by Anne Weale
Again there seemed nothing she could say, unless he expected her to apologise. If he did, he would have a long wait.
'Why are you nervous about drinking and driving? Is that how you lost your parents?—in an accident with a tanked-up driver?'
'No, they were drowned in a sailing accident—a freak squall hit them. They were both keen, experienced sailors. Unfortunately, I used to feel seasick if the water was the least bit choppy. It was the only thing we didn't do together.'
It was no longer an effort for her to speak unemotionally. Twelve years didn't make that kind of memory painless, but it transformed passionate grief into forlorn acceptance.
To give the devil his due, James Gardiner didn't produce any of the meaningless cliches which most people felt obliged to utter.
He said, 'What was your father's occupation? Did he leave you comfortably provided for?'
'He was an artist. No, he didn't,' she said briskly. 'But my mother's sister took me in.'
'How much have Emily's parents been paying you to teach her?'
She told him.
They had almost reached the end of the long tall tunnel of trees, their branches beating in the wind. At other seasons of the year they did offer some protection from lighter showers, but not now their leaves were gone and the rain was falling in a torrent, drumming on the roof of the car and blurring the windscreen even though the wipers were fanning back and forth at full speed!
He said, 'That's not much salary for a responsible job. They were taking advantage of your situation.'
She had sometimes thought the same thing, and wondered if she ought to press for a higher salary than the one proposed by Lord Edgedale when she changed from part-time to full-time.
However, as she hadn't any proper qualifications, and working at Cranmere was both convenient and congenial, she had said nothing. But she couldn't have managed on her salary if Miss Ewing had not left a small income. Being unearned, it was heavily taxed, but it paid the rates on the cottage and the electricity bills. As she never spent money on the usual pleasures of her age-group—food was her only self-indulgence—she had been able to manage.
They had come to the pair of lodges which flanked the main gateway and housed the head gardener and his wife in one, and a gamekeeper in the other.
The great gates, supported by stone piers topped with finials in the form of swagged urns, stood open. Beyond was the minor road which, after hugging the brick wall which marked the boundary of the estate for a few hundred yards, converged with the main road.
From the junction to the outskirts of the village, her companion was silent, peering through the veil of rain on a winding stretch of road where each bend might reveal a hazard.
When, further on, she began to explain the position of Miss Ewing's cottage—her cottage now—he said, 'You forget—I've lived here longer than you have. Your aunt was here in my time. An old dragon, from what I remember of her.'
Outside the cottage he pulled the Jaguar on to the grass verge where it wouldn't impede passing traffic. She had thought that whatever he wanted to talk about could be discussed in the car, but he said, 'I'll come in for ten minutes.'
She could hardly refuse to admit him, but she was simmering again at his arbitrary invasion of her home as she ran down the path ahead of him.
Like most small, old houses in England this one lacked an entrance hall, the door opening directly into what was known as 'the front room'. Summer's cottage, which was at one end of a terrace of ten, had had a small glazed porch added. Modern in style, it was an eyesore to look at but an improvement in practical terms. They were able to shelter inside it while she fumbled for the front door key instead of the one she usually used.
As she always did, she had left the fire ready to be lit. As soon as she had switched on some lamps and taken off her outer clothing, she struck a match and held it to the kindling in the grate.
She straightened to find that James Gardiner had removed his cap but not his coat, and was taking in the details of her sitting room. The ceiling was low and seemed lower with him standing there. She watched him glance at her bookshelves, at the water-colour painting—bought with pocket money at a jumble sale—which she had brought down from her bedroom to hang above the fireplace, and at the needle-point cushions, or pillows as her mother would have called them, she had stitched as a change from always reading in the evenings.
'You're very tidy,' he said. 'Do you do your own housework?'
'People in houses of this size usually do, if you remember. Did you expect me to live in chaos?'
Her grey eyes, always friendly and gentle when she looked at Emily, met his with a steelier expression.
'What is it you want to discuss with me, Mr Gardiner?' Deliberately, she refrained from offering to take his coat.
He took it off anyway, folded the wet side innermost, and threw it across an upright chair.
'Maybe discuss is the wrong word. I've decided on a course of action, now it's up to you to decide if you're willing to go along with it. Shall we sit down?'
To ask that had been her prerogative. But the only prerogatives he would respect were his own, she thought crossly as she sat down.
Having suggested they sit, he chose to remain on his feet, casting his eye along the titles on the bookshelves in the alcove on the far side of the chimney-breast.
'I've a house on the west coast of Florida—the Gulf of Mexico side,' he told her. 'I'm going to send Emily there for the rest of the winter, and I'd like you to go over with her. There's a large swimming pool in the grounds. I'm told that running is the worst exercise for asthmatics, and swimming is the best. It has to do with the weight of the body being supported by the water so that the total amount of energy used is less than in most other exercises.'
Not for the first time that evening she was silent after he stopped speaking. But not from annoyance or discomfiture.
For some moments Summer was overwhelmed. To return, at long last, to her homeland... to escape from an English winter to a climate where swimming was possible...
