Dancing at the Savoy: A Samantha Duncan Mystery (Samantha Duncan Mysteries Book 9)

by Daisy Thurbin

  “She is talented, isn’t she,” Caroline said as they stood and sipped juice at the interval.

  “She is that,” Samantha agreed. “She played the Scheherazade exquisitely. I know Ella has her heart set on becoming one of the first really successful women conductors, but she could do worse than to stick to the violin; I’m sure everyone in the audience this evening would agree.”

  The rest of the concert was just as engaging, although Ella had no more solo pieces. She told her Mother and Samantha that she had arranged to meet up with some of the other young people in the orchestra for a meal and to unwind from the performance and asked if they would like to join them. Caroline and Samantha begged off and headed back to Chipping Norton.

  “What breed is he?” Caroline asked as she sat at the kitchen table and chatted while her sister prepared Pushkin’s supper.

  “He’s a Russian Blue. I never intended on getting a cat,” Samantha explained as she placed the little pewter bowl on the mat and then sat down across from Caroline while they waited for the kettle to boil. “When my neighbours emigrated to Australia last year, they asked if he could stay with me, just until I could find him a home. Needless to say he decided that this hotel was as good as any, thank you very much,” she laughed. “Anyhow, I’ve grown very fond of him.”

  “Is that why you named him Pushkin? Because of his Russian heritage?”

  “Actually, he had the name when I got him, but that must be why.”

  “Samantha, do you know what we need?”

  “I’ve a feeling I’m about to find out,” Samantha said cautiously.

  “A good old fashioned sleepover,” Caroline said. “Let’s get into our nightclothes and have tea and some toast afterwards for our supper.”

  Samantha and Caroline stayed up talking until the wee hours of the morning. Caroline had insisted that Samantha dig out all of the old family photos and they went through every one of them. It was after two by the time Samantha pulled herself away and went upstairs to bed.

  ***

  “This has been such fun,” Caroline said as she packed her little weekend bag and got ready to leave. “Maybe next time you can come up our way. There are some health spas close by. It might be fun to have a girls’ weekend away some time.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Samantha said. “We mustn’t let the time get away from us again like before. I’ve really enjoyed this chance to catch up on things.”

  Samantha stood at her door and waved as Caroline pulled out of the drive the next morning. She was glad that she and her sister had bridged the gap that had stood in the way of any real family closeness for too many years. They had promised to keep in touch regularly from now on.

  Samantha realised for the first time since Robert’s death just how much her family meant to her. She decided that from now on she would do her part to make certain that they did not drift apart again.

  ________________________

  Three

  Samantha got to Annie’s house right on time. She deposited Pushkin’s carrying box in its usual place on the floor halfway under the sofa, and opened the door so that he could come out in his own time.

  “Thanks, Annie. This’ll save me making an extra trip to bring him over tonight. I’ve got his food and some treats for him and Lucy in the bag. Where should I put them?”

  “I’ll sort that out when we get back. Just dump them on that sideboard for now.” Annie waved in the general direction of the credenza behind the couch and grabbed one of her famously large handbags.

  “All set,” she said as she gave Lucy one final stroke and checked to make sure that she had not forgotten anything.

  They arrived at the Victoria and Albert Museum just as the doors opened. By ten forty-five Annie had given a passing glance to a number of potential candidates, but so far nothing had struck her as quite right. She had in her mind a woman who represented propriety and dignity on the outside but whose demeanor belied a courageous and independent heart. Most of the candidates so far appeared either too sanctimonious or else too treacherous.

  “I think I’ve found her,” Annie said as they stood in front of a young woman who was absorbed in her task of sewing what appeared to be a wedding dress.

  “Why her, in particular?” Samantha asked her friend.

  “I’m not sure. She looks serene in the painting, but there’s a sense of determination to her features that I want my character to have. Look at her jawline. It’s strong and determined but not stubborn, yet she has a softness to her expression that suggests that she’s content. She’s exactly how I pictured my protagonist in my own mind, but I find that it’s far easier to make her come alive if I’ve seen her in person.”

  “Do you know yet what her story is, or does that only come to you once you know your heroine?”

  Annie explained that it was a bit of both. She admitted to her friend that her writing was a bit formulaic in the sense of its structure, although each story had a different set of facts and a different cast of characters.

  “I suppose that it’s what the young writers today might call a ‘hook’. I prefer to think of it as the special ingredient that the author injects to capture the reader’s imagination.”

  “And you think she’s the one who will do that for your next book?”

  “I think so. One of the things I like about her is that her expression gives nothing away. It’ll be my job to give her the sort of personality that will fit in with the role she’ll play in my little drama.”

  “It sounds a lot more complicated than just writing a Paper on facts that are already laid down for you,” Samantha said. “I could never create anything out of thin air the way you do.”

  “Nothing gets created from nothing,” Annie laughed. “I just look for whatever is already there and spin a story around it. Baugniet probably didn’t invent his Seamstress any more than I’m going to create anything new in my novel. If I can make the character in my book half as real as he has with his painting, I’ll be more than happy. Now I’ve met her, I don’t need to see anything else here. Unless you wanted to look around some more, shall we head over to The Sladmore Gallery and see what your Mr Bugatti has for us there?”

