Summer's Awakening (10 page)

On the upper level, reached by three or four wide shallow steps, was a parquet-floored lobby and the entrance to the apartment.

When the sound of the buzzer penetrated the hum of witty conversation, a manservant moved swiftly to answer it, and the hostess detached herself from a group by the window in order to greet the last-comer.

As the door opened and she crossed the threshold, the murmur of voices died away. Everyone turned to look at the willowy blonde in the black silk taffeta evening coat.

There was a hush as the manservant helped her to remove it; revealing a skirt of matt black silk, a blouse of white crêpe de Chine and, at her throat, a pearl choker with an antique emerald centrepiece.

Suddenly all the other women were conscious of being overdressed, over-made-up and over-jewelled.

The hostess mounted the steps, hands outstretched, smiling a welcome.

'My dear... how lovely to see you again. It's been much too long since the last time, but I know how busy you are.'

Together they moved to the steps, the rest of those present still watching, entranced, the graceful carriage and radiant looks of someone they had all read or heard about.

The hostess began the introductions, and to each person there the girl gave her slender hand and her lovely smile.

Finally, the hostess presented a tall man whose white tuxedo emphasised the deep tan of his skin.

'And this, my dear, is James Gardiner, who is an American now but was born in England.'

As she gave him her hand, he turned it palm downwards and bowed, his lips brushing her knuckles.

'I've been wanting to meet you for months, Miss Roberts.' The look in his eyes told her she was everything he had expected, and more; the most captivating woman he had ever met.

She had heard about him, and most of what she had heard she hadn't liked. She had no time for arrogant men. His admiration meant nothing to her. She was waiting for the
man to whom her essential being, her soul, would be more important than her beauty.

When, for politeness' sake, she had let James Gardiner engage her in small-talk for a minute or two, she was able to catch the eye of another man and send him a mute appeal for rescue. He was a distinguished professor whom she had met before and liked; a middle-aged widower, neither good-looking nor rich, but kind and with a great sense of humour. As, with alacrity, he joined them and she started to ask about his latest research project, she was aware of vibrations of annoyance from the other man. He wasn't accustomed to being gently cold-shouldered.

A
lump of smokeless fuel fell into the hearth, making Summer start and bringing her back to reality.

When she started to pour a second cup of tea, she found it had gone cold while she was lost in her day-dream of giving James Gardiner his comeuppance.

Not physically, but in other ways, he had changed since his father threw him out. Was it possible, if she really put her mind to it, that she could one day become the
alter ego
of her day-dream?

Could she lose weight and keep it off? Could she learn to dress well and, with make-up, create an illusion of beauty? Was there, lurking inside her, as yet undiscovered, a talent she could build into a career?

Teaching Emily was enjoyable because the child was unusually bright and their personalities meshed. But she had no vocation for training the minds of other children. It didn't appeal to her at all; it had been her aunt's career choice for her. When her time with Emily was over, she wanted to do something different. But as yet she didn't know what.

Perhaps in Florida there would be evening classes where she could try her hand at pottery, or woodwork, or some other craft which would satisfy her urge to use her hands as well as her brain.

However, the personal excitement she felt at the prospect of going there was overshadowed by her deep concern for Emily's welfare.

By next morning the rain had cleared. Half an hour earlier than usual, Summer set out on foot. She wasn't accustomed to walking and it seemed a long, tiring way.

Entering the house by the main door, she met Conway coming down the staircase.

'Lady Emily was up early this morning,' he told her. 'You'll find her in the library with his Lordship.'

She wondered if the butler knew the house would soon be for sale.

Evidently he did, and knew she did, because he said, 'It's a sad business... a sad business, Miss Roberts. His Lordship has asked me to assemble the staff at eleven. He's going to make an announcement.

In the library, James Gardiner was on the telephone while, at the far end of the room, Emily was seated at a table, a large volume open in front of her.

She waved and beckoned. When Summer came near, she said, 'Good morning. I'm studying Florida. Shall I show you where James has his house?'

Summer moved round the table and looked over her shoulder at the atlas, open at a map of the southeastern corner of the United States.

'Just about there,' said Emily, indicating a spot some way south of a large inlet marked Tampa Bay. 'James says there are two ways we can get there from Miami. We can drive across the Everglades, by this road called Alligator Alley, and have lunch with some friends of his at Naples. Or we can drive up the Atlantic side and cross over further north by this big lake, Lake Okeechobee. But you can't see much of it, he says. I think Alligator Alley sounds more fun.'

'As long as we aren't likely to see too much of the alligators.

The child's cheerful manner and her giggle at the joke made Summer suspect that she couldn't yet know the worst.

