I see someone come in through the door and I know who it is!
My heart seemed to leap in the air and turn several somersaults and I have t
he uncomfortable feeling that I am going to faint.
It is David! The one person I was sure I wouldn’t see here tonight – David!
I want to run away, to hide and I can’t think what I can possibly say to him!
Reflection 14
They say that when a person is drowning they see their whole life pass before their eyes in the space of two seconds.
I know that when David walked into the room a few minutes ago that’s what happened to me.
Not indeed my whole life, but I saw again everything that had happened that miserable week before he went away.
He was so kind when he drove me back from Bray Park that I felt all our misunderstandings were over.
In some extraordinary way of his own and doubtless by tipping lavishly he got the nightwatchman to wake up a housemaid who packed my clothes. The nightwatchman then brought my suitcases and David’s to the car.
Before that, David had come back to me and told me what he had arranged. He sat in the car beside me and I slipped my hand into his and said,
“Please – forgive me.”
“I have told you already,” he answered, “that I’m the one who needs forgiveness.”
He held my hand very tightly and nothing seemed to matter, not even the fact that I was wearing my dressing gown, which, I realised, would look rather peculiar when I arrived back at the boarding house.
But David solved that problem too. We stopped on our way back to London and he opened my suitcase. He found a dress that had a warm jacket and told me to go into the wood by the side of the road and put it on.
He was so sweet and understanding that I didn’t feel embarrassed and changed behind a tree in the moonlight. Then David packed my nightgown and dressing gown for me and we drove on.
When we arrived at the boarding house, he kissed me gently and said,
“You are tired, Samantha, and you’ve had enough to put up with tonight. Try not to worry about us or anything else. Just go to sleep.”
“When shall I see you?” I asked, knowing that I should have waited for him to say it, but the words were out before I could stop them.
“I’ll pick you up at eleven o’clock,” he answered. “Wear something simple and we’ll go and have lunch somewhere in the country.”
The next day we drove out of London well away from the direction of Bray Park and found an amusing little pub in a small village in the depths of Hertfordshire.
The food wasn’t very good, but I didn’t mind and David didn’t seem to either, and we talked for hours about all sorts of things, except, I remembered afterwards, about ourselves and our love.
It was as if we both knew that was a controversial subject and were determined to avoid a quarrel! But of course, it cropped up again that evening after we had been out to dinner and continued to do so every night.
David wanted me to go back to his flat and I wouldn’t.
I was afraid that, when we arrived there, I would let him make love to me, after which there would be no more need for arguments about whether I should go away with him for the weekend or not.
“Are you afraid of me, Samantha?” he asked, when I refused to do what he wanted.
“I suppose I am,” I replied, “but also of – myself.”
“Can’t you understand,” he said, “that love is so important that we shouldn’t waste it in this ridiculous manner – loving each other and yet not being happy as men and women have been happy since the beginning of time?”
I didn’t answer, but he knew what I was thinking.
“Do you really believe marriage would make us any happier?” he asked savagely. “It’s only because, like all women, you want to put a man in a cage. You want to fence him in as if he was a wild animal and keep him all to yourself. I would get claustrophobia, Samantha, and all the weeping in the world wouldn’t stop me going away if I wanted to.”
“At least I should be your wife,” I said unwisely.
“And what difference would that make?” he asked. “Except of course, I should have to support you financially.”
“I wasn’t thinking of that,” I said.
“Well, I am!” he answered. “I not only do not want a wife, but I also can’t afford one.”
I looked surprised because, after all, he owns a Bentley and I know, although I haven’t been to his flat, that it is a very expensive block and that he has a manservant to look after him.
As usual David knew what I was thinking.
“I’m making money at the moment,” he said. “Of course I am. But how long will it last? People like me have turned out only a ‘flash in the pan’ before now and the promise of a film may be just ‘pie in the sky’ – who knows?”
All that week I seemed to be suspended between Heaven and Hell.
One moment I would be ecstatically, wonderfully happy because David was sweet to me and I knew he loved me. The next moment he would say something bitingly sarcastic and I would feel utterly despondent and in the depths of misery.
I suppose we were both very much on edge by the time Friday came round and there was the inevitable question hanging over me as to whether I would go away with him or not.
