“I am glad there has been this day,” she said.
“So am I.”
“Will you remember this when you have traveled far and wide and gathered enough material for ten books?” she asked him. “And become hugely famous?”
“I will remember,” he assured her. “And willyouremember when you have an army of friends and admirers here and are busily involved in village and parish life? And when you have learned Welsh and have sung to help raise the roof off the church?”
She smiled. “I will remember.”
They floated for a while longer. The dog, he could see when he looked, was stretched out by the rock and the towels and their discarded clothes. The sun was warm.
There was nothing for her in England. There was nothing for him here. There was nothing there for him either unless he asserted himself at Kenelston or else set up house in London or Bath or somewhere else where he could establish some sort of routine and some sort of social life. He wasnotgoing to be a traveler. He could not bear the thought of doing it alone. And he never wanted to see a journal or a blank sheet of paper again. Perhaps he ought to try some sort of career. In business or commerce, perhaps, or the law? Or in the diplomatic service? He had never before given serious thought to actuallyworking, except as a landowner on his own land. He did not need to work, after all, since he was in possession of a sizable fortune.
But now was not the time to consider his future.
Now was the time fornow. Now was one of those rare and precious moments with which one was gifted from time to time. That was all it was. A moment. But it was one to be enjoyed to the full while it lasted and treasured for a lifetime after it was over.
“And it is not even over yet,” she said, echoing his thought.
“No.”
There was still dinner to be enjoyed at the cottage. And then…
He was not at all sure it would be wise. He could, if he chose, enumerate in his mind all the many reasons—and thereweremany, for both of them—why it wouldnotbe. But he was not going to think. He was going to hold on to the moment. The rest of the day would look after itself.
She had turned onto her front and had begun to swim slowly back toward the beach. He followed her.
“Stay here,” she said, when she was able to stand in the water. “I shall fetch your canes.”
The tide had ebbed a bit, he could see. It was a farther walk to the rock now than it had been when they came in.
He trod water and watched her return across the sand, his canes held in one of her hands. Her shift clung to her body, leaving virtually nothing to the imagination. Yet she seemed unself-conscious.
She was beautiful beyond belief. And desirable beyond words.
“Life is really not fair,” she cried, splashing back into the water. “It was freezing coming in, and now it is freezing getting out.” She held the canes high as she waded toward him.
“Whoever told you,” he asked her, “that life was fair?”
He took his canes from her. It was time to be earth-bound again.
The dog was prancing at the edge of the water, barking at them, impatient for them to emerge.
Ben leaned one shoulder against the rock when he had reached it and rubbed his towel over his upper body and his hair. He would change into the dry pantaloons he had brought with him if she would turn her back.
“I did not bring a dry shift,” she said, and his hand paused with the towel held to one side of his head. “I thought I would let it dry here in the sun.”
But she did not mean what he thought she meant, he realized when he saw her spread her towel on the sand. She was not about to strip it off.
“Shall we lie down and soak up some sunshine before going back to the cottage?” she suggested.
“Have you heard of a beached whale?” he asked her.
She looked at him, arrested.
“You would not be able to get up again, would you?” she said and then laughed. “I am so sorry. I did not think of that. How foolish of me.”
“Lie down,” he said. “I will sit here.”
