'Yes, Daddy. Did I wake you?'
'No, I couldn't sleep, so I thought a glass of warm milk might help,' he explained, emerging from the small kitchen in his pyjamas and dressing-gown.
Samantha, small, petite and fair, lived up to her name, whereas James Little was anything but small. Tall, lean and with dark hair flecked abundantly with grey, he was not at all what his name suggested. Samantha was more like her mother who had died so suddenly and unexpectedly from some unknown virus a year ago.
'Why is it that every time Clive and I go out somewhere, you suffer from insomnia?' she asked her father exasperatedly as she joined him in the kitchen. 'Why don't you like Clive? He's so nice.'
James Little frowned down into the glass of milk
before him on the table. 'That's the trouble, my dear, he's too nice to be true.'
'Oh, Daddy, stop being so suspicious!'
`I'm sorry, Samantha,' he apologised swiftly. 'I know you imagine yourself in love with him and that he's vaguely hinted at marriage, but I can't help feeling that his sincerity is nothing more than a bluff. He's stringing you along, my girl, and you've fallen for his charm because you're basically sweet and innocent.'
Samantha sprang instantly to the defence. 'Clive wants to marry me, but at the moment his salary is far from sufficient to
`If he earned a hundred thousand Rand a month,' her father interrupted cynically, 'his salary would still be insufficient. There'll always be another reason for not naming the day.'
There were few subjects on which she and her father disagreed, but Clive was one of them. On occasions such as this her anger rose sharply and she found it impossible to understand her father's reasoning. Clive had been nothing but polite and charming to her father on the rare occasions they had met, but her father persisted with this peculiar idea that Clive was anything but sincere.
`How can you say such things about him, Daddy!' she demanded, hurt and angry as she pulled out a chair and joined him at the table.
'I can say it, Samantha, because I'm a good deal older than you, and in my job as personnel manager I've met all types of people. Clive Wilmot is a bounder, and you're too blind to see it.'
Samantha slammed her fist on to the table. 'You have no right to say that! You don't know Clive as I do, and your opinion is biased. He loves me and wants to marry me—he's said so and I believe him.'
`Well, I hope for your sake that your faith is justified.' James Little mellowed slightly. 'You may be twenty, Samantha, but you're still my little girl, and I worry about you. I want you to be happy, but ... forgive me ... I can't see Clive Wilmot bringing you anything but sorrow.'
Samantha expelled the air from her lungs and knew that she was fighting a losing battle. 'Oh, Daddy, perhaps if you knew him better ...'
`Perhaps,' he agreed, although she could see from his expression that nothing would ever dissuade him from the opinion he had formed. He smiled at her suddenly and the tension evaporated. 'There's plenty of milk in the fridge. Make yourself some cocoa.'
'By the way, I met Brett Carrington quite by accident this evening at the Trydon Hotel,' she informed her father as she warmed the milk and searched for the jar of cocoa in the cupboard. 'You have heard of him, haven't you?'
The name Carrington can open almost any door in the Eastern Cape, especially here in Port Elizabeth,' her father replied unexpectedly. 'How did you meet him?'
Samantha told him briefly of how she had wandered accidentally into Brett Carrington's private garden, and of the embarrassing moment when she was discovered and was told whom she was speaking to. But she carefully omitted the fact that Clive had been so upset at meeting an old acquaintance.
`Do you know him at all?' she asked casually as she mixed her cocoa and joined her father at the table once more. She could find no explanation for her unreasonable curiosity concerning a man she had met only briefly and she blushed under her father's direct scrutiny.
`I've heard a lot about him, you know how people talk, but I've never had the pleasure of meeting him.'
Samantha fingered her mug thoughtfully. 'I wonder what kind of man he really is.'
`From what I can gather he's thirty-eight and a confirmed bachelor. There are plenty of disillusioned mothers in the city who'd hoped to snare him as a son-in-law, but to date he's managed to evade them all successfully.' James Little chuckled slightly at his own remark before a sobering thought crossed his mind. 'His only sister died tragically a number of years ago. Rumour had it that she committed suicide, but no one seemed to know what actually happened, and Carrington has always been reluctant to discuss the subject.'