Sometimes he would try to coax me.
“Be sensible, darling,” he would say in that voice which would have charmed a bird out of a tree. “I love you! I’ve never met anyone so utterly and completely fascinating and it’s only natural that you should excite me. I want you to belong to me. I want you all for myself.”
He would kiss me until the world whirled round me and I felt as if we were alone in a Paradise of our own.
Then breathlessly I would have to say,
“No – David! – No!” and come down to earth with a bang!
“Damn you!” he said once. “You’re enough to drive a man to drink!”
I was just going out to get some lunch on Friday when the telephone rang and, as I pulled open the door of the studio, Miss Macey said,
“It’s for you, Samantha.”
I ran back hoping it was David, and it was.
“Listen, Samantha,” he said. “They’re starting the film of my book and I have to go to America. If I hurry I can get on The Queen Mary at Southampton tonight.”
“Tonight?” I repeated.
“Yes,” he replied, “but it’s going to be a rush. Could you be very sweet and pack my things for me? I had no idea this was likely to happen and I’ve given my man the day off.”
“Yes, I will pack for you,” I agreed.
“I’ll telephone the porter and tell him to let you into the flat,” David went on. “You’ll find my suitcases in a cupboard in the hall. I’ll need tails and a dinner jacket.”
“How long will you be away?” I asked in a very small voice.
“I’ve no idea,” he answered. “They have cast the film, it’s definite. Hurry, Samantha, or I shall miss the train from Waterloo.”
I jumped into a taxi and went to his flat.
It was the first time I had seen it and I thought it very attractive with a big red leather sofa and red curtains to match. There were masses of books and the furniture, even to my inexperienced eyes, was antique and obviously valuable.
The bedroom was nice too, if rather severe. I found the suitcases where David said they would be and started to pack his clothes.
Fortunately Mummy had shown me years ago how one should pack for a man with the trousers at the bottom of the case, then the coats, the underclothes and lastly the shirts on top, so that they wouldn’t get crushed.
I thought David’s pyjamas were very alluring, all in heavy silk and embroidered on the pocket with his initials.
He had white backless waistcoats for the evening, which had been invented by Michael Arlen and, although I have never seen him in his tailcoat, I was sure he would look very elegant in it.
I tried not to think while I was packing for him that he was going away from me and how empty my life would be without him.
I knew that I was going to feel ghastly o
nce he had gone, but I told myself I must try to be glad for his sake that his book was going to be made into a film and that he would make lots and lots of money.
I had filled one suitcase and was just putting his handkerchiefs, collars and ties on the top of the second one when the telephone rang.
I picked it up thinking that it might be David and a woman’s voice said,
“Can I speak to Mr. David Durham?”
I thought it would seem strange if anyone guessed who was answering the telephone, so I assumed a Cockney accent.
“’E ain’t ’ere yet.”
“Will you please give him a message when he arrives?” the voice said. “This is Lady Bettine Leyton speaking. Tell Durham that I am leaving now for Waterloo and that I have made the arrangements about the cabins on the ship. Is that clear?”
“Very clear,” I answered and hung up.
I stood staring at the telephone for what must have been a long time.
Then I heard a key turn in the door and a moment later David walked in.
“Are you there, Samantha?” he called as he reached the hall.
He came into the bedroom and said,
“You’ve done my packing! You are an angel!”
Then he looked at my face and asked sharply,
“What’s the matter?”
“Lady Bettine has just telephoned,” I answered in a voice that didn’t seem to belong to me, “to say that she’s leaving now for Waterloo and has arranged the cabins on the ship.”
I paused – and then added,
“How nice for you to have her next door or are you going to use only one cabin?”
I saw David’s lips tighten and he said,
“To the pure, all things are impure. So that’s the construction you put on her message,”
“I’m not a fool,” I replied. “You needn’t pretend she’s not going with you – or why. I saw the way you behaved with her at Bray Park.”
David looked at me and I saw the anger in his eyes.
“Is there any reason,” he asked nastily, “why I shouldn’t behave in any way I see fit?”
“No, of course not,” I answered. “All you want is to go away with a woman and any – woman will do.”
Say Yes Samantha Page 10