Summer's Awakening

by Anne Weale

  'Did you never come here before... when you lived here?' she asked.

  'Yes, but it was under different management then.'

  The wine waiter brought Perrier for her and Emily, and another glass of Carlsberg for him. He had asked if she would like to share a bottle of wine with him. When she demurred, he had said, 'In that case I'll stick to lager.'

  After sitting in silence for some time, Emily ventured a question. 'How long will it take to fly to Florida, James?'

  'About eight hours. There'll be a movie to help pass the time, and I'll try to arrange for you to visit the flight-deck.'

  He glanced at Summer. She felt sure he was wondering if there would be room for her on the flight-deck. She wanted to cry out: I'm not as enormous as all that. You make me feel like a freak.

  At that moment she would have given anything to have Emily's skinny wrists instead of her plump ones, Emily's bony knuckles instead of the dimpled depressions which showed where her own knuckles were.

  The conversation throughout lunch consisted mainly of Emily asking questions about Florida and James answering them. Summer took little part in it.

  She wondered why he had squashed Emily when she asked if her grandparents had had frequent disagreements. It might have been for the reason he had given, or perhaps he disapproved of discussing family matters in front of outsiders, or perhaps his parents and his upbringing were a sore point with him, one he preferred to ignore.

  When the baked fish was placed in front of her, she was dismayed to see that as well as being flanked by rolls of bacon it had a crust of buttery breadcrumbs.

  The vegetables were fresh and well-cooked. She was able, discreetly, to decline the potatoes. She would have liked to eat the fish and the Brussels sprouts and creamed spinach, and to leave the bacon and the crumb topping. But in a restaurant, with her new employer sitting beside her, noticing, she hadn't the courage.

  It was the first time in her life she had ever had to force herself to eat something. Each time she swallowed a piece of bacon, she was dismally conscious that it would soon be undoing whatever improvement she had wrought by several days' semi-starvation.

  Yet, before the end of the meal, she was to suffer a revulsion of feeling.

  In place of the usual gâteaux and sugary confections, the restaurant offered a Victorian sherry trifle, apple pie, treacle tart, an old-fashioned steamed suet pudding stuffed with dates and sultanas and served with egg custard and, to Summer's relief, a fruit salad.

  'Cream for you, madame?' The waiter stood at her elbow, holding a silver jug of fresh double cream.

  And it was then, as if being obliged to eat something taboo during the previous course had somehow sapped the self-discipline she had exerted for nearly three days, that she almost said mentally, Oh, to hell with it—why not? and aloud, 'Yes, please.'

  Only the presence of the man who had called her a glutton made Summer shake her head and say, 'No, thank you.'

  She watched the waiter pour some cream over Emily's apple pie and then move round the table to repeat the process with James Gardiner's treacle tart.

  She had always adored treacle tart; the pastry case filled with a deliciously glutinous mixture of course crumbs and grated lemon peel enveloped in golden syrup. Forcing herself not to look at the thick wedge of hot, sticky tart on James Gardiner's plate, she admitted to herself that, if she were shut in a room with his tart and Emily's pie, she would never be able to resist eating both in addition to her fruit.

  Much as she longed to be slim, she was as addicted to food as a smoker to nicotine, a dipsomaniac to alcohol, or a junkie to dope.

  Could she ever break free of her addiction, or would she always be tormented by pangs of longing when she saw other people eating the sweet things her mind rejected but her body craved?

  Her dessert, an imaginative combination of fresh and dried fruit with a liqueur; possibly kirsch, added to the juices, was excellent. But it didn't satisfy her palate in the way which the pastry and cream which James Gardiner was eating would have done.

  And he wouldn't put on an ounce, Summer thought enviously. Whereas her waistline was a fissure between her spare tyre and her tummy, the black leather belt slotted through the loops on his waistband encircled a muscular torso with no superfluous flesh, not even in the area where most men of his age had at least some padding, if not an incipient paunch. Before he had told her he was a company chairman, she had thought that whatever he did for a living must involve a lot of exercise.