  “It’s a straight run from here to Piccadilly Circus,” Samantha said as they made the short walk back to South Kensington Tube Station.

  “This’ll be my first visit to The Sladmore,” Annie said. “It’s always exciting to discover some new treasure right on our doorstep.”

  “I’m ashamed to say that I’ve never been here before either,” Samantha admitted as they walked to the part of the gallery devoted to Bugatti.

  She had heard of Rembrandt Bugatti, of course. He was one of the more important sculptors of animalia figures of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. She looked carefully at several of his sculptures that were displayed inside. The notice prohibited flash photography but otherwise it was allowed. She retrieved her iPhone from her little pouch. Fortunately it had a camera that took excellent photos without the need for a flash.

  “The woman at the ticket counter said not to miss the gardens,” Samantha said. “The website showed several of Bugatti’s larger pieces outside in more or less their natural environment.”

  They went out through the doors that led to the extensive gardens outside of the gallery.

  “Either he travelled quite a bit to see big game in their natural habitat or else he spent a great deal of time at the zoo,” Annie commented as they passed by a very real looking African lion. “That one looks as if she might devour anyone who came within fifty feet of her cubs.”

  “I read that he spent a great deal of time at the ones in Paris and in Antwerp, but so far as I know, he never saw his animal subjects in the wild,” Samantha said. “She does look life-like. The way he’s captured her movement through the tall grass is quite extraordinary. Somehow he’s caught that sense of flight or fight. I can practically see the muscles tensing up under her flank there. It’s as if she’s o
n high alert for any threat to herself or her babies.” Samantha gestured towards the lioness’s lower back as she studied the sculpture.

  “It’s not so different, your needing to see the pieces in person to raise your level of enthusiasm for your presentation and my having to find a painting or sculpture that makes my character come alive for me,” Annie observed. “But you were so dead set against power-point and using slides when we were at Christ Church. What changed your mind?”

  “I guess it was partly because I saw how effectively other people used it. I had always thought that it was a gimmick for lecturers who couldn’t hold their audience’s attention any other way. Then, in Paris, when I did the paper on Camille Claudel and used the little plaster sculpture I’d bought at the Rodin Museum, I realised that I was a first class hypocrite.”

  “What do you mean? How was that being a hypocrite?”

  “Because of my superior attitude about being a purist who would never stoop to gimmickry.”

  “But that wasn’t a gimmick,” Annie protested. “You simply wanted to let them see the face that went with the name.”

  “That’s what I tried to make myself believe,” Samantha admitted. “And remember, I told you how I’d used the little replica pendant my cousin made for me when I gave the talk at the new Faberge Museum and the ones at the Hermitage and at Berkeley. I think it’s what I heard someone refer to once as a distinction without a difference. And besides, it can really liven up a presentation. One or two of the papers were so boring that I decided that I’d do whatever it takes to make mine more interesting and entertaining!”

  “You’re just being too hard on yourself,” Annie said. “But at least it’s let you see that you aren’t really compromising your principles when you use the available tools to get the job done. Plato might’ve thought that using the internet for research was a bit of a cheat if he’d been able to see someone today using one to illustrate some philosophical point; but I’ll bet he’d have been the first in the queue if they’d sold computers at the Acropolis electronics shop,” she laughed.

  They walked through the gardens as they chatted while Samantha photographed the Bugatti pieces that particularly caught her eye. She included a few of other artists in case she wanted them for future reference.

  “I think I’ve seen enough,” Samantha said. “Now I’ve got a much better sense of the talent behind the images I downloaded from the internet. It’s just gone eleven-thirty, what do you think?”

  “Why don’t we get Selfridges out of the way before lunch since it’s just down the street,” Annie suggested. “Is Ms Grantham expecting us?”

  “I told her we’d get there between half eleven and midday so we’ll be right on time.”

  They walked the few blocks to the Oxford Street shop.

  “Doctor Duncan, Doctor Hollis, what a pleasure to see you both,” Jeane Grantham smiled and greeted them. She noticed that Doctor Duncan wore one of the silk blouses she had bought the very first time she had met the rather eccentrically dressed professor. In fact, she looked rather trendy with her jeans and an old tweed jacket and the now fashionable brogues that Jeane had sold to her on a previous visit. Doctor Hollis, with that tall slender figure looked her usual well turned out self in her grey flannel trousers and blazer. Samantha had told her on the phone what they needed and she had already set several things aside for them.

  “We’ll skip the juice today since we’re off to lunch after we leave here,” Samantha told the consultant. “But thanks, anyway.”

  She and Annie sat down on the comfortable chairs near the trying on rooms while Ms Grantham went to retrieve the garments she had collected for them.

  Annie paid for her new black cashmere trousers and a harlequin squared black and beige cashmere jumper and settled back down on the sofa to wait for her friend. She had just opened a magazine when Samantha emerged from the dressing room. She still wore her jeans and the same blouse, but she had added an Armani tweed jacket and a smart pair of black brogues.

