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

by Daisy Thurbin

  “It was our good fortune that he saw the light a dozen or so years ago and returned to the Fine Arts fold and to his old alma mater,” Doctor MacKenzie said. “In the ten short years that he’s been with the College, he’s distinguished himself every bit as much in the academic world as he did previously in Government.”

  He then turned the floor over to Alex.

  Samantha recalled that at Amherst Alex’s delivery about the Rachel Mellon jewellery had dazzled his audience. She was eager to find out what he would talk about this time. Was he a ‘one trick pony’ or would he pull another rabbit out of the hat, she wondered.

  Alex strode confidently up to the rostrum to begin his presentation. She noticed that he had worn a very smart tweed jacket and what looked like grey cashmere trousers. She could not help but glance down at his shoes. They were brown Eccos that he had polished to a high sheen. She smiled to herself as she thought that her Grandmother would have approved; clean fingernails and shiny shoes had always been top priorities when Samantha wanted to bring a new friend over to her house. She had to laugh when she thought what a stark contrast that was to the scruffy little ruffians she and Julie had been back then.

  Alex began by thanking the Chair for the complimentary introduction and the audience for being there. He told them that he had thought long and hard about what to write his Paper on. He said that he wanted something that was familiar to everyone without being mundane.

  “In other words, I didn’t want to embarrass myself by trying to teach my grandmother how to suck eggs,” he smiled. “I finally settled on Gustave Eiffel. I expect that everyone in the Western world will have heard of him, or at least they’d recognize his famous Parisian namesake; but I thought it might be interesting to delve a bit further into his achievements.”

  He provided the usual biographical data about Eiffel’s birth in Dijon, his education and one or two things about his family. Then he launched into the main purpose of his Paper. You could have heard a pin drop as he told them that Eiffel began his career as a young engineer designing bridges for the French railway Network. He explained that prior to Eiffel’s emergence on the scene, bridges and viaducts, and indeed many buildings were seen primarily as utilitarian structures and that most had a façade of brick or other material that hid their functional components.

  “Eiffel saw things differently,” Alex said. “He saw real beauty in the structural design of any edifice, whether it was a bridge, a railway station or, in his most famous collaboration, The Eiffel Tower. He felt that the Public would appreciate the art of design in those creations no less than with a painting or sculpture that one might see in a gallery or museum.”

  Alex used his slide presentation to illustrate how Eiffel’s designs transcended the functional to become true works of art in themselves. The three examples that he used were the Maria Pia Bridge that Eiffel designed for the Royal Portuguese Railway, the Garabit Bridge over the River Truyere, and the railway terminus in Budapest.

  “The Maria Pia Bridge was a great engineering feat in and of itself,” Alex explained as he projected the lovely arched support that was the longest in the world at the time. “Of course many lay people and art critics today see bridges and other structures as works of art, but in Eiffel’s day that was not a popularly held view.”

  It reminded Samantha of an upside down view of the bridge over Sydney Harbour. She wondered if that had been in the minds of the British engineers who designed the famous Australian landmark.

  Alex told them that Eiffel had used much of the same design for the Garabit Viaduct in central France. He explained that, because of the exceptionally windy conditions in the Valley, he had used trusses instead of solid beams. When he showed the slide of the Viaduct, Samantha immediately saw the resemblance between the openwork arch of its support and the subsequent support arches for the far more famous Tower that bore his name.

  When Alex talked about the Nyugati Railway Station in Budapest, he explained that although Gustave Eiffel himself was not credited with its design, it was his company who employed the young architect who did, and it was his company that built it. He told them that it was with the Terminus that Eiffel broke the mold and instead of hiding the infrastructure, he used it as a central focus.

  Samantha had actually left from Nyugati Station a number of years back when she traveled by train between Budapest and Brashov in Romania. Unfortunately, she had been so intent on getting her ticket sorted out that she had paid little attention to the wonderful architecture that she saw on the screen.

