Summer's Awakening (41 page)

Summer found herself holding her breath for fear that Emily had broached a subject better avoided. James never spoke of his pre-American life. As far as she knew, he hadn't set foot in England since the business of disclaiming his title and disposing of Cranmere had forced him to return to his birthplace.

'I thought if I ended up on Skid Row it would spare my relations any further embarrassment.'

His tone was casual, but there was something about his expression which made Summer suspect that his niece's question had been an unwelcome reminder of things he preferred to forget.

From the days when she had accompanied her aunt to church every Sunday, a text from Proverbs came into her mind.
The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who can bear?

Once James had wounded her spirit but, eventually, she had got over it. What had happened to him as a boy that his wound still festered, she wondered.

With the steaks and the salad, they finished the bottle of wine he had opened earlier. For dessert they had apples and yogurt.

'I'll make the coffee,' said Emily.

She had brought the tray through to the living room—the nights were not warm enough yet to eat on the deck—when a computer nerd named Dave came by.

'If you've nothing better to do, Em, how about coming over to my place and helping me thrash out a problem.'

There was no computer at the cottage, but that didn't mean she was deprived of her favourite pastime in Nantucket.

'Sure, Dave, I'd like to. Is that okay with you two?' she asked them.

James said, 'As long as you're home by ten o'clock.'

While she went to her room to fetch a sweater, Dave began to explain his problem to James who cut him short, saying, 'Sorry to be unhelpful, Dave, but tell it to Emily, will you? I have a problem of my own to work out this weekend.'

When the two younger people had gone off to Dave's parents' guesthouse, he said to Summer, 'Let's have another bottle of wine, shall we?'

'I won't have any more, thanks. I've had three glasses already.'

'Go wild! Have four. You can afford to put on half a pound.'

It was odd that within a few minutes of believing herself to be free of all rancour towards him, he should test that belief by reminding her that he had known her when she was enormous.

The reminder didn't make her flinch. She had been slim for long enough now not to have any more nightmares, not to worry about getting fat again. Every morning she stepped on the scales. If her weight was more than a pound up she ate less and exercised harder till it was back to where it should be.

'All right,' she agreed, starting to pour out the coffee.

He fetched another bottle. The table had already been cleared and the dishes loaded in the machine. They were now alone till Emily returned, and she couldn't think of any reason to avoid spending the evening sitting with him. She had washed her hair the night before. She couldn't pretend to have a date because, if she had, why wasn't he coming to collect her? She could only hope that someone they knew might stop by and prevent James from resuming the conversation interrupted by his niece some hours earlier.

'Does Emily spend a lot of time with Dave?' he asked, filling their glasses.

'No more than with anyone else. Muffy is her closest friend here. They have endless chats about life.'

The seating arrangements inside the cottage consisted of two long sofas placed in a corner at right angles with a shared end table, and two armchairs forming a compact conversation area for six to eight people. Normally Summer occupied one sofa and Emily the other, both with their feet up on the squabs. Tonight she had purposely avoided sitting on a sofa in case James decided to join her there. She didn't know why he should, but she felt that he might. In fact she felt very uneasy altogether. She still hadn't worked out what he could possibly have meant by those strange remarks about marriage, and the rider that he hadn't been kidding.

'I flew down to see Cordelia Rathbone at Palm Beach last weekend,' he told her. 'I'd heard that she hadn't been well, but she denied it and she seemed as sprightly as ever. As you know, she's never been to
Baile del Sol
since you and Emily arrived there, and she's never suggested that I take Emily to see her. In fact, although I haven't mentioned this before, when I told her I'd taken charge of Emily, she said she wanted nothing more to do with any Lancasters.'

'That's rather a bigoted attitude, isn't it?' said Summer. 'She likes you. Why shouldn't she like Emily?'

'When I bought the house from Cordelia, she didn't know I had any connection with the man who gave her a bad time. That only emerged later on. Anyway, suddenly she's changed her mind. She's coming to New York soon—I suspect for a second opinion about her health—and she wants to meet Emily. She tells me, and she may be right, that after two decades out of fashion the débutante party is back. Girls are being introduced to society as they were way back in the 'Fifties, in white dresses with their fathers in white tie. What's your opinion? Do you think that kind of thing has any place in modern life?'

'I'm not sure. It might seem frivolous extravagance, but it must provide a lot of employment,' Summer said thoughtfully. 'The caterers, the florists, the bands, the dress shops, the hairdressers—all those people must benefit. As to whether Emily would enjoy being a deb, or hate it, I really don't know. But I foresee one problem,' she added.

'What's that?'

'I think by the time she's eighteen, perhaps even sooner, she's going to be a stunning girl. As an outstandingly lovely débutante, she might attract a lot of publicity and it might be found out who she really is. And once she was revealed as Lady Emily Lancaster, granddaughter of Lord Cranmere, it might blow your cover, so to speak.'

'That's where Cordelia comes in. She could present Emily. I shouldn't have to be involved. She feels that as Emily hasn't been to Miss Porter's or one of the other right schools, a débutante year would give her
a
chance to make friends with girls of the right sort. Cordelia, as you'll have gathered, is a tremendous snob.'

'Yes, but I thought you were a democrat; or, to be more precise, an autocrat with democratic views.'

'Above all, I'm a realist,' he answered. 'Emily isn't going to be happy married to anyone who can't keep her in the style she's used to. The right husband for her will probably be a brother of Cordelia's "right sort of girl".'

Summer said, 'Or
a
socially
un
prominent computer nerd like Dave, with whom she has much more in common than some of the Preppies around here.'

