Masquerade

“Oh, yes, there was a divorce. John’s solicitors had plenty of evidence. It was undefended and hushed-up. It was all over before she became famous. No one today knows anything about it.”

“Oh!” Samantha was silent for a moment. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of her. What does she call herself. Barbara Davenport or Barbara Kingsley?”

“Neither. Her full name is Barbara Harriet Davenport. Her stage name is simply Barbara Harriet.”

“I still don’t know anything about her.”

“No. Well, you have lived a rather sheltered life, haven’t you, and I doubt very much whether John would have risked you seeing much about her.”

Samantha felt herself shiver involuntarily. Altogether she did not much like the sound of her mother. She supposed it was natural that her grandmother should be able to see Barbara’s side of things, but from her own point of view Barbara had behaved abominably. She seemed to care for no one but herself.

“So she has never married again?” she asked now.

Lady Davenport shook her head. “No. She has never felt the desire to tie herself completely to one man. At least, she hadn’t. I think she is feeling a little differently now. There is a man … Well! That can wait.” Lady Davenport frowned and then straightened her back. Taking one of Samantha’s hands she said: “My dear, there is something more you have to know.”

Samantha felt apprehensive. What more could there be?

“What else?” she asked cautiously.

“Well, as I have told you, Barbara is a very famous actress today.”

“Yes.”

“And as such, she must appear to her public as a young and attractive woman.”

Samantha frowned. As yet she could not see what all this was leading up to.

“Go on,” she said. “Has she refused to acknowledge me as her daughter?”

Lady Davenport smiled wryly. “You are becoming wary, Samantha. I’m sorry about that.” She sighed. “No. She wants to acknowledge you as her daughter.”

Samantha swallowed. “So where is the problem?”

“You are twenty-one, my dear. That is the problem. Everyone would know, if she told them your age, that she was much older than she has claimed to be.”

“Oh, lord!”

“Samantha dear, try to understand. Barbara looks very young. At most she could be taken for thirty-two or three.”

“So! What is your suggestion, or should I say Barbara’s suggestion?”

“She wants you to agree to being a teenager …”

“A teenager!”

“Yes. Shall we say … sixteen or seventeen?”

“Absolutely not!” Samantha was indignant. “How can you ask me to do such a thing, after the way she has acted all these years? No, I refuse.”

Lady Davenport sighed heavily, and sank back against the couch.

“I told her you would not agree,” she said weakly.

“Well, why should I? I owe her nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I agree with you, my dear, but those are the only terms on which she would agree to me having you here. You haven’t heard everything yet. You are to live with me at Daven. You will only be in town very occasionally. It is only on these occasions when you need to be a teenager. Back home in Daven you will be able to be yourself. It is a quiet village. No one need know your true identity, if you don’t wish it so.” She took Samantha’s hand again. “Is this so much to ask, for myself? It was my idea that you came here. For so long I have wanted to know you. I’m a lonely old woman, Samantha. It would give me great pleasure to have you with me. Is there so much for you in Italy, that you cannot give it up?”

Her words brought Samantha up with a start. It seemed that there was very little for her in Italy. She had never expected such a thing as this to happen. She had been quite confident that her family would like her, she realized that now. Her only concern had been that she might not like them. Now, knowing the devious methods her mother had used all these years, it was not really surprising that such a proposition should be put to her.

She looked gently at her grandmother. Whatever Lady Davenport’s faults had been, she was a sweet and loving old lady. Samantha felt sure she could grow to love her too. They had so much to say to one another. Already she felt a kind of kinship with her. For a moment, she half-wished she had no mother to complicate matters. She could have lived with her grandmother quite happily without any qualms.

“And if I still refuse?” she asked. “Why couldn’t we live in Daven and forget about Barbara’s schemes?”

“Harold, my husband, left the house at Daven to Barbara. He left sufficient for me to live on comfortably, but the bulk of the estate is your mother’s. She could make my life a misery, if I disobeyed her wishes. As I’ve said, Barbara is a very single-minded person. If she is not crossed, she is charming enough. I’m too old now to start crossing swords with her, I’m afraid, and she knows it.”

Samantha was genuinely shocked. “Why, that’s terrible!” she exclaimed, a feeling of protectiveness towards her grandmother sweeping over her.

“Yes, well, I’ve told you the situation. That’s how it is.”

“But why, if she doesn’t want to have a daughter of twenty-one, why does she want to acknowledge me as her daughter, at all? Surely I could be a distant cousin, or a close friend … anything.”

Lady Davenport shrugged. “That is Barbara’s problem, not mine. I only know that she wants you … but as a teenager. Now, are you agreeable or not?”

Samantha rose to her feet, feeling slightly nauseated about the whole affair. The problem was really quite a simple one. Either she agreed to Barbara’s schemes or she could pack her bags, metaphorically, and go.

She felt that were she better acquainted with this country, that was exactly what she would do, but in her case, Italy was more welcoming.

Then there was the problem of what she could do. She was more than ever convinced that marriage to Benito was not the answer. He attracted her physically, but possibly only because they had been brought up in such close contact with each other.

And finally there was her grandmother. Try as she might, she could not rid herself of the feeling that she was needed here. Lady Davenport was very old. Might it not be kinder to her to agree to Barbara’s plans and then later, when Lady Davenport could not be hurt, explode her plans in her face?

Had she the right to leave her only relations, however tardy they had been in the past? She was needed now, albeit cunningly, and since her father died, no one had needed her.

She turned back to her grandmother, sitting hopefully watching her.

“You are young,” said the older woman quietly. “Couldn’t you afford a few months, a couple of years at most, out of your life?”

“I feel like a publicity gimmick,” said Samantha at last. “If I agree, do you think I could look sixteen?”

Lady Davenport smiled. “Easily. At the moment you look little older. Samantha, your life has been calm, untroubled. Your face shows none of the stresses and strains evident in the faces of some young people. Teenagers today are a provocative bunch at best, you might even find you enjoy it. I promise you, you will not find life dull.”

Samantha wondered what her father would think of her if he knew. After all, it was he who had virtually sent her back to her mother. She guaranteed he would never have agreed to anything of this kind. Subterfuge was abhorrent to him. And yet, her mind argued, had he not practised a certain kind of subterfuge himself, allowing her to believe her mother was dead when actually she was very much alive?

“All right,” she said at last, “I’ll agree. At least for now. I won’t guarantee my actions until I try out this masquerade.”

“Oh, my dear. I’m so glad, and so grateful. You’ve made me so happy.” There were tears in Lady Davenport’s eyes and Samantha felt glad she was able to make at least one person happy.

“And now,” said Lady Davenport, “we can get down to details.”