  Alex told them that Eiffel had shown little interest in the designs that two of his fellow countrymen had proposed to build a tower for the 1889 Paris Exposition until the architect Stephen Sauvestre added the decorative arches to the base and a glass pavilion to the first level and the cupola.

  “It was only then that he took an interest in the Project, purchased the patents and built the Tower that stands as a perpetual reminder of his name,” Alex said.

  “I’m sure that you were all aware of Eiffel’s connection to the famous French landmark. What may be less well known is his involvement with what may represent America’s most iconic symbol,” Alex told them. “When Auguste Bartholdi designed his most famous work, he called upon Gustave Eiffel to design the interior structural elements. Without the pylons that hide beneath the copper sheeting, The Statue of Liberty may have tumbled into New York Harbour long ago.”

  Samantha did not know if it was his presentation, his command of his subject or some sort of innate connection to his audience, but just like everyone else in the room, she had been mesmerized by Alex’s talk. She clapped as enthusiastically as the others when he concluded and stepped away from the rostrum.

  Samantha had to admit that she had been ignorant about Eiffel’s contribution to the American landmark. Perhaps having an American mother was not sufficient exposure to the culture for her to know about such things, she mused. She wondered how many of the others already had that titbit of knowledge tucked away in their memory banks.

  ***

  Alex had invited Samantha to go for another hack after the Conference on Sunday afternoon. Poppet remembered her from two days earlier and seemed eager to canter across the open fields with her lightweight jockey onboard.

  “I can’t remember when I’ve had such a good time,” Alex said as he caught up to them when they stopped at a gate that led into the next field.

  “Me, neither,” Samantha agreed. “Nothing like a brisk canter to get the blood flowing after sitting in a conference all weekend. It’s too bad your daughter doesn’t live closer so you two can ride out together.”

  “I’m afraid that was more fantasy than anything else,” Alex admitted. “Meg always has a full schedule when she comes for a visit, and her kids are much more interested in their X-boxes and whatever the other things they play those computer games on are called than in the ponies. I suppose the truth is, a few days visit is long enough for me as well. I guess we all get caught up in our own lives.”

  “I know what you mean. I don’t have children, of course, but I‘m just as precious about my time when I’m at home,” Samantha said.

  They let the horses walk out on a loose rein for the mile or so back to the house. Samantha untacked Poppet and thanked Alex for letting her ride his horse.

  “I should get back to the B&B,” she said. “I want to get an early start tomorrow. I know Richmond is only a short drive from here, but I don’t want to be rushed.”

  Alex had to teach the next morning, but asked her if she’d like to go to dinner at The Trellis just inside Colonial Williamsburg when she got back from Richmond.

  “I’d love to have a bite to eat with you,” Samantha said, “but to tell the truth, I’d much rather we just went to Dunkin Donuts if that’s okay. Between Grace’s breakfasts and the lunches at the College, I don’t think I could eat another big restaurant meal.”

  She agreed to phone him after she got back from Richmond so that they could decid
e when he should come by and collect her from the Cedars.

  ***

  Samantha felt a little prick of excitement as she took the Richmond exit off of the I-64. She had already tapped the address into the GPS and followed the anonymous female’s officious instructions. When she finally reached her destination it was not at all what she expected. Instead of the dense woods with just a sparse sprinkling of houses that she remembered from her summer visits to Grandmama Sams’, the winding road that led to the old homestead was practically wall to wall gated communities. To add insult to injury, a notice that hung above her Grandmother’s big wraparound porch proclaimed that it was now Colonial Retreat Bed and Breakfast.

  Samantha reminded herself that nothing remains the same. She knew that the family home had been sold, but she had just presumed that some other family lived in it now. She supposed that she had no claim to it other than a few childhood memories, but it saddened her just the same. Before she left, she took a few photos through the car window to email to Julie. She had not even noticed Julie’s old house. She supposed that it had been subsumed by one of the dozen or so new golfing communities that she had passed on the way to her Grandmother’s.

