Enchanting Samantha. Бетти Нилс

that she had kept meticulous account of the money she had spent on his behalf, and left the change, together with a stiff little note, in Juffrouw Boot’s locker. He hadn’t said how long he was going to be away; almost certainly he would be gone again by the time she returned to duty. She felt a vague, unreasonable regret about this as she drifted off to sleep again.

      The train filled itself at Bournemouth; she forced herself to wake up and look out of the window at the familiar scenery, so that she was quite alert by the time the train stopped, finally, at Weymouth.

      Her grandfather was waiting for her, sitting in the driver’s seat of the elderly Morris. He was an old man now and driving, because of his arthritis, was becoming increasingly difficult, but he always insisted on meeting her when she went home. She swung into the seat beside him, cast her case on to the back seat and embraced him with affection. He and her grandmother had looked after her since she had lost her parents at the age of twelve. They had given her a loving home, educated her well, although it had meant digging deep into their capital, and never grudged her a thing. Not that Samantha had ever asked for much; she had realized soon enough that there wasn’t much money and what there was was being spent on her. That was why, now that she was earning her own living, she insisted on helping them each month; they didn’t like it, but she suspected that they had very little besides their pension, although they were far too proud to tell her that.

      ‘Lovely to see you, Grandpa,’ she told the spare old gentleman as he drove through the town and out on to the Portisham road, and she went on to entertain him with some of the lighter aspects of hospital life until they reached the turning to Langton Herring, a narrow lane which meandered through fields and pleasant little copses before it arrived at the village; a mere cluster of houses about the church and almost at the end of the lane which wandered, its surface getting rougher at every yard, uphill and then down again until it ended at Chesil Beach and the coastguards’ cottages.

      Mr Fielding drove round the church, past the big open gate leading to the Manor, and stopped neatly before a small grey stone house with a very small garden before it. Its door stood open. Samantha flung out of the car and ran into its narrow passage, straight into the arms of her grandmother. Mrs Fielding was a little shorter than her granddaughter and a good deal plumper; they shared the same ordinary face and the same pretty twinkling eyes, but whereas her grandmother’s hair was short and white and curly, Samantha’s long brown hair was skewered rather severely above her slender neck.

      They hugged each other, both talking at once, until Mr Fielding came in with her case and they all moved into the sitting room, where Samantha was regaled with several cups of strong tea and the cream of the local gossip was skimmed off until her grandmother looked at the clock and declared that it was high time that they had their dinner, and went off to the kitchen to dish up.

      They all helped with the washing up in the small, pleasant kitchen and then, with her grandparents ensconced by the sitting room fire for their afternoon nap, Samantha went upstairs to her room. It was a small apartment, its window built out over the porch so that if she had a mind to, she could see anyone coming up the lane. But she didn’t look out now. She unpacked the few things she had brought with her and put them tidily away and did her hair again, this time in a ponytail, and sat on the narrow bed, looking around her at the rather elderly furniture, the rosebud wallpaper and the little shelf of her favourite books by the bed. It was nice to be home again. She heaved a sigh of content and went quietly downstairs, laid her gifts of tobacco and chocolates on the kitchen table, took down an old tweed coat hanging behind the door, and went out. She walked past the church, stopped to say a word or two to the vicar when she met him, and then went briskly down the lane towards the sea, meeting no one else on the way. It was a dull afternoon and the water, when she reached it, looked dark and cold and the mean little wind blowing in over Chesil Beach made everything look very uninviting. Samantha turned and walked back, her hands in the pockets of her deplorable coat, frowning to herself, because for no reason at all, she was thinking about Doctor ter Ossel again.

      It was the next morning, over breakfast, that Mrs Fielding mentioned casually that they had all been bidden to dinner that evening at the Manor.

      ‘But, Granny,’ said Samantha, astonished, ‘we only go at Christmas and New Year and once or twice in the summer.’

      Her grandmother looked vaguely puzzled. ‘Yes, dear, I know, but I met Mrs Humphries-Potter a few days ago and she told me that she was on the way to visit us in order to invite us all for tonight. She was most particular about it—I can’t imagine why, excepting she said that she hadn’t seen you for a long time.’

      ‘Christmas! I’ve nothing to wear!’

      ‘Oh, I’m sure you have, darling—it’s not a party, just us, I believe. That was a pretty dress you had on yesterday.’

      Samantha eyed her grandmother with tolerant affection. A Marks & Spencer jersey dress, and she had had it for more than a year. But she could dress it up a bit, she supposed, there was that lovely belt someone had given her for Christmas and she had a decent pair of shoes somewhere. ‘OK,’ she agreed cheerfully, ‘I’ll wear that.’

      They got out the car to go to the Manor, for although it was a very short drive, her grandfather wasn’t much of a walker these days. This time Samantha drove, first packing the elderly pair into the back of the car and then, at her grandmother’s agitated request, went back into the house to make sure that Stubbs, the cat, was safely indoors. They had had Stubbs for a long time now, he was part of the family, his every whim pandered to, and much thought given to his comfort. Samantha got into the driving seat at last, assured her companions that Stubbs was cosily asleep, and drove off up the lane, round the corner, through the open gate and up the winding drive, to park the car on one side of the sweep before the house.

      The Squire, an elderly man, become rather stout with advancing years, came to meet them as Mrs Mabb, who did for the Humphries-Potters, opened the door. He was followed by his wife, a commanding lady of majestic aspect and possessing one of the kindest hearts in the district. She pecked Mrs Fielding’s cheek in greeting and then did the same for Samantha, commenting as she did so that the dear child looked far too pale. The Squire kissed her too, rather more robustly, and slapped her in avuncular fashion as well, for they had known her since she was a small girl. Carried along on a burst of cheerful conversation, they crossed the hall and arranged themselves in a circle round the fire to drink their sherries and gin and tonics. Samantha was listening to Mrs Humphries-Potter’s plans for the church bazaar, when that lady’s rigidly coiffed head bent to a listening angle. ‘There is the car,’ she pronounced, and even as Samantha framed the question: ‘Whose car?’ Mrs Mabb threw open the door with something of a flourish and Doctor ter Ossel walked in.

      Under Samantha’s startled gaze he greeted his host and hostess, was introduced to Mr and Mrs Fielding, and finally, to herself. The look he gave her was bland as they shook hands, faintly amused and tinged with an innocent surprise which she suspected wasn’t innocent at all.

      ‘We have already met,’ he informed Mrs Humphries-Potter suavely, ‘at Clement’s, you know.’

      His hostess smiled graciously. ‘Of course—dear Sir Joshua.’ She tapped the doctor playfully on his well tailored sleeve. ‘If it hadn’t been for him we should never have made your acquaintance or had the pleasure of your company here.’

      ‘A mutual pleasure, Mrs Humphries-Potter.’ His eyes rested briefly on Samantha, standing between them and wishing she wasn’t. ‘And what a strange coincidence that—er—Samantha should be here too.’

      Samantha felt Mrs Humphries-Potter’s hand on her shoulder. ‘The dear child,’ she said with real affection. ‘We have known her for a good many years, for the Fieldings are neighbours of ours…’ She broke off as the Squire came over with a drink for the newcomer and Samantha, with a wordless murmur, slipped away to join her grandmother. Presently the three gentlemen struck up a conversation, and Samantha, sitting between the two older ladies, listening with half an ear to their gentle criticisms of the latest books, the newest fashions and the terrible price of everything, had ample opportunity of studying Doctor ter Ossel. Apart from the fact that she disliked him, he was rather nice; a handsome