  'I wish you were flying to Florida with us, James,' said Emily, while the two adults were having coffee and she was nibbling the sweetmeats which the waiter had brought to accompany the coffee.

  Her uncle said, 'You'll have my housekeeper, Mrs Hardy, to help you settle in, and I've no doubt Miss Roberts will quickly revert to her native language, even after a long break.'

  Emily looked puzzled. 'I thought they spoke English in Florida?

  'American-English which is not always the same as British-English. For instance, what does the word mall mean to you?'

  Although she had never been to London, Emily said instantly, 'The drive from Buckingham Palace to Admiralty Arch where you get a good view of the coaches on special occasions like the opening of Parliament or the Royal Wedding.'

  'Yes, or possibly Pall Mall, where some of the surviving men's clubs are, or even Chiswick Mall where people who have friends living there get an excellent view of the Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race. But in Florida, you'll find that mall refers to large shopping arcades where people can do most of their shopping under cover and, in summer, out of the heat.'

  'Is it very hot in the hot months?' Summer asked.

  'Intensely hot... uncomfortably so. Florida is a winter place. Some people have to live there the year round, the way others have to endure the winters in New England. The hot months in Florida are fine for people who don't mind staying in an air-conditioned atmosphere. Houses and automobiles are air-conditioned, so are the malls and the supermarkets and restaurants. Unless there's a major power failure, no one has to sit around sweating. But I don't happen to like being indoors all the time, and so I only go there between October and April... when I want to unwind.'

  'What does unwind mean?' asked Emily. 'Is that American-English?'

  He laughed. Unwillingly, Summer had to admit he had an attractive laugh; both the sound, and the momentary glimpse of strong white American teeth.

  'No, it's international office jargon meaning getting away from the pressures of business for a while,' he explained.

  Summer was pondering the fact that she had thought of his teeth as American teeth.

  She had still been wearing orthodontic bands on her teeth when she came to live with her aunt, and remembered being surprised that few English children seemed to wear them. Some of the English had excellent teeth; but, as a nation, they consumed enormous quantities of what she had once called candies and now knew as sweets, and this resulted in much decay. Upper- and middle-class people generally had good teeth, but not often as well-spaced and straight as her own and James Gardiner's teeth. In fact she had never before met an Englishman with what she called American teeth—he was the first one.

  'Will you come to Florida for Christmas?' Emily asked.

  Her face fell when he answered, 'No, but I'll probably fly down there some time in January or February.'

  Summer had been worrying about Christmas before his arrival. Even if Emily's relationship with her parents had not been close, Christmas at Cranmere had been celebrated in a style she was bound to miss, especially this first year.

  The house had always been filled With guests, all of whom had brought presents for her. Not only would she be denied the excitement of opening a large number of presents, but, at a deeper level, she could not fail to be conscious of her aloneness; of having no family any more.

  When her uncle had paid the bill, Emily said, 'Instead of coming with you to the estate agent, Summer, could I go back to the bookshop, and hav
e another browse?

  'I don't see why not. You've got your puffer with you?'

  Emily nodded and produced the small aerosol inhaler from which, if she started to wheeze or thought she might start, she could give herself a puff of bronchodilator.

  'Have you any money?' her uncle asked.

  'No, but I don't want to buy anything, only to look.'

  'Buy yourself two or three paperbacks for the journey.' He gave her a crisp new banknote.

  Her eyes widened. 'Golly! Ten pounds.'

  He said, 'If you get tired, come back here and sit in the lounge till we come. If we haven't turned up by four, order some tea.'

  The offices of the town's oldest-established estate agent were a short walk from the hotel. As she hurried along beside him, Summer seized the opportunity presented by Emily's absence to bring up the subject of Christmas.

  She began by saying, 'Where will you be spending Christmas, Mr Gardiner?'

