Summer's Awakening by Anne Weale

with the news that shortly before her bedtime James had telephoned from London to ask how she was and say goodnight.
    'Wasn't that nice of him?'
    'Very,' Summer agreed.
    'He's expecting to be back about four.'
    Clearly Emily was looking forward to his return as much as Summer was dreading it. She would have preferred never to have set eyes on him again. Her pride was still raw. She felt that, as long as she lived, she would never forget the sound of his voice calling her an uncontrollable glutton who didn't give a damn what she looked like.
    By mid-morning the trembly feeling had worn off and she managed to restrict herself to black coffee, without biscuits. But it seemed forever to lunchtime.
    John was off duty that day, and so Conway waited on them.
    'Ooh, potted shrimps... lovely,' said Emily, when the butler placed a small bowl of pink morsels drowned in butter in front of her tutor.
    Summer ate her first food of the day with mingled relish and guilt; the latter because of the butter and because she had taken a bread roll to counteract the richness of the first course.
    The second was roast grouse—'Probably the last this year, Miss Roberts', said Conway—garnished with watercress and accompanied by gravy and game chips, with a green salad.
    She was not keen on game, possibly because the late Lord Cranmere had liked all his birds to be hung until they were extremely high. But at present she felt so ravenous that even the ripe, slightly undercooked flesh of the grouse tasted good to her.
    Usually, when her plate was removed there was nothing edible left on it. When she had first come to England and found some of Aunt Margaret's dishes strange and unappetising, she had been told not to be faddy and was made to eat every last crumb of whatever had been put in front of her, so that leaving a clean plate had become an ingrained habit.
    Today she left all but two or three of the game chips, causing the butler to enquire if they were not to her liking.
    'There's nothing wrong with them. I'm just not very hungry today.'
    She could imagine the sardonic expression with which James Gardiner would have reacted to this statement, had he been at the table. Conway kept his thoughts to himself. Perhaps, returning to the kitchen, he would say something such as, 'Wonders never cease, Mrs Briars. Miss Roberts isn't hungry.' But, if so, she wouldn't hear him.
    The pudding was a chilled orange compote, giving her her first taste of sweetness since the day before yesterday. Having eaten the thinly sliced fruit, she was about to drink the syrup left in her bowl when the echo of a scornful voice saying fat as a pig made her hesitate and put down her spoon.
    During the afternoon it began to rain and Summer foresaw a wet ride home. Fortunately, she had a black plastic cape and a sou'wester in her saddle-bag, and there were w ellington boots she could borrow in the downstairs cloakroom.
    Conway was clearing away their tea things when the schoolroom door opened and James Gardiner walked in.
    To Summer's astonishment Emily leapt to her feet and ran across the room more eagerly than she had ever greeted her father. They had not been a demonstrative family and, although this man was her uncle, he was still virtually a stranger.
    Even more surprisingly, he scooped her up in his arms, whirled her round in a circle and set her back on her feet.
    'Hi there. How've you been?' he asked, smiling, before turning to say good evening to Summer and the butler.
    In fact it was still afternoon, but the unrelenting heavy downpour had made them draw the curtains earlier than usual. Lit by one lamp and the leaping flames in the hearth the schoolroom looked very cosy.
    'Would you care for some tea, m'Lord?'
    'No, thanks, Conway. I need something more potent than tea after driving from London in this deluge.'
    'A Scotch on the rocks perhaps, m'Lord?' A faint smirk showed that the butler was being facetious.
    'A double Scotch without the rocks would be even better. Ice