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

by Daisy Thurbin

  Pippa and Tommy came over to help her sort everything out and to help her mark which items she would take and which she would leave behind. Olivia had already packed most of her personal papers, important documents and a few fragile objects in a box that she would take with her in the car.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot something,” she said as she walked over to the writing desk. She removed a small folded piece of paper from the top drawer and slipped it into her handbag.

  “What about that?” Pippa asked as she pointed to a large painting that dominated the wall in the formal foyer where Olivia had moved it a few years earlier.

  “It’s far too big for the apartment. It’ll stay here.”

  _______________________

  Eight

  Samantha sat back in her seat and thought about her whirlwind visit to Williamsburg. The Conference had proved to be another success. Her Paper had evidently impressed Doctor MacKenzie. He had extracted a promise from her to attend the next one the following December. Added to the invitations she already had, that made five for the upcoming year. She felt that one more, perhaps in Russia or in one of the former Soviet countries, would be just about all the commitment she wanted. She was, after all retired now. She did not want to turn the lecture circuit into a full time job.

  The only slight kink in the otherwise perfect trip had been her visit to Richmond. She had been so disappointed to find that not only had the entire area grown into a sprawling metropolis, but the very house that she had so long thought of as her second childhood home was practically unrecognizable now that it had been turned into a bed and breakfast hotel. She had thought about going in and asking the owners if she could just take a peek at the piano room and her old bedroom. In the end she had driven away without even getting out of the car.

  The visit to Richmond had not been entirely a lost cause. She had remembered that the Fine Arts Museum there had a large collection of British sporting art in their Mellon Collection. She knew that they also had quite an extensive Faberge Collection, including a number of his famous Easter eggs. She decided that as long as she was there anyhow, she might as well pop in and see what it was like as a sort of consolation prize. She had been thrilled with the plethora of Stubbs’ and Wootens’ and various other well-known British artists. Perhaps the most exciting single object was the almost life-sized bronze sculpture of Mill Reef, the Mellon’s colt who had been a legend in British racing in the early 1970s.

  Unfortunately their Faberge Collection was on tour, but she did get to see The Forbidden City exhibit that they had on loan from Beijing. Samantha had never been particularly smitten with Oriental art or history, but she found the artefacts from the sixteenth and seventeenth century fascinating. She particularly liked the way that the Museum had displayed several imperial robes and kimonos in glass enclosed cabinets near to where they had hung original paintings that depicted the wearers attired in the very costumes that were on display.

  Alex had been very generous in his loan of the car and in his non-intrusive brand of attentiveness. They had had a grand time riding out together and she had promised to take him riding in Devon should he ever decide to make it across to England. It had been such fun meeting Barbara and Howard and being included in what must have been a very select group of childhood friends.

  Samantha had had a wonderful time, but she was exhausted. Now she looked forward to an uneventful flight home, catching up with her friend Annie on any new developments, and spending a quiet holiday with Pushkin. She had no further commitments until the end of February. It would give her plenty of time to recharge her batteries.

  The next thing Samantha was aware of was the pilot’s voice over the intercom as he announced that they had just begun their approach to London Heathrow. She looked down and saw the silver ribbon of river that snaked its way from the Thames barrier past Richmond Park. She knew that it would eventually wind its way all the way to its source on the other side of Oxford, but she could not see its meanderings any further from her vantage point above the ground. She always had such a rush of happiness when all the familiar landmarks passed below. It was good to be home.

  Charles McElhenny waited near the Costa Coffee kiosk. He spotted Samantha at almost the same moment that she noticed the familiar placard that he held high above his head.

  “Welcome home, Doctor Duncan,” he greeted her as he took the green leather bag. He had learned not to even offer to carry the patchwork tote. He had no idea what she had in it, but whatever it was, she did not like to entrust it to anyone else.

  “I took the liberty of picking up a pint of milk and some bread and a newspaper, just in case you didn’t feel like going out right away,” he said and indicated the plastic carrier bag on the back seat where he had stashed her leather one. He had also learned that she had some sort of set against putting her luggage in the boot.

  “That was very kind of you,” Samantha said as she let her head rest on the cushioned pad above her seat.

  It was a bit grey outside, but it looked as though the sun might come out later in the day. It was still only eight-thirty when he pulled into her drive behind the little grey Figaro.

  Samantha paid him and gave him a larger than usual tip. He had refused to let her repay him for the groceries and she did not want him to be out of pocket.

  Samantha put the milk in the fridge and turned the kettle on to boil while she went through her usual routine. She had found that until she had hung her good clothes in the cupboard and emptied her bags and put everything away, she was unable to relax. At least she did not have Pushkin demanding attention and getting in her way while she went about her tasks.

