INSTRUCTION: Now read carefully the next text; then mark the alternatives that answer the questions or complete the sentences in the question.
As it turned out, there were more than enough strawberries for supper. Julie didn’t come back.
The dinner, though delicious, could hardly be said to be festive. It was as if all the accumulated tensions of the last days had gathered that evening at the dining-table, building slowly up like the thunderheads that stood steadily on the horizon outside.
Con had come in early, rather quiet, with watchful eyes, and lines from nostril to chin that I hadn’t noticed before. Grandfather seemed to have recruited his energies with his afternoon rest: his eyes were bright and a little malicious as he glanced round the table, and marked the taut air of waiting that hung over the meal. It was his moment of power, and he knew it.
If it had needed anything to bring the tensions to snapping-point, Julie’s absence provided it. At first it was only assumed that she was late, but, as the meal wore through, and it became apparent that she wasn’t coming, Grandfather started making irritatingly frequent remarks about the forgetfulness and ingratitude of young people, that were intended to sound pathetic, but only managed to sound thoroughly bad-tempered.
Con ate more or less in silence, but a silence so unrelaxed as to be almost aggressive. It was apparent that Grandfather thought so, for he kept casting bright, hard looks under his brows, and once or twice seemed on the verge of the sort of edged and provocative remark with which he had been prodding his great-nephew for days.
I drew what fire I could, chattering shamelessly, and had
the dubious satisfaction of attracting most of the old man’s
attention to myself, some of it so obviously affectionate –
pointedly so – that I saw, once or twice, Con’s glance
cross mine like the flicker of blue steel. Afterwards, I
thought, when he knows, when that restless, torturing
ambition is settled at last, it will be all right …
As Grandfather had predicted, Donald’s presence saved
the day. He seconded my efforts with great gallantry,
making several remarks at least three sentences long;
but he, too, was unable to keep his eyes from the clock,
while Lisa, presiding over a magnificent pair of ducklings
à la Rouennaise, and the strawberries hastily assembled
into whipped cream Chantilly, merely sat unhelpfully
silent and worried, and, in consequence, looking sour.
The end of the meal came, and the coffee, and still no
Julie. We all left the dining-room together.
STEWART, Mary. The Ivy Tree.
Great Britain: Coronet Edition, 1987 (Adapted).