  'Skiing at Gstaad.'

  His reply shocked her. She had assumed he must have an important reason for not coming to Florida, but that she might be able to convince him that nothing was more important than that Emily should not feel bereft and miserable.

  His casual announcement that he would be enjoying himself in Switzerland took her breath away. Was this how he meant to discharge his responsibility? By being lavish with pin-money, but niggardly with the love and attention his niece needed far more?

  'Oh, a white Christmas in the Alps—how nice. Emily would love that. As it's her first Christmas as an orphan'—she used the emotive word deliberately—'couldn't she spend it there, with you? She wouldn't interfere with your skiing. She's always perfectly happy as long as she has something to read.'

  'If I were staying in an hotel it might be possible, although difficult, to get them to squeeze her in somewhere,' he agreed. 'But I'm staying at a private ski lodge and my hosts wouldn't take kindly to having a child foisted on them.'

  'Are you sure? I should have thought most people would stretch a point in these special circumstances. After all, loving kindness is what Christmas is all about.'

  'Not to most people, Miss Roberts,' he said dryly. 'In general, it's an excuse for eating and drinking and that unwinding I was talking about earlier.'

  His cynicism repelled her. She had never believed the people—Miss Ewing among them—who claimed that the true spirit of Christmas was lost nowadays, swamped by commercialism. The Christmases of her childhood had been magic festivals. Her parents had always included one or two old or lonely people in their celebrations, and many of the gifts she had helped her mother to wrap had been for recipients who otherwise might not have shared in the annual upsurge of loving and giving.

  'You could explain to them and ask them?' she persisted.

  He shook his head, starting to frown. 'I shouldn't dream of putting them in the awkward position of having to refuse; not only on their own account but in the interests of their other guests. It won't be the kind of house party where a child wouldn't be noticed. They would find her presence intrusive, and she wouldn't feel comfortable either.'

  Without stopping to think, she said curtly, 'What on earth do they do when not skiing? Smoke hash and go in for group sex?'

  His grasp on her arm made her stop short. As he scowled down into her face, she found several new and alarming ideas flashing through her mind.

  He was looking furious. Was it because she had hit on something? Could it be that his father had thrown him out and disowned him because he had been caught taking drugs or, worse, pushing them? At one time there had been a wave of expulsions at England's so-called public schools, which were actually very expensive fee-paying schools, for such crimes. Obviously, a man as fit-looking as James Gardiner couldn't be on drugs himself; but it could be that the huge income he claimed to be making from computers came from a more sinister trade.

  The thought that Emily might now be dependent on a man who lived on the proceeds of other people's degradation filled Summer with horror and rage.

  'No, they do not,' he said tersely. 'They're merely a group of people who don't happen to want children underfoot—or yapping lap dogs, or chain-smokers, or any of the various other nuisances which people are perfectly entitled to exclude from their lives if they wish to.'

  'They sound a fun crowd,' she retorted, equally tersely.

  His black look lightened a little. 'I wouldn't say that precisely. They're all interesting, distinguished people whom I count it a privilege to mix with. If you must know, they include a couple of older people who haven't yet got over a particularly horrible tragedy. Their son and his wife and their two grandchildren were involved in an accident with a car driven by youngsters who were high on drugs. The parents and one child were killed outright. The other child—a girl the same age as Emily—is now a permanent hospital case. Now do you see why I can't ask my hosts to include her?'

  'Yes,' she conceded. 'Yes, I do. But what I don't understand is why your concern for Emily doesn't outweigh your concern for them. Would it be such an intolerable sacrifice to give up your Christmas plans to make her Christmas less forlorn?'

  'It won't be forlorn. She'll be in an interesting new environment and she'll have you with her. Until a few days ago, she barely knew I existed. You're a much more important figure in her life than I am—and at this stage, she's more important to you than to me,' he added. 'She seems a nice enough child, but I'm afraid my affections are not so easily engaged that I'm ready to prefer her company to that of my friends.'

