Summer's Awakening (26 page)

She wanted to snap 'Save your compliments', but she said nothing, silently hating him.

She had already laid a place at the breakfast counter for him. Now she warmed a plate by placing it upside down over one of the burners, buttered the toast ejected by the toaster and piled on the fluffy, moist eggs.

At one time preparing the food for him would have made her feel ravenous. But tonight, perhaps because of the vivid dream she had had earlier, it didn't.

'Thank you. That looks good,' he said, as she set the dish on the place-that.

She poured coffee into a pottery mug and put it beside him, with a jug of the milk she had heated while cooking the eggs.

'So tonight was your first experience of one of the more harmless American teenage escapades—midnight skinny-dipping,' he remarked, apparently determined not to let her forget it.

'And my last. If you don't mind, I'll go to bed now. I have to be up early.'

'You're going somewhere tomorrow?'

'No, I always get up early. I have a swim before breakfast—or I have been doing so up to now. But if that's the time you like to use the pool, I'll alter my swimming times.'

'Or take care to have a chaperone,' he suggested, with an amused glance. 'I'm not likely to make a pass at you if there's someone else around, am I?'

A flush brought an apricot tinge to her golden skin. She glared at him, grey eyes stormy.

'I hope you won't make another in any circumstances,
Mr
Gardiner'
—emphasising her reversion to formality.

'I can't guarantee that I won't. It depends how much provocation you offer me,' he said, cutting into the toast and beginning to eat.

She hadn't noticed before that, in spite of his admiration for and commitment to the American way of life, he still ate in the English way, keeping the fork in the left hand instead of transferring it to the right hand as Mrs Hardy and the Antonios did. Perhaps by the age of seventeen such habits were too deeply ingrained to be changed.

'I shan't offer any, I assure you,' she informed him vehemently.

'What does that mean?' he asked. 'That you don't fancy me, or that you've found yourself a boy-friend?'

She lifted her chin which her loss of weight was revealing as a firmly-shaped feature with more than a hint of determination, even obstinacy, in its form.

'It means that if you want me to remain Emily's tutor, you won't subject me to harassment,' she said, with a level look. 'I won't put up with it, Mr Gardiner. I shall leave.'

'Don't you think you're making a mountain out of a molehill? I mistook you for an attractive trespasser and imposed a penalty—one kiss. That hardly constitutes sexual harassment of an employee.'

He had been speaking seriously, with a trace of impatience. Now the laughter returned to his eyes. 'I've never found it necessary to harass women to satisfy my sexual needs. It tends to be the other way round. They harass me. Not because they desire me,' he added sardonically. 'It's my financial position which lights the lust in their eyes.'

She was not used to such plain-speaking. Sex was a subject never mentioned by her aunt except in the form of warnings about never talking to strange men. Fortunately, Summer's fundamental attitude to sex had been formed by growing up with parents who adored each other. With a father like Tom Roberts, no one subsequently could have convinced her that men as a sex were aggressive, predatory or basically hostile to women. She knew that not all were as generously, tenderly loving as her father. But he was her standard; not the threatening male figure projected by Miss Ewing's warnings.

Nevertheless, she had lived under her aunt's influence for too long not to be embarrassed by her employer's frank reference to his sexual needs. He spoke as if, for him, sex had no emotional connotation but was a physical appetite like hunger and thirst which, when it occurred, he would satisfy as straightforwardly as he had asked her to cook him some eggs.

She noticed that the front of his robe had loosened, showing the hard bronzed chest she had beaten with her fists with as little effect as if she had been pummelling rock. Like Skip's, his chest wasn't hairy. In contrast to the fleecy white terry, it had the slight sheen of polished hide. She averted her eyes.

'No coffee for you?' he asked.

'No. I'm going up to dry my hair. Goodnight,' she said tersely.

'Goodnight, Summer. Sleep well.'

She had a feeling he smiled at her as she passed him, but she kept her own gaze averted.

A few minutes later, in her bathroom, the sight of her naked body as she took off the robe was a mortifying reminder of the way his lean hands had both restrained and caressed her while she fought to free herself. Quickly she put on her nightdress and used her dryer which, luckily, wasn't a noisy one. As soon as her hair was dry, she turned off the light and returned to the moonlit bedroom.

An hour later she was still awake, unable to switch off her troubled thoughts.

A few days before, when she and Emily had gone to the Selby Library to use the reference section, she had picked up a leaflet issued by the American National Red Cross and headed HURRICANE SAFETY RULES.

The leaflet had given advice on what to do during the months from June to November if the National Weather Service gave warning of an approaching hurricane.

Among the instructions had been a paragraph about the eye of the hurricane. She could remember it word for word.

If the calm storm center passes directly overhead, there will be a lull in the wind lasting from a few minutes to half an hour or more. Stay in a safe place unless emergency repairs are absolutely necessary. But remember, at the other side of the eye, the winds rise very rapidly to hurricane force, and come from the opposite direction.

As she lay on her side, looking at the motionless fronds of the tall palm not far from her window, it seemed to her that paragraph expressed precisely the effect James Gardiner had had on her life.