However, it seemed that she did. Her next remark was, 'After he's explained about everything to the others, James is going to take us to have our passport photographs taken. Aren't you excited? I am. He says he has pelicans in his garden instead of peacocks, and there are beaches close by where the sand is like talcum powder, with all sorts of interesting shells we can collect. How long do you think it will take me to learn to swim?'

Before Summer could answer, James joined them. 'Good morning,' he said to her. 'No lessons today. There are too many other things to be done.' He rumpled Emily's red curls. 'You can start the Christmas vacation earlier than usual this year. No more school until January—in Florida.'

At eleven they listened to him addressing the indoor and outdoor staffs whom Conway had marshalled in the Great Hall. Not everyone who worked at Cranmere was there. Nowadays many of the female staff were part-timers; women from the village who came in to dust and vacuum, working for half a day instead of the long, hard hours worked b
y
housemaids in former times.

James stood a short way up the staircase, relaxed and wholly at ease, explaining the situation to them with the easy fluency of an experienced public speaker.

Today he was wearing a navy blue blazer with grey flannel trousers and a candy-striped shirt, grey on white, with a plain navy tie. Perhaps it had to do with being brown, but he looked much cleaner than most people. His skin had a slight healthy sheen in contrast to the dulled winter pallor of his audience, several of whom had the reddened nostrils of people suffering from colds.

He concluded his short speech by saying, 'Those of you who have served Lady Emily's family for many years may be sure that your loyalty won't go unregarded. For those close to retirement, the usual provisions will be made; and younger members of the staff will receive all possible help in finding suitable employment elsewhere. That's all I have to tell you at present. I'll talk to you all, individually, during the next week or so.'

They began to disperse, discussing the news he had broken to them in subdued voices.

As he left his place on the staircase, the cook approached him. 'Is there nothing to be done, Lord James... your Lordship, I should say.'

Summer heard him reply, 'I'm afraid there isn't, Mrs Briars.'

'But if
you
were to come home, your Lordship, and open the house to the public—'

'I can't shelve my responsibility to the people who work for me in America, Mrs Briars. A much larger work force than here.' He patted her shoulder. 'I understand how you feel, but—'

Summer moved away, out of earshot. He might understand the cook's feelings, but he didn't share them.

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.

Less than an hour later she was sitting in a cubicle in Woolworth's having passport photographs taken by a coin-operated camera. Emily had gone in first and when the machine had ejected four almost identical photographs of her, they did justice to her thin little face with its straight nose and broad, clever forehead.

Summer's photographs were not nearly as flattering.

'They look like mug shots,' she said, torn between laughter and despair at the hideousness of them.

Emily peered over her arm. 'What are mug shots?'

'The photographs they take of criminals when they're being admitted to prison.'

'They're not a bit like you,' said Emily comfortingly. 'Why don't you have some more taken? Smiley ones.'

'There isn't time. We have to meet your uncle at one.'

They had parted from him in the car park of the town's best hotel, once a coaching inn. He had gone off to consult a travel agent about flights to Florida, leaving them to organise the photographs. On the way to Woolworth's Emily had wanted to look in shop windows and to browse in a book shop. Window-shopping was a rare treat for her. Now, unless they went straight back to the hotel, they would be late for their rendezvous with him, and Summer suspected that unpunctuality was another thing he wouldn't tolerate.

They found him in the lounge bar, drinking lager. He had already ordered a glass of dry sherry for Summer and an orange juice for his niece.

'I've booked you on a flight next Wednesday,' he told them.

'Wednesday!'
she exclaimed. That was only eight days away. It didn't seem very much time for all the arrangements which had to be made. 'Will our passports be ready by then?' she asked doubtfully.

'No problem. I have some strings I can pull—have already pulled on the telephone this morning. It's surprising how quickly these things can be organised if they have to be. After lunch we'll see a realtor about your cottage. An estate agent,' he translated for his niece's benefit.

As usual, Summer had had no breakfast that morning. It was the one time of day when she never felt hungry. They had missed elevenses because of his speech to the staff, and in any case she would have only had black coffee.

By the time she had drunk half the sherry, she could feel it going to her head, and she decided to leave the remainder.

When the others had finished their drinks and they rose to go to the restaurant, James Gardiner noticed the pale golden liquid still in her glass.

'Too dry for you?' Without waiting for her answer, he added, 'I'm sorry; it should have occurred to me that you'd probably prefer an oloroso sherry.' He stood back for her to precede him.

Flushing, she walked out of the lounge, resenting the jibe at her sweet tooth and its visible effect on her body.