'Some hackers are Preppies, he said dryly. 'But at the moment it's not Emily's matrimonial prospects which concern me.' He smiled at her. 'Have you thought over what I said earlier about this being Leap Year?'

She drained the last of her coffee. 'It didn't make sense to me.'

'Okay, I'll put it more plainly. I want to marry and have children. I think you and I get along together pretty well. I'm suggesting you change your role slightly—from being Emily's mentor to being my wife,' he said casually.

She had sensed this was in his mind, but she hadn't been able to believe it. She reached for her wine and, amazingly, her hand was steady as she picked up the glass and drank.

'Without your loving me or my loving you,' she said flatly.

'You know my views on that score. We have better qualifications for living in harmony than that. We've known each other for over two years. We have no foolish illusions that either of us is perfect. You know my faults. I know yours. As far as your career as a designer is concerned, I'm in a position to relieve you of all the domestic burdens which would interfere with your work. Those are the practical considerations. Looking at the other aspects, I see no reason to suppose that we shouldn't enjoy making love together. Do you have any doubts about that?'

'I—I've never considered it.'

'Think back to the times I've kissed you.'

'They're a long time ago. I don't really remember what I felt,' she said untruthfully.

'That's easily remedied.'

He made a movement towards her.

She jerked back, saying sharply, 'No!'

If it had been his intention—and undoubtedly it had—to draw her out of her chair and on to the sofa beside him, her recoil changed his mind.

He gave a slight shrug. 'Don't panic. I realise you may need time to get used to the idea. You can have time. It's taken me quite a while to make sure we have the makings of a workable marriage. I don't expect you to accept that premise without equally long and careful thought.'

She said stiffly, 'What does Oz think about it? I'm sure you haven't arrived at this life-changing decision without consulting your computer.'

Her sarcasm only amused him. 'A computer can't think,' he said mildly. 'You should know that by now.'

'If medical computers can make diagnoses, I'm amazed you can't programme Oz to select a wife. I feel sure you have. But I'm puzzled as to why my rating should be higher than the rest of the short list.' She hesitated, then added recklessly, 'In what way am I superior to your close friend Ms Fox, for instance?'

His mobile dark brows drew together in a sudden frown. She could see that she had annoyed him and it pleased her that, for once, she had managed to break through his guard.

He said curtly, 'Loretta and I split up some time ago—for the reason I was talking about earlier when we were discussing living together with Emily. Loretta and I didn't live together but, as you're obviously aware, we had a physical relationship. It suited us both for a time, and it ended by mutual consent because we'd grown bored with each other. But if you're afraid that I'd be an unfaithful husband, you needn't be. I've never been a stud, and illicit affairs aren't my style.'

It was her turn to shrug. 'I believe you, but it doesn't concern me what your habits are in that respect. I don't have to think it over. I can tell you right now that I'd never marry anyone for the reasons which you've put forward. I don't want a "workable marriage". I'd rather stay a single career-girl and hope that one day I'll be asked to marry someone because he loves me and can't live without me.'

She jumped up from her chair. 'Excuse me: I'm going for a walk.'

One of the nice things about Nantucket was that, unlike Manhattan, it was a safe place for people to wander about alone after dark. No menacing figure was likely to emerge from the tree-shadowed lanes which offered short-cuts between many of the main streets.

Not that she was in a mood for ambling. She stepped out briskly, feeling she needed exercise to work off the irritation induced by James's crazy proposal.

What a strange, unemotional, cold-hearted man he was to imagine that she or any woman, except possibly an outright gold-digger, would be willing to marry him on those terms.

Poor Emily if, having outgrown her calf-love for Skip, she fell in love with a young man who didn't meet with her uncle's approval, or that of the snobbish Mrs Rathbone. Between them, they would make her life hell. Yet Mrs Rathbone's first marriage should have proved to her the unwisdom of marrying a man who was eligible but not lovable.

Had Summer had any money on her, she would have gone somewhere for coffee or a drink, and stayed away from the cottage till Emily's return defused the tense atmosphere which would make it embarrassing to be there alone with him.

But as she had left
The Fo'c'sle
without even a dollar in her pocket, and she didn't want to go on walking round town for another hour, she had no choice but to go back and hope that, during her absence, James had also gone out.

Seeing, from some distance away, that the place was in darkness, she gave a sigh of relief, but her relaxation was short-lived. When she reached the end of the cat-walk she saw a tall figure sitting on the railings surrounding the deck with his back against an upright.

She couldn't walk past him and go inside the cottage without saying something—but what?

James solved the problem by turning to face her. 'Hello. Enjoy your walk?'

His tone was as affable as if her outspoken rejection of his proposal had never happened.

'Yes, thank you. I'm going to make some more coffee. Would you care for some?' she asked politely.

'Good idea. By the way, how's the designing going? What have you been working on since you've been here?' he asked, following her inside.

When she told him, he wanted to see her sketches and with some reluctance, for she felt his interest was assumed, she brought them for his inspection.

'I haven't had a satisfactory idea for the pearls which you gave me after your trip to Japan,' she said. 'Perhaps if Emily does make her début, I can use them on an evening bag for her, or even design one of her dresses.'

'For the time being don't mention that to her. We'll see how she gets on with Cordelia. If they don't take to each other, the idea will fall through.'

'Wouldn't being a deb conflict with your plan to send her to college?'

'Apparently not. Most of the current crop of debs are either freshmen or sophomores. According to Cordelia, the revival of the début doesn't mean a rebirth of the social butterflies of her era. The contemporary deb has brains as well as breeding, and she wants a career as well as a husband.'