  “There,” she said to no one in particular as she tossed the dirty clothes in the hamper before she went downstairs to make herself some toast and a pot of tea. As usual, she had asked the attendant on the plane not to awaken her for meals, and they had already served breakfast by the time she woke up. She was grateful for the milk and bread that Mr McElhenny had thoughtfully picked up for her. She did not fancy walking to the corner store just to get those few things, certainly not before she had had a chance to unwind and resume some semblance of normalcy.

  She picked up the telephone and heard the familiar but irritating BT fast beep that indicated that she had voicemail. She carried the phone, along with her tea and toast, into the back room and dialed 1571 to retrieve her messages. The first one was from Annie. It was just a welcome home and to say that there was no rush about collecting Pushkin. The second message was from Caroline thanking her for the visit and inviting her to spend Christmas with them. Samantha could think of nothing she would less rather do. She decided to put off returning the call until after she had a chance to think about how to handle it without hurting her sister’s feelings. She knew that Annie would be going to her daughter’s for Christmas Day but was unsure of when she would get back. Perhaps Samantha could offer to bring Lucy to her house for a change and give Grace a break. It would be an excuse not to go to Lincolnshire. Anyhow, she would have to think about it. The third message was from Alex. Evidently he had called when he got home from dropping her at the airport last night. He said that he hoped that she had an uneventful flight home and that Poppet sent her thanks for the extra carrot he had given her on Samantha’s behalf. He said that he would telephone again around six that night, her time.

  Samantha dialed Annie’s number.

  “I didn’t expect you to phone as soon as you got in,” Annie protested. “Everything’s fine here. Pushkin’s happy as can be with Lucy. You can collect him tomorrow if you like.”

  “To tell you the truth, that would be a big help,” Samantha said. She told her friend that it had been a very productive trip, but that she was still tired in spite of having slept on the plane.

  “Well, you tend to think you’ve slept the whole way,” her friend agreed, “but you’re probably halfway listening to the other passengers whispering and you can’t help but notice when the attendants push their carts down th
ose narrow aisles.”

  “If you’re sure,” Samantha said. “I thought maybe we might go over to The White Hart for lunch tomorrow and swing by Marks on the way home; that is, if you aren’t busy. I can collect Pushkin when I drop you off afterwards.”

  “Why don’t we just make the run to Marks and then have lunch here,” Annie suggested. “I know you won’t feel like traipsing all over the country until you have a few days to settle into your routine and get yourself back on schedule.”

  They had agreed that Samantha would collect Annie a little before eleven the next morning for their trip to Marks. Then they would go back to Annie’s for lunch. Annie was right. She would feel more like a drive in the country once things returned to normal.

  Meanwhile, Samantha wanted nothing more than a nice long soak in her bath and then an hour’s nap. The formula always worked to get her back on the right time zone.

  ***

  Samantha had a hard time making herself get up when her alarm went at three o’clock. She had put her little travel clock on the table across the room from her bed just in case she was tempted to hit the snooze button too many times. She knew from past experience that any more than an hour and she could forget all about falling asleep at a decent hour later or actually sleeping through the night. The hour was just enough time to help her unwind from the journey without interfering with her regular sleep pattern.

  She got up, put on a clean pair of faded jeans and an old fleece with the Tommy USA nearly legible on the sleeve. She had stocked the freezer with a couple of ready meals for when she got home. She popped one in the microwave and waited for the familiar ping. It seemed strange not to have Pushkin swilling about underfoot, but he would be home soon enough; she may as well enjoy her one night of solitude in peace and quiet.

  She curled up on the sofa in the back room and opened the paper. The world must not be in too bad a state, she mused as she read that the fire brigade had to go out when someone’s cat got stuck in their gutter and that the local Women’s Institute planned to reissue their popular calendar again for the following year.

  She had just made some popcorn to enjoy along with another rerun of Dad’s Army when the telephone startled her. She glanced at the clock on the shelf under the television. Five past six.

  “You made it home,” Alex said when she picked up the handset. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “Yes, safe and sound. My Mr McElhenny was waiting for me when I got off the plane,” she said. “I got your message, so I knew you’d got back from the airport all right. I really appreciate your going out of your way like that.”

  “When you get to know me better you’ll find out that I seldom do anything I don’t want to do,” he said, “which brings me to the real point of my call. I wondered if you’ve already made a date for New Year’s Eve.”

  “If you mean do I have plans to go anywhere; not if I can help it,” Samantha said. “A perfect New Years for me is to stay at home in front of my gas fire and welcome the New Year in with a glass of J2O,” she laughed. “What about you? Will your son or daughter be visiting?”

  Alex explained that he had been going through some papers, throwing out a lot of things that had either expired or were no longer relevant. He said that amongst all the junk mail was a letter from American Airlines about his frequent flyer account.

  “It seems that I have these miles that I need to use before the end of the year or else lose them,” he said. “I thought that I’d use them to fly to England for a few days after Christmas; I hoped that you wouldn’t mind showing me around a bit.”