Samantha's curiosity deepened. 'How did the accident occur?'
Her father raised his dark eyebrows and shrugged as he emptied his glass of milk. 'She was ostensibly on her way to Port Elizabeth when her small sports car crashed through the rails on the Olifantskop Pass and plummeted down the mountain. Brett Carrington was with the rescue team that eventually went down with a helicopter to extract her body from the wreckage. It wasn't a pretty sight, by all accounts.'
Samantha's heart instantly stirred with pity. 'How terrible for him ! '
A mischievous gleam entered her father's grey eyes: 'You appear to have an unusual interest in Brett Carrington,' he remarked teasingly, and had the satisfaction of seeing the colour deepening in her cheeks.
'I'm just curious,' she argued defensively. 'Someone like Brett Carrington always gives one the impression of being so self-sufficient and untouched by sorrow and strife that one tends to forget that they're only human after all.' She drained her mug of cocoa, in a hurry now to escape her father's prying eyes. 'I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Daddy.'
She kissed him swiftly and escaped to her room, but
it was a long time before she managed to fall asleep. Her thoughts were filled with Clive's strange behaviour at the sight of Brett Carrington, and the surprising information which her father had given her. She could remember only too vividly the touch of his hand on her elbow and those unusual eyes gazing down at her so intently, adding to the confusion in her mind. What kind of man was he? she wondered again, and it was then that an alarming thought struck her. Brett Carrington was on the board of directors of the engineering firm she worked for. She realised now why his name had rung a warning bell in her mind. The possibility that they would meet again was not so great, but he had stepped into her life as swiftly as he had emerged from the shadows of the garden, and for some inexplicable reason she had a premonition that he would be a disrupting influence in her relationship with Clive.
Gillian cornered Samantha at work the following morning and could talk of nothing else but Samantha's meeting with Brett Carrington.
'I always wondered what he actually looked like. Newspaper photographs can be so deceptive.' She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling and sighed ecstatically. 'If I didn't love Stan so much, I could go for Brett Carrington in a big way!'
Samantha laughed outright, remembering how desperately in love Gillian had been with Stan before he so much as noticed her. Gillian Forbes, red-haired and green-eyed, had been her closest friend since they were at high school together and, whereas Samantha was always the serious one, Gillian had always been the madcap daredevil, and being an adult had not changed her.
'You'd better not let Stan hear you,' Samantha reprimanded with a swift glance over her shoulder to the
glass partition surrounding Stan's office.
'Stan Dreyer had me chewing my nails long enough,' Gillian insisted, her eyes dancing with humour. 'It's time now that he suffered a few anxious moments. Who knows, he might appreciate me more.'
'You're not serious?' Samantha remarked hesitantly, knowing full well that her friend would quite easily do exactly as she had said.
'My dear Samantha,' Gillian said dramatically, 'Stan just had to smile at me and I fell into his lap like a ripe plum. Did he suffer at all during the lonely evenings and frustrating days when he had eyes for everyone else but me?' She shook her head
adamantly. 'Oh, no ! Stan
had it all too easy.'
Samantha frowned slightly. 'You're not going to do anything irresponsible, are you?'
'Nothing irresponsible, darling, I promise you,' Gillian laughed mischievously, 'but I intend giving him quite a few anxious moments before the day I walk up that aisle to marry him. I'm going to look at and admire every other male in sight. He mustn't get the idea that he was the only fish in the sea.'
'Poor Stan,' Samantha sympathised as she visualised what Gillian had in mind. 'Don't forget in the process that he loves you very much.'
'I shan't forget either how much I love him,' Gillian laughed happily.
Samantha glanced ruefully at the pile of work mounting up on her desk, but Gillian evidently had no intention of leaving yet.
'What was up with Clive last night?' she asked. 'Clive?' Samantha asked innocently.