  Now that her flare of anger and suspicion had subsided, she could see the force of his argument. Emily had taken to him because she was an impressionable teenager whose father had never quite fulfilled her longing for someone to love, admire and depend on, and whose uncle seemed, on first acquaintance, as if he might fulfill all those needs.

  He, on the other hand, was a mature, sophisticated male who, if he needed affection and admiration, would seek it from girls much older than Emily. Sex, perhaps pride of possession, and possibly intellectual stimulus would be what he required of the female sex. Not the innocent hero-worship of a flat-chested child of thirteen.

  They walked the rest of the way without speaking. At the entrance to the building, as he pushed open the heavy swing door for her, she was aware of the pleasure of being treated with chivalrous courtesy by a member of the opposite sex. Yet at the same time she knew that, on this occasion, he had performed the action as an automatic reflex, not because she aroused his protective instincts. He didn't see her as a woman; only as the grotesque outsize frump who was tutor to his niece.

  She didn't want to be, but she was glad of his support in the discussion with the estate agent. If he hadn't been with her, she knew she would have been dealt with by a junior clerk at the front desk, not ushered into the office of one of the partners.

  And it wasn't because, in making the appointment by telephone, he had given his title or said he was ringing from Cranmere—they knew him only as Mr Gardiner. But he was the kind of man—she couldn't deny it—who, by something in his air and manner, commanded respectful attention. He might repudiate his heritage, but he could never rid himself of the innate authority bred from generations of power and influence.

  Mr Watts, the partner who attended to them, was a bald man who tried to disguise this by carefully smarming his hair sideways. His manner was professionally genial.

  'As it happens, we have a very nice elderly couple who are looking for somewhere to rent in your area,' the agent told her. 'They spent their working life in Africa. For the past seven years, they've been living in retirement in Spain, but they feel that now, in their seventies, they should come back to England. They're planning to build a small house, but it may take some time. If you're agreeable to a year's lease, they could be ideal tenants for you, Miss Roberts.'

  The idea of renting, rather than selling in haste, was more appealing to her. She felt the cottage was a sheet-anchor which, if the worst came to the worst—and she had no
specific calamity in mind, only a vague unease—she and Emily would have in reserve. Although if there were tenants living in it, they themselves wouldn't be able to live there until the lease had expired.

  'I think you had better come and look at the place, and then advise Miss Roberts about an appropriate rent and the price she could expect if she sold it, Mr Watts,' said James Gardiner.

  Summer felt sure that, had she been on her own, Mr Watts would have agreed to do this—when he had time. It was only a two-bedroomed cottage from which, if he did sell it for her, he wouldn't derive much commission.

  But with James Gardiner as her spokesman, the agent said, 'Yes, by all means. In fact I can come over later this afternoon, if that would suit you.'

  'That would be splendid,' she said gratefully, giving him one of the smiles only seen by people who didn't make her feel self-conscious.

  As he rose to show them out, he said, 'How long have you had your cottage, Miss Roberts?'

  'It was left to me a year ago, but I've lived there for twelve years.'

  'Ah, then you know the village well. Have you heard any rumours about Cranmere?'

  'Rumours?' she echoed guardedly.

  'About what's going to happen to it. There's no male heir, I understand, only an invalid daughter.'

  She said, 'I don't have much to do with the village people. If there are rumours going about, I haven't heard them.'

  'Let's hope it doesn't go the same way as Mentmore, the Rothschild mansion,' he said. That's now the headquarters of some strange religious cult, you know. The Government should have bought it for the nation. A sad loss to our heritage... a very sad loss.'

  'Crocodile tears!' was James Gardiner's caustic comment a few minutes later, when they were outside in the street. 'If I asked Watts to handle the sale of Cranmere, he'd be only too delighted. Agents don't worry about other people's reverses if they can benefit from them.'