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thought of him would come the wounding echo of his indictment of her as a gross, ungainly frump; someone who would never see a man's eyes light with desire when he looked at her, or surrender to real-life embraces as ardent as those she had invoked in her day-dreams.
    That night, as she lay in bed after putting her light out, watching the full moon appear and disappear as a rising wind drove ragged clouds across the winter sky, her mind was full of a vengeful determination to make James Gardiner eat his words.
    She had had nothing to eat since coming home, and only two cups of black coffee instead of her usual glass of milk with supper, and a mug of hot chocolate at bedtime. Knowing that she didn't need any more food that day after eating a substantial lunch at the Castle, she had been determined to begin her new regime immediately.
    But as sleep eluded her, as she tossed and turned in the narrow single bed with the cheap mattress which her aunt had bought twelve years ago and which now needed replacing, she began to feel hungry.
    Tantalising thoughts of the pork pie and cheese in the refrigerator, the cakes and biscuits stored in tins in the pantry, tempted her to go downstairs and assuage her appetite with a late-night binge, as she had so often in the past.
    Secret orgies of compulsive eating had been a feature of her life ever since the abrupt termination of her time at university. With her aunt partially paralysed and no longer in charge of the domestic arrangements, she had been able to build up a store of chocolate bars, bags of what as a child she had called potato chips but now knew by the English term crisps, jars of peanut butter and jelly (called jam in England), tins of salted cocktail nuts and many other goodies.
    While her parents were alive, she could remember being given fruit and celery to munch rather than crackers. The English called them biscuits, and produced probably the finest variety of them of any country in the world; ranging from Bath Olivers, invented by a Dr Oliver who had lived in the city of Bath in the eighteenth century, to currant-filled garibaldis, buttery Scottish shortbread and chocolate-coated digestives.
    Once she had opened a packet of biscuits, she could never restrict herself to eating only one or two. Often she would demolish the entire packet.
    It was the same with a slab of chocolate. The taste of the first two squares would excite a hunger for more—and more—until the whole slab had gone.
    As well as the pork pie, with its thick pastry crust, the refrigerator contained a tub of liver pate which she liked to spread on hard water biscuits. Thinking about it made her salivate. Yet at the same time she was remembering James Gardiner's scathing remark about her gluttony.
    Her body craving the pleasure of crunching the brittle biscuits and feeling the soft, creamy texture of the pate on her tongue, she fought to control the mounting urge to have one last, final, never-to-be-repeated debauch.

    The cottage did not have a telephone. At half past eight the next morning, Summer walked to the public telephone a short distance away and dialled the Castle on the line which would be answered by Conway.
    'This is Miss Roberts. Would you ask Lord Cranmere if he wants Lady Emily to have a free day today, please,' she asked.
    'His Lordship has already left for London, Miss Roberts. He isn't expecting to return till tomorrow evening.'
    'Oh, I see. In that case I'll come as usual.'
    As she returned to the cottage she felt pleased with herself for having resisted temptation the night before. But she knew she might not have the will-power to resist again tonight. Somehow, she had to get rid of all the fattening snacks.
    It seemed a sin to dump them in the bin to await the weekly rubbish collection. Nor was it practicable to stand at her front gate, handing them out to the children on their way to school. They would think she had gone mad. She could imagine the grins they would exchange with each