  Just so she would not consider the trip a wasted effort, she decided to swing by and visit the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts while she was there. At least that trip was not a disappointment.

  _______________________

  Seven

  James Carrington had led a long and illustrious life. For the most part he was satisfied with his achievements and not too disappointed in the failures. After the War, he had worked for several years in the City before he returned to Ragdale, the family home in Leicestershire. He had served as the Conservative MP for Leicestershire for twenty years and was proud of his record. He had conducted both his private and his public life with integrity; he had few regrets.

  When he thought back on the War, he had mixed emotions. He had distinguished himself with what began as daring and eventually became true courage. While the small Super Marine Spitfire did not have the capabilities or range of some of the more modern American planes, it was an able opponent to the Messerschmitt in any one to one confrontation. He had flown more than two hundred successful sorties and had personally shot down more than thirty of the German aircraft. He had no doubt saved hundreds of RAF fliers’ lives by his actions. As a Flying Officer he had made many good friends, cemented old friendships and sadly, lost quite a few along the way. He consoled his grief with the sound knowledge that without his efforts and those of the other men who fought alongside him both in the air, on the ground or at sea, his country would have been subsumed under the banner of Nazi Germany. If he had one regret, it was that he had been unable to save his closest friend from the enemy; but it was not to be. Now, as his life came to a close, he knew that he had done his best.

  James had faced many challenges during his lifetime. The most difficult by far had been in the February of the final year of the War. He looked out over the rolling hills beyond their home and reflected on that unhappy day; he recalled in vivid detail the events that were to shape the rest of his life.

  When he arrived at Carlton, the Smythes country house not far from his parent’s home in Leicestershire, the butler admitted him and took his jacket and suitcase. He had asked James to wait in the music room while he advised his mistress that Lady Olivia had a guest. James had placed Guy’s box on the floor while he stood by the window and waited for Olivia to come in.

  James remembered the way she had looked when she entered the room as though it were yesterday. She was beautiful, of course, but it was the paleness of her skin and the fragile look in her eyes that most struck him. It was as if she already knew before he spoke what he had come to tell her. He remembered every word that passed between them.

  “Please sit down, James. Surely you aren’t standing on ceremony with me. As I recall, the last time you visited here, you and Tommy wouldn’t even allow me in the room when you were in here making your model airplanes.”

  Olivia’s attempts at cheerfulness had not fooled James in the least. They both knew that on this occasion he had not come to make model toys with her older brother. He remembered how she had eyed the box that sat on the floor beside the corner of her mother’s rose velvet Queen Ann chair and then quickly looked away. Of course she knew why he was there. But that did not make his job any easier.

  She did not cry. He had thought it strange at the time. It was only many years later that he realised that her grief was too deep and her resolve too strong to succumb to what she viewed as an emotion unworthy of Guy’s sacrifice.

  Since that day nearly fifty years before, he had given a great deal of thought to the events that had transpired over the course of his life. The War had changed everything. Olivia had been grief-stricken by the news, but she was made of stern stuff. She threw herself into helping with the war effort for those last few months. Then, when the War was over and the injured were brought home, she volunteered to read or write letters for the airmen who were unable to do so for themselves and wrote personal notes to the mothers and wives and sisters of those who did not live to return.

  During the time that James worked in the City, he dutifully visited his parent’s large country house one weekend each month. He generally arranged to call in at Carlton on his way home. When the Smythes stayed at their Savoy apartment in London, James often joined them for dinner or made up the numbers for the theatre or the opera. It came as no surprise to anyone when he and Olivia announced their engagement. They married in the June of 1948.