Although not a good small-boat sailor, she had always loved being in the water and had swum from an early age until her departure from America. It had been her favourite activity.
'I'd be happy to go there with Emily,' she told him, her enthusiasm for his plan tempered by her detestation of its author.
He didn't appear to be gratified by this reaction. Clearly he would have been surprised and put out if she hadn't acceded to it.
'Is your passport in order?'
'No, it expired some years ago.'
'That can be remedied. Call the Embassy first thing tomorrow and find out the drill. Do you rent this place, or do you own it?'
'It belongs to me.'
Now he did sit down—in the armchair opposite hers.
'What are the chances of finding a tenant for it?'
'I have no idea. But I don't think there would be much point in attempting to let it. I'd prefer to leave it standing empty and arrange for someone to keep an eye on it. It's not a damp cottage—I shan't come back in the spring to find it full of mildew.'
'In the spring I shall probably move Emily up to Cape Cod. She won't be coming back here.'
'I see. When will she come back?'
'Maybe in five or six years if she wants to revisit old haunts. Certainly not before then, and maybe never if she finds America as much to her liking as I do.'
'I... I don't understand what you mean.'
'Emily is in the same situation that you were, Miss Roberts. The only person willing and able to take care of her lives in another country. Therefore she must adapt to a different way of life in a new place. Had she been at a boarding school, she could have continued her education in England and spent the vacations in America. As things are, she has you to be a link between her old life and her new one. I think she'll find the transition considerably less painful than it was for you.'
Summer stared at him for a moment; her own feelings forgott
en. Her only concern for the child.
'But her situation isn't the same as mine was. I was left with nothing... and I did have some English blood in me. My mother had talked about England, and I knew a great deal about it. Emily is totally English, and while I'd travelled all over the States, she has never even been to London.'
'Then we'll make sure she has a day there before flying to Miami. It's unfortunate you don't drive. You'll have to learn—a car is a necessity where you're going."
'I do drive. I'm a complete beginner, but I have a licence. I just can't afford to run a car at present.'
'Not on what you've been paid up to now, but from tomorrow that changes. I shan't be in Florida with you—or not very often. You'll be able to call me at all times, and there'll be staff to run the house for you. But you will be fully responsible for my niece's welfare, and I'll pay you a salary commensurate with that responsibility. If all goes well, you'll have job-security until Emily is sixteen or seventeen. But we'll have to see how it works out. For the present, I suggest a contract reviewable after six months.'
And then he suggested a salary, first in dollars and then in its current sterling equivalent, which made her gape in astonishment.
'But that's going to the other extreme. I don't need all that,' she protested.
His lion's eyes narrowed, watching her with an expression she couldn't interpret.
After a pause, he said, 'Learn from your father's improvidence, Miss Roberts. Enjoy the present, by all means, but give some thought to the future. You may not be aware of it yet, but we're living in the dawn of the Computer Age. In the next two or three decades, all our lives will be changed more radically than by the Industrial Revolution of the last century. It's hoped that new technology will create as many jobs as it destroys; but at this stage nothing is certain. Unemployment is already high—it could go higher. So make the most of your opportunities.'
She was struck by his tone of voice as he spoke of the changes ahead. The only person to whom she had talked about computers had been old Mr Renfrew. In recent years the facilities at the nearest large public library had been greatly improved by the introduction of microfiche to replace the old-fashioned card indexes. Other modernisations had taken place in the reference section.
She would have expected an archivist to welcome the new information storage and retrieval systems. Mr Renfrew had been against them; perhaps because deteriorating eyesight had made it difficult for him to read small print shown on a screen.
It was clear that James Gardiner's reaction to the Computer Age was one of excitement and enthusiasm.
She said, 'I shall try to, certainly. But when you speak of the transition to America being less painful for Emily than coming to Europe was for me, you're ignoring the fact that she has a home here. We were living in a rented apartment at the time of my parents' accident. I had no roots anywhere, and certainly not the deep tap-root which Emily has here. I don't understand why she has to be moved to America... why she can't continue as she is, in the place where she belongs.'
He didn't reply to that immediately, and Summer had the curious sensation of having her innermost thoughts probed by a penetrating intelligence, a kind of mental laser beam.
He said, 'Don't you want to go to America?'
'Yes, very much. There's nothing I should like better. But it's Emily's life we're discussing. Her place is here, at Cranmere. If you don't care about your heritage, then she is the last of the Lancasters. It may even be possible that the Queen will grant her the title of Marchioness, in the same way that Lord Mountbatten's elder daughter was made Countess Mountbatten after he was killed in Ireland.'
'I think you overrate the importance of a title,' he answered. 'I've never regretted dropping mine; and, as long as she's under my aegis in America, Emily will be known as plain Emily Lancaster. If she chooses to revive her title later, that's up to her. But a title with nothing to back it is like a crown without a kingdom. If it were possible to keep the estate going until she's grown up, maybe she could find a rich husband who would change his name to Lancaster. But that's talking of six years from now, and my guess is she won't be that kind of girl anyway. Right now the sane course of action is to put the house on the market and auction the contents.'