'Don't hedge,' Gillian remarked urgently. 'He went absolutely white when he saw you walking in with Brett Carrington, and I don't think that he quite recovered
from the shock during the rest of the evening.'
'It was nothing really,' Samantha replied evasively. Like her father, Gillian was not over-fond of Clive and made no effort to hide the fact that she did not approve of. Samantha's choice. 'They just don't get on very well,' she added lamely. `Mr Carrington and Clive, I mean.'
'I'll bet they don't,' her friend remarked scathingly. 'Brett Carrington isn't a fool, and Clive is so transparent—'
'Gillian, please,' Samantha begged, and her friend was instantly contrite as she saw the look of pain flash briefly across Samantha's sensitive features.
'I'm sorry, Sam,' she said softly, her hand gripping Samantha's shoulder. 'I didn't mean to hurt you, but I wish you hadn't fallen in love with Clive Wilmot. He wasn't meant for you, I just know it ! '
Samantha managed a weary smile. 'My father will certainly agree with you, but I wish you'd both give Clive a chance to prove himself without condemning him outright.'
'Sam, I must admit he's suave and charming, and devilishly attractive in a lean sort of way with that fair hair of his and his handsome boyish features,' Gillian sighed despairingly, 'but I can't help the feeling I get that under all that marvellous exterior there lurks something quite unpleasant.'
'You're biased, like my father.'
Perhaps,' Gillian agreed, ignoring the danger signals in Samantha's usually soft blue eyes. 'I just hope you won't be disillusioned. I would hate to see you badly
hurt.'
'I shan't be,' Samantha insisted stubbornly, but Gillian merely shrugged her shoulders characteristically as she walked across to her own desk.
There was fortunately no time for Samantha to
brood over their conversation as she steadily worked her way through the amount of typing in her basket. She snatched a cup of tea at ten that morning and then set to work once more without delay. At lunch.time the pile had diminished considerably and it was with a feeling of relief that she went down to the cafeteria to have something to eat.
Gillian had rushed into town with Stan to do a bit of shopping, so Samantha found herself without her friend's usual bright company, but for once, she was glad to be alone.
Dear Gillian! she thought amusedly. Like her father, Gillian meant well, yet they were both so absurd to doubt Clive's intentions.
CHAPTER TWO
SAMANTHA was pouring her tea after a light lunch when she had the most peculiar sensation that someone was observing her closely from across the room. She turned her head slightly and her startled glance locked with that of Brett Carrington. Her breath caught in her throat as he inclined his head towards her before excusing himself from his companion and threading his way among the crowded tables towards her. What could he possibly want with her? she wondered frantically as she observed with almost hypnotic fascination the panther-like quality in his walk as he approached her purposefully.
'Escape now,' something warned her, but it was a futile instruction, for her limbs were too numb to obey. 'May I join you?'
`Please do,' Samantha murmured, colouring slightly and conscious of the fact that heads were turning in their direction as Brett Carrington pulled out a chair and sat down. 'There's still enough tea in the pot. Could I fetch another cup, Mr Carrington ?'
`No, thank you, I've just had tea.' His keen glance swept over her, taking in the neat grey skirt and crisp white blouse. 'I had no idea you worked here.'
`You never asked for my credentials when I so rudely invaded your privacy last night,' she replied lightly.
'I'm shattered at my own neglect,' he mocked her. 'However, fortune has smiled on me once again it seems.'
Samantha's dark blue eyes were questioning. 'I don't think I understand.'
`Don't you?' His mouth was firm, with a hint of sensuality in the lower lip as it relaxed into a smile. 'It doesn't matter. I hope the rest of your evening was enjoyable?'
`It was ... pleasant, thank you.'
If he was aware of the slight hesitation and her utter confusion at his presence then he showed no sign of it.
`How long have you known Clive Wilmot?'
It was an unexpected and direct question that immediately put her on the defensive. `Mr Carrington, I fail to see that it's any business of yours."__
Brett Carrington's angular face hardened. 'I was merely making polite conversation, Miss Little, and not prying into your affairs.'
