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Four
Samantha sat the green leather bag and her patchwork tote on the deacon’s bench in her bedroom. She folded her Armani suit and an extra pair of trousers, her new jacket, and an assortment of blouses. She packed them, along with her new shoes in the soft suitcase. Her Conference wardrobe sorted, she threw in an old cashmere jumper from what she thought of now as her pre lecture-circuit days, and an extra pair of jeans. She had dithered a bit about what to travel in. She finally decided to wear the comfortable old tweed jacket and pack the new one. It was a long flight and she was not about to sacrifice the scarce little comfort of the plane for the sake of appearances. She turned her attention to the tote. For the most part she used it to carry the iPad and the Kindle and the electrical adapters she needed for them. She threw in a few other odds and ends that she might want on the plane and the little tapestry toiletry case she had bought at the Horse Racing Museum at Newmarket a few weeks earlier. The entire process had taken less than ten minutes.
Alex Barnes had told her that he would meet her flight in Washington and drive her to Williamsburg. When she had gone with him and Martin Hennessey and Elaine Matthews to Dunkin Donuts after the Conference at Amherst, she had worn virtually the same outfit, except that the jacket had been a bit less wintry; he would not expect a fashion plate.
At least she did not need to worry about Pushkin. By now he would be happy as Larry to be ensconced at Annie’s where he and Lucy could resume their mutual admiration society. He knew the routine. The first time she had left him there he had barely acknowledged her for two days after she collected him when she returned home. Now he seemed to look forward to seeing Annie’s ginger Tabby far more than he resented her going away.
She had arranged for Charles McElhenny to collect her at seven-thirty the next morning. She could have driven herself and left the car at the long-term parking at Heathrow, but it was that much easier to use a mini-cab. Mr McElhenny had been her driver on nearly all of her previous airport journeys. She had learned that he lived not far away in Abingdon and that the company generally tried to give him a fairly local fare for his first trip of the day. She liked him because he was a good driver, he had a polite manner and he was always punctual. She reckoned that they must have made the airport run together at least a half dozen times in the past year.
Thankfully the flight to Washington left at a respectable hour. Samantha had given her flight details to her friend Alex Barnes, and he had assured her that he would be waiting for her at Dulles International when her plane landed at three. She had been of two minds about accepting his kind offer. When they had met at Amherst at the end of September, he had urged her to apply for this Conference at William and Mary. Then when she had decided to submit a Paper, he had offered not only to collect her and return her to the airport, but to give her the loan of a car while she was in town. It was a most generous gesture, but he had insisted, and she looked forward to renewing their acquaintance.
Mr McElhenny dropped her directly in front of the double glass doors closest to the Virgin counter. She had already checked in and gotten her boarding passes online the night before, but she always double checked to make certain that she would not be seated in too close proximity to any babies or small children. Once or twice when she had asked to change her seat, the airline had seemed happy enough to accommodate her. The one time she had not bothered to check, she had found herself seated directly behind a woman with two children under three. In fact the children had been perfectly well mannered. The woman, on the other hand, had been a right pain. She had read aloud to them in a stage projected voice for the entire nine hour flight. She had even gone so far as to take on the voices of each of the characters. Presumably she wanted to ensure that everyone within fifty feet recognized her exceptional mothering talents. Samantha was not sure what her fellow passengers thought about the woman’s attention seeking device, but she would happily have thrown her out of the window if that had been an option. She had not forgotten to check at the Virgin counter since that one unfortunate experience.
Samantha noticed the long queues of passengers who waited to leave their giant behemoth suitcases at the baggage drop. It seemed to her that the invention of wheeled luggage was a green light to pack everything but the kitchen sink. She was glad that she had stuck with her minimalist approach. She carried only her small green leather bag and the patchwork tote that accompanied every trip. Together they weighed less than a bag of groceries. She could carry both without a struggle and they fit easily in the overhead bin or under the seat in front. She had no idea what other people must believe was so essential that they were willing to burden themselves with a virtual moving van of clothing and accessories, but whatever it was, she had not missed it thus far.
A young woman who looked to be about Ella’s age occupied the window seat in Samantha’s row. Samantha recognized the familiar logo on the back of her mini iPad and the trademark white earbuds. Samantha tried not to disturb her seat-mate when she put the green bag in the overhead and settled herself in the aisle seat. She retrieved her Kindle from the tote before she shoved the bag under the seat in front of hers.
The flight arrived a few minutes early. With no checked baggage to collect, Samantha was one of the first from her flight to make it through immigration. She had just begun to scan the crowded arrivals area for Alex when she heard a booming voice call out her name.
“That was quick,” he said as he relieved her of the larger bag and gave her arm a friendly squeeze. He led the way to the short term car park.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I drove your car and left the SUV at the Cedars,” he said. “Hopefully we’ll get through this Washington maze before the rush hour traffic builds up. Just make yourself comfortable. The temperature control for your seat’s on the console in case you want to adjust it.”
Samantha settled back into the comfortable leather seats of the Lexus and left him to navigate the congested area around the airport. She must have dozed off because she realized that he had pulled off of the Interstate and they were now on a fairly busy multilane road that threaded through a commercial district.