He had borne down on Cranmere with all the disruptive force of a major hurricane. There had followed a lull, until tonight, without any advance warning, he had burst upon her a second time. And whereas before he had been totally, crushingly indifferent to her as a woman, this time it was the reverse. Now, because of the unfortunate circumstances in which he had caught her, he was too much aware of her femininity. And in spite of her ultimatum, from him, if he chose to be difficult, there was no safe refuge.

Next morning she overslept and was woken by Emily.

'What time is it?' Summer asked.

'Ten o'clock.'

'Oh, my goodness! Why didn't you wake me earlier?'

'James wouldn't let me. He said you'd had a disturbed night... that you'd heard him arrive and cooked something for him.'

She had certainly had a disturbed night, thought Summer, as she rolled out of bed.

'We're going out to dinner and then to the theatre,' Emily told her.

'The Asolo Theater? How exciting. You can wear your new dress.'

Mrs Hardy, a talented dressmaker who made many of her own clothes, had recently made a charming dress for Emily.

'What'll you wear? You haven't a dress. All your English clothes are too big now.'

'I think your uncle intends this to be an evening
à
deux...
just the two of you.'

'No, he doesn't. Everyone's going. Mrs Hardy as well. He wasn't going to include her, but I said it would be unkind to leave her on her own. Why don't you buy a dress, Summer? The red one you liked in the window of the shop near the traffic lights.'

This was a dress which had caught Summer's eye on their way home from an afternoon's shelling. She had stopped the car to have a look at it, but it hadn't been her intention to buy any expensive clothes until she had reached her target weight, and the red dress had been made of silk, not a synthetic imitation.

'It probably wasn't my size. I'm not sure how much people dress up for the theatre here. Perhaps my green things will do. I'll have to ask Mrs Hardy. I'll be down in about fifteen minutes,' she added, on her way to the shower.

They were by the pool, James stretched on a chaise-longue with Emily seated on the foot of it, when she joined them.

Seeing her approaching, he stood up. 'Good morning.' His tawny eyes took in her bathing-suit; the navy blue halter-tied one piece she had bought in Sarasota.

'Good morning.' She was willing herself not to blush at the memory of last night's encounter.

This morning he was wearing a pair of faded Madras cotton boxer swim trunks.

'I applaud the new hairdo,' he said. 'Much more becoming.'

'Thank you,' she said, without smiling. 'As Emily had only a short break from lessons at Christmas, she can take a few days off now if you'd like to spend some time together.'

He let the suggestion ride, saying, 'Among other things you've been studying the Gulf Stream, I hear?'

'Yes, and the history of Florida. But Emily's curriculum is something I'd like to discuss with you.'

'Providing you're teaching her to think for herself, I don't feel it matters what means you use. The history of Florida or the history of France... the aim is the same. To equip her mind to take off on its own adventures. You know what Sam Johnson said about knowledge. There are two kinds.
We know a subject ourselves, or we know where we can find information upon it.
I don't give a damn if today Emily has never heard of Jacques Cartier as long as she can produce a file on him this time next week. Could you do that, Emily?'

'Oh, yes—easily,' she answered confidently. 'We hadn't been here five minutes before Summer discovered a terrific library down near that strange-shaped, lilac-coloured building.'

'The Van Wezel Hall. I don't care for that colour either, but the auditorium is impressive and they put on some excellent concerts. You haven't been to one yet, I gather?'

The child shook her head.

He turned to Summer. 'Why not? Don't you care for music?'

He asked the question with an uplifted eyebrow and an expression which suggested that if the answer were negative it would be received with displeasure.

For her age, Emily was very sensitive to nuances. Before her tutor could reply, she said defensively, 'Summer loves music. She adores the violin concerto your computer plays. She must have played it a hundred times.'

Summer smiled at her, touched by her loyalty. To James, she said, 'It doesn't damage the mechanism to play that music for pleasure sometimes, I hope?'

'Not at all. But the computer only plays the first movement. The second and third are on tape in the library, as perhaps you've discovered.'

'No, we haven't liked to use your music library for fear of doing some damage,' she answered. 'The equipment looks rather complicated, and I know that records can be spoiled if they're not handled properly.'

'So can books. You had the run of the library at Cranmere. I'm sure you won't do any harm to my records and tapes. Later on today I'll show you how the music centre operates. Mrs Hardy has her own record-player so I've never shown her how mine works. It should have occurred to me to send you instructions.'

At this point Skip Newman appeared, considerably later than usual for reasons which, after shaking hands with James, he explained.

When Emily had followed him to the pool-house, her uncle said, 'Why haven't you been to the Van Wezel yet? Surely you realised that I would be happy to pay for you to take Emily there as often as you cared to go? You have
carte blanche
as far as expenses of that sort are concerned.'

'Thank you, but if we had thought of going I should have been glad to pay for the tickets out of my salary,' she answered. 'I suppose the reasons we haven't been to the Van Wezel yet are three-fold. Neither of us is used to going out at night; we've found quite a lot to interest us on television; and leading a more energetic, outdoor life, we tend to go to bed earlier now.'

'I see. Well, we have to pass the Hall on our way to dinner tonight so I'll pick up the current programme and from now on I suggest you go at least once a week, certainly to all the ballets and operas they put on. Because her father only knew
John Peel
is no reason why Emily should grow up a musical philistine. You've taken her to the Ringling Museums, presumably?'