Free A Song for Summer by Eva Ibbotson Page A

castle itself. He had a room in the stable block reached by an outside staircase. It was furnished as simply as a monk's cell--a bed, a table, a chair--and visitors were not encouraged.
    Now he made his way down the steps, carefully locking the door behind him, and strode off across the cobbled courtyard on his way to the shed where the tools were kept.
    The girl bent over the well did not at first see him, and he would have gone past, but at that moment she lifted her head and smiled and said "Hello".
    "Not a frog, I hope?"' he asked, fishing his spectacles out of his pocket and going across to her, for her sleeve was wet and a small tuft of moss had caught in her hair.
    She shook her head. "No. And if it was I wouldn't kiss it, I promise you. I might kiss a prince if I could be sure he'd turn into a frog but not the other way round. What it is
    is a gym shoe, but I can't get at it.
    It's stuck on a ledge."
    "Let me have a look."
    She had the idea that if it was necessary he would have torn up the iron grille screwed into the ground, so marked was the impression he gave of power and strength. But he merely rolled up his shirt sleeve and presently he fished out the shoe which he laid on the rim beside her.
    "I spend so much time picking gym shoes out of wells and yo-yos out of trees and sodden towels from the grass," she said when she had thanked him. "I wanted to teach them to be tidy by showing, but there's so many of them and there's only one of me. I suppose some of them will never see."
    "But some will."
    He had sat down on the stone rim beside her and as she looked up at him, grateful for his encouragement, he found it necessary to correct the impression he had formed of her. As she swam out with her brood, she had seemed strong-willed and purposeful. Since then, Chomsky's besotted ravings, Bennet's praise and the legend of the icon corner had led him to expect a kind of St Joan wielding a bucket and mop. But she looked gentle and funny ... and perhaps vulnerable with that wide mouth, those thoughtful eyes.
    Ellen too found herself surprised. If Marek's broad forehead and shaggy hair, his sojourn in the stable block, accorded well enough with the image of a solitary woodsman, his voice did not. He had spoken in English, in deference to the custom of the school, and his voice, nuanced and light, was that of a man very much at home in the world.
    "There was something I wanted to ask you," she said. "Bennet said you'd help me. I want us to have storks at Hallendorf. I want to know how to make them come."
    His face had changed; he was silent, withdrawn.
    "Perhaps it's silly," she went on, "but I think the children here need storks."
    The silence continued. Then: "With storks it isn't necessarily a question of needing them. It's a question of deserving them."
    But she would not be snubbed.
    "Sophie deserves them. And others too. Storks mate for life."
    "It's too late this year, you know that." "Yes. But there's next year."
    "Ah, next year." She had not deceived herself; somehow she had made him angry. "Of course. W hat a little islander you are, with your English Channel which makes everyone so seasick and you so safe. You think we shall still be here next year? You think the world will stay still for you?"'
    "No," she said, putting up her chin. "I don't think that as a matter of fact. I came here because I wanted to find Kohlr@oserl and thought maybe I didn't have very long, but it doesn't matter; the storks would still--"'
    "Kohlr@oserl? Those small black orchids?"'
    "Yes, my grandmother spoke of them before she died, but never mind about that. I want storks because--
    "' and she repeated the words she had spoken to Sophie, "because they bless a house."
    He had withdrawn again but she no longer felt his anger. "What exactly do you intend for this place?"' he said presently.
    It was her turn now to fall silent. She had tucked her feet under her skirt, still perched on the rim of the well.
    "I can't put it into words ... not