  They decided to make Ragdale their home. They had not been blessed with children, but between the running of the estate and the household, James’ Parliamentary duties, Olivia’s volunteer work and the myriad of other little day to day tasks, they led full and rich lives. James felt that they had been happy. He looked up at the painting that he had commissioned of Olivia shortly after they were married. Olivia had sat for it in this very room. She had never liked it. She thought it made her look far too haughty and grand. He secretly felt that the artist had not done her justice, but it seemed a waste not to keep it, and everyone else had admired it. In the end they had decided to hang it.

  He remembered one particular conversation they had had perhaps ten years earlier. He had asked her if she ever wondered if Guy would have been disappointed in them for marrying.

  “What an odd thing to ask,” she had replied. “He wouldn’t have given us such a lovely wedding present if he felt that way.”

  ***

  After James died, Olivia continued on at Ragdale for five more years on her own. It seemed such a waste now, one person occupying all that space. She wondered if she would have felt differently if they had lived at Carlton, but she rather doubted it. In any event, Thomas and Pippa and their four children had moved into the Manor House when the cottage they lived in on the edge of the estate could no longer contain their ever expanding family. Their parents had been more than happy to make the swap. Lord Percy and Lady Jane had rambled around in the big old place long enough. He was ready to hand the reins over to his only son.

  When Olivia thought back over her life, she felt that she had been most fortunate. She still felt a slight flutter whenever something someone said or did reminded her of Guy; they had been so in love. She remembered it like it was yesterday when James Carrington came to tell her that Guy’s plane had been shot down over the Channel. He told her that Guy had most certainly been killed, although it would be another year before it was officially confirmed. She remembered thinking that her life was already over and she was not yet twenty years old. Of course her life went on, as it does for everyone. She continued to carry out the normal everyday things that filled her days and gradually she began to enjoy herself again.

  She found that she looked forward to James brief visits to her home. She remembered how surprised she had been the first time that she forgot to think about Guy when she and her parents stayed for a weekend at their apa
rtment in London. She could not remember exactly when she realised that she had fallen in love with James. He had not been her first choice, but somewhere along the way she knew that he was a fine man, and that he was the right one for her.

  She walked over to her little writing desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. She withdrew the bundle of letters tied with parachute twine. On top was the very last one she had received, although it had been the first that Guy had written. The envelope was foxed with age. It was the first time that Olivia had re-read it since she and James were married more than fifty years before.

  My Dear Olivia,

  You will only be reading this if I did not manage to make it back from my last mission. I had so looked forward to spending our lives together, but it was not to be. You said that you would only be interested in a man who did something daring for you. I hope that this counts. It may be less courageous than flying sorties against the Germans over the Channel to some, but it was the only thing I could think of that was especially for you. I had hoped that I could give it to you in person as a wedding present. Since that is no longer possible, I hope that you and the lucky man you marry will accept it as a wedding present from me. I wish you both nothing but the best.

  With all my love,

  Guy

  Olivia had wept when she first read the note. Later, when the War was over and she and James were to be married, she had showed it to him. She did not want to start their marriage with any secrets.

  “The cunning old fox,” James had exclaimed. “I always wondered what he had that was such a secret in that box he kept tucked under his bed.”

  Yes, she mused, Guy had predicted that her husband was a lucky man. But she felt that she had been the lucky one.

  Olivia finally made the decision to sell Ragdale. James had no brothers or sisters and there were no children to leave it to. She decided to get out from under it and make a clean break. She could have moved in with Tommy and Pippa; they had both been wonderful ever since James had died. They had asked her several times if she would consider it. But they were nearly ready to give Carlton to their eldest son and move back into the cottage they had lived in during the first years of their marriage, and she was not ready to give up her independence. She decided instead to move to the apartment in London that her father had bequeathed to her. Her biggest dilemma was what to do with the furnishings at Ragdale Hall. She had no desire to haul things from the country to London. Besides, the apartment was comfortably furnished with everything she was likely to need. She made up her mind to pack only a few of the things that she cherished most and sell everything else along with the house.