  “Well, of course I’d love to see you,” Samantha said, “but my little place has barely enough space---“

  “I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you like that,” Alex interrupted. “Actually I’ve already booked a room at The Forge in Churchill. I believe that’s just down the road from you. I can always cancel it if you’ve already made plans. I thought that we had such a good time riding when you were here, perhaps you might show me what real English riding is like over there.”

  “So, do we have a date?” He asked once he had explained that he had already converted his air miles and downloaded his e-ticket. He told her that he planned to arrive on the twenty-seventh and leave to go back on the seventh. He said that he wanted to allow for a few days to get everything in order for the start of the new term. He had even rented a hire car to get to and from the airport and to tour around while he was there.

  “I guess we do,” Samantha replied. “I’ll just telephone Stephany and make sure that we can come for a short break at High Bullen. I know they don’t do regular week-long holidays like they do in summer, but we should be able to go down for a couple of days. Oh, the only thing is that my friend Annie and her friend Michael will probably expect us to do something with them on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Wonderful. Tell her that I’ll look forward to it.”

  They chatted a few more minutes before they rang off. Samantha was unsure whether to feel excited about her unexpected guest or confused. At least Alex had taken care of all of the logistics of getting to and from the airport and his accommodation while he was there. Really, all she had to do was show him around and enjoy herself. It would be nice to have someone besides Pushkin for company for a change.

  ***

  By the time they had done a shopping run to Marks and got back to Annie’s it was hard for Samantha to believe that less than a week had passed since she had left for America. Now she had been, attended the Conference and returned home. Pushkin had briefly acknowledged her before he turned his attention back to Lucy. It was not exactly the warmest of welcomes, but it was better than a snub.

  “I want to hear all about your trip,” Annie said as put the bowls of Marks’ potato and leek soup and the basket of warm crusty bread on the kitchen table.

  “Just water with the soup,” Samantha said when Annie held up the juice and the decanter of water for her to choose.

  “Now it doesn’t even seem like I’ve been away,” Samantha said as she blew on the piping hot soup before she tasted it. “This is really good,” she said approvingly, once she had tasted a mouthful.

  “Was anyone from your other conferences there?”

  “Not really. Oh, except for Alex. He’s the one who suggested I submit a Paper in the first place.”

  “How could I forget? He’s the one you told me about who talked about Rachel Mellon’s jewellery, if I remember correctly,” Annie said.

  “That’s right. Anyhow, he collected me from the airport and loaned me a car to use while I was there. I really didn’t have to do anything except present my Paper,” Samantha said.

  “How did it go? Did you use any of the photos that you took when we visited The Sladmore?”

  “I used the one of the lioness; you remember, the life-sized one outside in the gardens. The others I downloaded from the internet. Most of them were of the same sculptures we saw at the Gallery, but the images were much better quality. I don’t know why I resisted using slides for so long, they really do seem to bring it all to life. Anyhow, it seemed to go down well. Oh, and a chap from the University of Chicago talked about the Renaissance. I thought of you when he showed a slide of Botticelli’s Portrait of a Young Woman. Speaking of which, how’s the new book coming along?”

  “I’m just about ready to get into the real nitty gritty of writing it now,” Annie said. “I fleshed out my outline a bit while you were away. I printed out a copy of my Seamstress from the internet to remind me how to craft my heroine. Now I just need to turn it into an interesting bit of intrigue for my readers,” she smiled. “But tell me about the other people who were at the Conference.”

  Samantha told her about Barbara and Howard and how much she’d enjoyed meeting them. She explained that they and Alex and Alex’s late wife had all grown up together in Fredericksburg, Virginia, just north of Williamsburg.

  “We had such a good time when Alex had us all over and cooked spaghetti for us. I must
admit I felt slightly envious of the easy relationship they had together. I suppose it’s because, apart from Julie, I’m not in touch with anyone that I grew up with. But they treated me just like one of the gang. It was really nice.”

  “But what about Caroline? You said that you had a lovely visit when she came down last time.”

  “We did. Don’t get me wrong. I love Caroline to bits. It’s just that with the wide gap in our ages, we didn’t really grow up together. I suppose that I envy that easy way people have around others who’ve known them through every stage of their growing up,” Samantha confessed. “Anyhow, between spending time with them and then getting to ride out with Alex, I had a wonderful time. Oh, and Doctor MacKenzie’s invited me back for next year. So all in all it was a very successful trip.”

  “It sounds like you spent quite a bit of time with this Alex,” Annie observed tentatively.

  “Actually, he telephoned last night,” Samantha admitted. “He said that he had an accumulation of air-miles that he needed to use up by the end of the year. Anyhow, he asked if I’d mind if he used them to come over for a few days after Christmas.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Annie said. “Michael and I had already planned for you to spend time with us. Now we can make it a foursome.”