“Fredericksburg,” he said when he noticed that she had sat up. “I thought we might stop here for a bite to eat. You must be getting a bit hungry; it’s after midnight your time.”
They decided to eat at the Dunkin Donuts along Highway 17. Over their eggs and bacon, they exchanged a few bits about their lives outside of academia. Samantha told Alex that she had only retired the year before, but that she had been so busy since then that she had barely noticed.
“I can believe it,” he said. “Be careful or you’ll turn this Conference business into a full time job. I do two or three a year when I can slot them in with my teaching timetable, but I like to keep my free time open to work on my farm.”
He explained that he did not have what most people might think of as a real farm. He said that his house and a few acres were just west of Williamsburg. He also mentioned that he kept a couple of horses and an assortment of farm animals that were more like pets than livestock.
“It sounds idyllic,” Samantha said. “Do you get a chance to do much riding?”
“I ride with a local hunt occasionally, but mostly they just stand out in the pasture and look pretty. There are some nice hacking trails nearby, though, and I do ride out on the odd occasion.”
They exchanged views about riding and horsemanship and Samantha mentioned the Symposium she had attended the previous summer in Slovenia.
“That must have been quite something, riding one of the ‘Dancing White Stallions’. Perhaps I can persuade you to go out riding while you’re in town if you have time.”
Samantha doubted very much it would take much persuasion. She had brought her ancient Ariat boots in case she wanted them for hiking, so all she’d need was a helmet.
“Is it much further?” Samantha asked. “I really feel bad about your having to use up an entire day just
to collect me from the airport.”
“Not at all. It’s given us a chance to have a bit of a chat. But I guess we’d better get this show on the road. Grace’s expecting you at the Cedars and I’ll have to answer to her and Bob if I’m late delivering you,” he laughed.
Less than an hour later he pulled in behind the lovely red brick Colonial House just off the Jamestown Road and parked next to a cream coloured Toyota RAV4. He explained that he had come in the day before to drop it off and a friend had given him a lift home. From the looks of it, Alex was the one driving the spare car. It was several years older than the Lexus and had obviously played a part in the farm labour work Alex had referred to earlier.
Alex chatted amiably with Bob, the other half of the couple who ran the lovely Bed and Breakfast, while Grace showed her to her home for the next few days.
“I’ve put you in the Thomas Jefferson Room, Doctor Duncan. It’s quite private and I thought you might need the desk.”
“It’s lovely,” Samantha said. “But please, call me Samantha.”
Samantha glanced around at the well-appointed but simply furnished room. It would do very nicely. The College provided an accommodation allowance that would cover more than two thirds of the rate. For the little bit of out-of-pocket, she was very satisfied with her choice.
Grace showed her the bath, the cupboards and how to operate the remote control for the television.
“Oh, and the wi-fi password is atthecedars all one word. I’ll just leave you to get yourself sorted out. I’ll show you the rest of the house when you come down; no hurry.”
Samantha thanked her and asked her to please tell Alex that she’d be just a minute or two. She substituted her flannel shirt for the tweed jacket, ran a comb through her hair and then joined Alex and her hosts in the guests’ common room.
“What a wonderful room,” Samantha said as she admired the fireplace and the comfortable furnishings that made it look more like a living room in a private home than a commercial establishment.
“Oh, before I forget, here’re the spare keys for the Lexus. It’s automatic, so you shouldn’t have a problem,” Alex said.
“You weren’t serious about that hack, were you?” Samantha asked just as he headed toward the door.
“I’d love it. That is, provided it won’t push into your schedule too much,” he said. “We could go tomorrow morning, if you’re free; I don’t teach on Fridays.”
“Just give me the directions and I’ll be there,” Samantha laughed. “After breakfast, of course.”
“That goes without saying. You wouldn’t want to miss out on Grace’s famous French toast. Oh, are you okay for riding gear?”
“All except for a helmet; but maybe we can sort something out.”
“My daughter left one in the utility room when she was home from college last time,” Grace said. “You can use that if you don’t mind wearing someone else’s.”
Alex scribbled out the directions for his place a few miles out of town and they exchanged mobile numbers, just in case. Samantha agreed to be there at ten and thanked him again for collecting her from the airport.
“I know you said that ya’ll stopped for a bite in Fredericksburg,” Grace said as she sat the cup of hot cocoa and a few biscuits on the coffee table in the living room, “but just something to tide you over until breakfast. I’ll get that riding hat from the back and you can see if it’ll do.”
***
Samantha awoke to a beautiful crisp winter’s day. She looked through the window in the little alcove across from her bed to a bright blue sky with just a few wispy white clouds that floated lazily up high. It had just gone seven. She dressed in the same pair of jeans that she had worn on the plane. She was very glad she had brought the Ariats. Grace had retrieved the riding hat from the utility room before she went to bed the night before; it had fit perfectly once she stuffed a handkerchief inside. She left that and her old Musto anorak on the chair in the corner of the room and went down to breakfast.