`I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that ...' She bit her lip nervously, angry with herself for allowing a simple question to rattle her, and realising that she owed this man some sort of explanation for her rudeness, she said: 'Clive Wilmot has become a rather touchy subject lately with my father and my closest friend, Gillian. You met her last night,' she ended lamely.
`Am I to understand that they don't entirely approve of your friendship with Wilmot?'
`No, they don't.'
`Perhaps they have reason?'
Samantha's unreasonable anger and irritation grew swiftly. 'Oh, please, not you as well, Mr Carrington ! '
`May I ask you again how long you've known him?'
She looked up into his dark brown eyes and knew she could not evade his direct question on this occasion. `Just over a month.'
'I see.'
'What do you see, Mr Carrington?' she asked abruptly, noticing the cynical twist to his lips.
'It takes years to get to know some people, yet with others it can take no longer than five minutes.' ·
'What are you insinuating?'
There was a gleam of amusement in his eyes that puzzled her. 'I'm not insinuating anything. I'm merely trying to point out that some people are transparent, where others are inclined to hide behind a mask.'
'Aren't we all inclined to wear a mask where others are concerned?' she asked hotly, no longer caring that this elegantly dressed man in his dark brown suit could quite easily see to it that she lost her job. 'Don't you, Mr Carrington?'
Those strong, well-shaped hands gestured expressively. 'There are times when it's necessary, I agree, but it depends on the people you're with.'
'Exactly,' Samantha replied with satisfaction. She had proved her point with Brett Carrington, she thought with an unusual sense of elation.
'I shan't argue with you, Miss Little, but may I ask you to render me a small service before I leave you?'
He had risen to his feet and heads turned swiftly in their direction once more as he towered over her.
'If I can help you, I ... I will,' she replied with uncertainty.
'Could you give me Clive Wilmot's business address?'
Relieved that it was no more than that, she gave him the address without so much as a twinge of curiosity and watched him write it down in a small notebook which he replaced immediately in his jacket pocket. There was an unmistakable hint of mockery in his eyes as he glanced down at her once more.
'We shall meet again, Samantha Little,' he said. 'I would very much like to continue our interesting discu
ssion.'
Samantha stared after him until he was out of sight with an uncomfortable feeling that she had been beaten after all. Brett Carrington, she sensed, was not a man to be thwarted, and neither was he a fool. When he wanted something, he would go out of his way to get it, and, with this thought, Samantha felt strangely trapped.
Two-days later life was entirely disrupted by an unexpected telephone call from Clive.
'Sam darling, I'm afraid I have to cancel our plans for this evening,' he told her ruefully. 'The firm is sending me to the Cape Town branch to relieve the chap there for three weeks. That means I shan't be back until the middle of February.'
'Oh, no ' she moaned, distraught with disappointment. Will I see you before you go?'
'I'm afraid not, darling,' he dashed her hopes. 'I'm leaving on the six-thirty flight this evening.'
'I could borrow Daddy's car and drive out to the airport,' she suggested desperately. 'I might just make it in time.'
'Sam darling, that would be splendid,' he exclaimed, sounding more cheerful while her heart twisted within her.
'I hate the thought of not seeing you for three whole weeks,' she sighed.
'It's damnable, I know, but what could I do?'
'Nothing, Clive,' she told him dismally, 'except to go and hurry back as soon as your time there is up.'
Clive's soft laugh came across the wires and her heart quickened. 'Have I ever told you that you're a marvellously unselfish and understanding person, Sam?'
'I'm not really, Clive,' she protested, close to tears, 'but thanks for the compliment anyway.'
'I'll see you later, then. Cheerio for now, my love.'
The line went dead and Samantha replaced the receiver with an acute sense of dread. Three weeks without Clive! It was going to feel like an eternity with nothing to look forward to in the evenings except hours of longing.
'Bad news, Sam?' Gillian asked, pushing her work aside and turning to her friend.
'Clive is going away for three weeks,', she said dully. 'Oh?'
Samantha explained swiftly, adding: 'I shall miss him terribly.'
Handful of stardust Page 2