  “Very nice,” Annie said. “And you look just like you.” She knew how Samantha hated anything that seemed to suggest she was masquerading as someone else.

  “I think they’re just right. It’ll be cold when I’m in America and I wanted something a bit nicer than my old jacket for when I’m out and about; and I really needed another pair of shoes. My old ones have all but fallen to bits; I think I’ll have to demote the ones I bought here last winter to ‘bang around’ status.”

  Samantha kept the new jacket and shoes on and packed the old ones away in her carpetbag rucksack. Annie managed to fit her purchases into her more voluminous than usual handbag. Ms Grantham thanked them for coming in and meant it. Samantha Duncan had been her biggest challenge, but somehow between them they had managed to bring that odd look of hers into the twenty-first century.

  “Did you have anywhere special in mind for lunch?” Annie asked as they emerged into the bright winter sunlight.

  “Actually I did,” Samantha said. “I thought that if it’s all right with you, it’ll be your Christmas present. I know you mentioned that you’d be with your daughter and her family over the holidays, so I thought we should do this before I go off to my Conference.”

  Samantha hailed a taxi outside the store and instructed the driver to take them to The Strand. Normally they just used the Underground for getting about when they were in London.

  “All part of our special treat,” Samantha explained when her friend looked at her with a surprised expression on her face.

  “Samantha, I had no idea we were going anywhere so posh for lunch. No wonder you wanted to wear your new jacket,” Annie exclaimed as the taxi drove right up to entrance of the iconic glass fronted hotel.

  The doorman opened the tall impressive Art Deco doors and greeted them with a dignified nod. Samantha told the concierge that they had reservations and asked him to direct them to the Savoy Grill.

  “I haven’t been here since they carried out all the restorations,” Annie said as the maître d’ showed them to a table for two a bit away from the fishbowl kitchen where a half dozen chefs prepared the gourmet fare in plain view of the guests.

  “It all looks very smart now,” Samantha said as she admired the trendy variation on the 1920s Art Deco theme. I love the way the prisms in the chandeliers throw little patterns of light all across the ceiling like that. Actually I wouldn’t mind perusing the foyer a bit more closely when we get ready to go, unless you’re in a hurry. On their website they say that they tried to reproduce it exactly as it was before they disassembled it during the War.”

  “I’d like that,” Annie agreed. “We didn’t really get a chance to see much of it on the way in.”

  They turned their attention to the menus.

  “I think I’ll have the pork,” Annie told their server when he came to take their orders. “Shall we split a starter?”

  “What did you have in mind?” Samantha asked.

  “Well, if I know you, you’re going to have the scallops. I thought we might share the beetroot salmon.”

  “I don’t know how you read my mind, but I think I will have the scallops; and a side salad. I’m easy either way about the starter.”

  Annie did not reply. It had nothing to do with telepathy, she mused. Samantha always chose one of three or four items. Since scallops were on the menu, it had not taken a rocket scientist to figure out what she would order.

  “Just the pork for me, then,” she told the server.

  “That was absolutely delicious,” Annie said as she finished the last bit of her lunch. Samantha had one last mouthful of salad and they prepared to leave.

  “But let me get half of the check,” Annie suggested.

  “Not a chance. I hate Christmas shopping and now I don’t have to do any,” Samantha laughed.

  They found their way back to the main entrance area. Samantha picked up a little brochure that had copies of the original pictures of the foyer taken in the 1920s and 30s before everyth
ing had to be hurriedly stored away during the War. She compared each grouping of furniture and the various fixtures and fittings to the photographs. Whoever had carried out the work had paid particular attention to detail.

  “They’ve done a splendid job,” she said as they walked around the large reception area and admired the results.

  “They’ve even restored all of the little lamps and mirrors and other accessories to the exact same positions they occupied in the pictures,” Annie observed.

  “They have. Oh, except that’s new,” Samantha pointed in the direction of the wall just to the side of the concierge station.

  ***

  “Samantha, it was a wonderful day out. And I can’t thank you enough for that scrumptious lunch. It was a real treat.”

  “It was for me, too. My scallops were cooked to perfection.”

  “So was the pork, but even if it hadn’t been, the ambience would have made up for it. I don’t imagine I’ll get another Christmas present that I’ll enjoy half so much.”

  Annie walked with Samantha to her car to say goodbye.

  “Have a wonderful time in America. Now that you have your slide presentation all sorted, you should really be able to wow everyone.”

  “I hope so. And thanks again for looking after Pushkin; don’t spoil him too much while I’m away.”

  Samantha waved as she slid behind the wheel of her little Figaro and checked her mirror before she backed out. She felt very fortunate to have made such a good friend.

  The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time she pulled into her own driveway.

  It had been a good day out. She had found the perfect jacket to take on her trip, the restaurant had exceeded her expectations and she had really enjoyed their visit to the V & A and to The Sladmore Gallery. Both she and Annie had achieved their objectives and that was always a plus. All she had to do now was to finish packing her bags and set out the clothes that she planned to wear on the flight. Then she could just chill out in front of the telly until it was time to go to bed.