'You mean... sell Cranmere?' she expostulated.
'Correct,' he said crisply.
'But you can't do that! You can't throw away her birthright because she's thirteen... and a girl. It isn't fair. I think it's... damnable!'
'Life rarely is fair, Miss Roberts. Although I don't personally see this an outstanding example of its unfairness.'
'Naturally not. It doesn't affect you,' Summer said hotly. 'No doubt it will be to your benefit.'
The lines of his sun-tanned face tightened, the firm lips compressing for a moment before he said, 'What do you mean?'
What had she meant? She had flung the afterthought at him without choosing her words or considering their implication.
Now, as he looked coldly at her, waiting for her to explain herself, she had an uneasy feeling that she was skating on thin ice. It could be that what she had meant was defamation of character; and James Gardiner wouldn't like that any more than he liked disobedience.
On the other hand, they were alone. There was no one to hear her accuse him of using his niece's misfortune to feather his own nest.
She said recklessly, 'You're not dense, Mr Gardiner. I think you're extremely astute. As it stands, Emily's inheritance is no use to you. But converted into funds—very substantial funds—of which you, as her administrator, would have control for some years...' She finished the sentence with an expressive shrug.
There was a long-drawn-out silence. James Gardiner leaned back in his chair and watched her, his gaze as intent as that of a cat watching a mouse. Or a lion watching a springbok.
At length, he said softly, 'That's a very unpleasant suggestion, Miss Roberts. Are you prepared to stand by it?'
Her mouth felt dry, but her clear grey eyes didn't waver.
She said evenly, 'I'm prepared to do anything necessary to defend Emily s rights, and her happiness. Someone has to.'
'And you don't trust me to do it?'
'Why should I trust you, Mr Gardiner? You're a stranger to me. All I know is that you left here under a cloud, and as far as I'm aware, you never made contact with your family until the only one left was a little girl of thirteen. You've repudiated your title. Perhaps you've repudiated a great deal more than that. Things like honesty and decency. All the civilised values.'
His reaction to this was to smile. 'Dr Dyer told me you had a lot of guts—he was right. You're prepared to risk losing a good job to stand up for Emily.'
Her pale cheeks flooded with colour. Not because of the praise implicit in what he had said, but because of his gall in referring to a conversation in which he—damn his eyes!—had been as insulting about her as it was possible to be.
She never swore out loud, and only rarely in her mind, but right now there was only one word to apply to James Gardiner.
She looked at him, smiling at her, and she thought: You bastard!
Did he read the message in her eyes? She couldn't be sure.
He said, 'Okay, I'll explain to you why your fears are unfounded. In my teens, when I wasn't poaching or doing various other illicit things, of which you've probably heard exaggerated rumours, I was interested in transistors. Later on, when I went to America, I became a computer buff.'
His body flexed. He stood up and began to pace about the room, as he had in the course of their first talk.
'Six years ago,' he went on, 'I founded a company to manufacture personal computers and some software. In case you don't know, software refers to video games and programmes for use with computers. The giant of the computer industry is IBM—International Business Machines. Everybody's heard of them. For a long time they concentrated on mainframe business computers and ignored the personal computer—that market was left to a number of much smaller companies, of whi
ch the most successful were Apple and my company. Our stock has a market value of two billion dollars, and as chairman of the board, I have shares worth two hundred and fifty million dollars. I have no designs on Emily's fortune, Miss Roberts. I'm a rich man, and getting richer. But I made my money the hard way, and I'm not going to use it to shore up a tottering tradition which means nothing to me.'
Was he speaking the truth? Was he really the head of a booming billion-dollar company? Or was that a spiel which he didn't think she would check out?
'Neither Emily's father nor her grandfather were men of foresight,' he continued. They made bad investments... bad decisions. The estate is heavily in debt. If I had nothing else to do, and I wanted to come back to England, I might, by careful management, be able to pull it out of the red. Might is the operative word. However, I have things to do, and no wish to come back. Two weeks is the most I can spare from my own affairs.'
He glanced at his watch. 'I'd better get back—that sandwich will be beginning to curl at the edges.'
As he put on the waterproof coat, she said, 'When are you going to tell Emily? Tonight?'
'I thought so—yes. Unless you'd prefer to tell her?'
'Whoever tells her, it's going to be a terrible shock. Cranmere has been her whole world.'
'A very small world,' he said shortly. 'Almost as confined as a convent.'
He picked up the cap, his glance running over her. She flushed. She felt sure he was thinking that, with her lack of sex appeal, she might just as well be a nun.
She said, 'Perhaps it would be better not to tell her yet. When we're in Florida, particularly if she's happy there, it won't come as such a blow.' Then she shook her head. 'No, on second thoughts, I couldn't deceive her like that. She has to be told, however much it upsets her. I think you should break it to her—she's taken an immediate liking to you.'