Two couples and a woman on her own had already laid claim to the little tables along the long bank of windows that overlooked the back garden. The only unoccupied place was at the far end of the narrow room. She nodded to the other diners as she walked past.
“I’ll have some of your special French toast and a pot of hot water,” she told Grace when her hostess came over to take her order.
“Just help yourself to juice and pastries or anything else on the buffet,” Grace said and indicated the sideboard at the other end of the room along the wall opposite the windows.
Samantha left her sunglasses on the placemat while she went to the ‘help yourself’ area at the other end. She had noticed that some of her fellow diners had pastries, cereal and juice in addition to their cooked breakfasts. She poured out a small glass of the freshly squeezed orange juice. Some of the pastries did look tempting, but she did not want to spoil her appetite.
Grace soon reappeared with the ‘very berry’ French toast and a small porcelain teapot filled with hot water. Samantha fished one of the teabags she had brought from home out of her little pouch and discretely popped it in. She had learned that outside England, even the English branded teas were nothing like the tea at home. She had read that the tea distributors produced different blends for different markets, and that in coffee-loving America, the tea they sold targeted an iced rather than a hot tea palate; she had learned to travel with a Ziploc bag of teabags.
As she poured the tea into her cup, she noticed that a woman who appeared to be on her own had come in. She was about Samantha’s age, tall and slightly plump. She wore a longish wool blouse over some smart woolen trousers and a nice silk scarf that was held in place by an antique cameo brooch. Samantha caught her eye and nodded towards the empty chair across from hers.
“Thanks,” the woman said as she came over and sat down. “I love staying at these B & Bs, except I never quite know what to do at breakfast when there are only a few tables. You hate to just barge over and sit down with a perfect stranger. Sorry, I’m Barbara Peterson.”
“Samantha Duncan. You’re more than welcome to join me.”
“What part of England are you from?” Barbara asked after she had returned from the buffet with some juice and one of the raspberry pastries.
“Oxfordshire; I live in a tiny village that no one outside England’s ever heard of. Oh, that’s a lovely over-blouse you’re wearing,” Samantha said. “I’m too short to wear anything like that, but it looks great on you.”
“It covers a multitude of sins,” Barbara laughed as she took another bite from her pastry.
They exchanged a few brief bits of information and discovered that they were both there for the Conference. Barbara told her that she had grown up in Virginia, but that she and her husband had lived in New York for years, and that she taught in the Fine Arts Department at NYU.
“It must be wonderful to live in a place with so many museums and galleries right at your fingertips,” Samantha remarked.
“We are lucky,” Barbara agreed. “But you have just as many in London.”
Barbara said that she taught an art history survey course for undergraduates but that her main area of interest was in nineteenth and early twentieth century impressionist artists. Samantha finished her French toast while they chatted on about art and speculated about the other presenters at the Conference.
“I’m afraid I need to be off,” Samantha apologised and explained that she was meeting a friend that morning. “But I’ll see you this evening at the Reception.”
Samantha had no trouble at all finding Alex’s place. It was just off of Highway 199. She passed several rather nice houses set back from the road before she reached his turning. She was not quite prepared for the lovely home and grounds at the end of his drive. It was in very much the same Colonial style as the Cedars, but on a smaller scale. The two Welsh ponies that she spied grazing in a pasture off to the left of the house completed the idyllic picture.
“I see y
ou found it all right,” Alex said as he emerged from inside the house wearing a pair of jeans and an ancient waxed Barbour jacket. “Welcome to my little farmette. Come on inside first, and then I’ll introduce you to the horses; I see you found a helmet.”
He offered her a cup of coffee but she thought she had better not. She had no idea how long they would be out, and she did not want to chance it.
“This is Kingfisher. He’s my old gelding. I guess he’s not really that old, fifteen, but I’ve had him since he was three,” he said as he stroked the neck of the handsome bay Thoroughbred. “And this is Poppet. I‘ve only had her for three or four years. I got her and the ponies so my daughter and her two girls would have something to ride when they visit. Of course now that they’ve moved to the West Coast their horses don’t get much use.”
Samantha was just about to ask how long it had been since someone had been on Poppet’s back when he said that his neighbour’s teenaged daughter rode her most weekends.
“She’s lovely,” Samantha said. “Arab or Arab cross?”
“Actually Welsh-Thoroughbred cross. They seem to have a better temperament. She’s a pretty little thing.”
Both horses were already tacked up and ready to go.
“Shall we get going?” He asked as he took his helmet from the hook just outside Kingfisher’s door. “Are you okay getting Poppet out?”
Alex had a concrete mounting block just alongside the barn. They mounted up and headed back along the drive where Samantha had come in.
“There’re some bridle paths through the woods on the other side of the road and a couple of nice fields where we have permission to ride,” he said as he came up alongside.
They were out for more than two hours. Much of the time they could only walk along the narrow trails through the woods, but they managed to get in a few brisk canters across some of the open fields. While they were out they exchanged a bit more information about their private lives.
Dancing at the Savoy: A Samantha Duncan Mystery (Samantha Duncan Mysteries Book 9) Page 4
