And she did indeed like him. There was always laughter and gaiety wherever he happened to be. And yet when he and she were together there was almost always more thanjustlaughter and gaiety. She felt that she was getting to know him as a person and discovering that he was not nearly as shallow or self-centered as she had thought at first. And she felt that he was interested inheras a person and not just as another woman with a reasonably passable face.
There was magic, she thought, in discovering a new friendship in an utterly unexpected place.
“I suppose,” she said, “this afternoon was not the first time you have rowed a boat.”
“It was not,” he admitted.
“Though I do not suppose,” she said, “you were allowed to do it as a boy.”
“How did you guess?” He grinned down at her. “Not when I was at home, at least. I did all sorts of things at school and university that had never been allowed at home, on the theory that what my mother and sisters did not see would not cause them grief.”
She remembered how one of his sisters had pulled him away from the bank of the lake where he had been trying to fish with her line, horrified that he might fall in and die. An eager, active little boy had not even been allowed to sit at the water’s edge with a fishing line in his hand.
“I cannot remember the last time I was vanquished in a boat race,” he said as they stepped onto the bridge. “Accept my most heartfelt congratulations!”
She laughed. “Someone has to keep you humble.”
“Unkind,” he said. “Ididadmit to having lost a curricle race, if you will remember.”
“By a long nose,” she said. “I wonder how long. An elephant’s trunk stretched on the rack, perhaps?”
“Sometimes,” he said, “I believe that your tongue must be sharp enough to slice through a slab of tough beef.”
She laughed again.
“And hadyourowed before this afternoon?” he asked her. “Please say yes. My humiliation will be complete if the answer is no.”
“A few times long ago, when I was a child,” she said. “But I have not tried it since.”
“And where was that?” he asked.
“Oh, where I grew up,” she said vaguely.
They stopped by unspoken consent when they reached the middle of the bridge. She had crossed it before, on her last visit to Barclay Court, but there had been no opportunity this afternoon until now. The sun beamed down upon them from a cloudless blue sky. A slight breeze cooled her face. She could hear the river rushing beneath the bridge. If she turned her head she would see the sunlight sparkling on the lake water behind them.
All her senses were sharpened. She could feel his body heat. She could smell his cologne. It was an intensely pleasurable feeling. She felt awash in contentment.
“I noticed,” he said, “when I sat inside the pavilion earlier that the reflection of the house is perfectly framed in the lake water. That particular spot was obviously chosen with great care by the landscape artist. He must have been a master of his art.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “I am sure he was.”
“Do you suppose that waterfall has been as artfully positioned as the pavilion?” he asked. “Is it there in that exact spot for maximum visual effect from here?”
“Perhaps it was the bridge that was deliberately placed,” she suggested.
“Or both,” he said. “My money is upon its being both.”
“But can nature be so ordered?” she asked him.
“Assuredly so,” he told her. “Do we not often plant flowers and vegetables in ruthlessly regimented rows and beds for our own convenience and pleasure? And can we not create a waterfall if we wish? We manipulate nature all the time. In fact, we often make the mistake of believing that we are its masters. And then a storm blows in from nowhere and lifts the roofs off our houses and floods them and reminds us of how little control we have and how helpless we are in reality. Have you noticed that once-mighty structures that have been abandoned are soon taken over by nature again? Wildflowers grow in the crevices of once-impregnable castle walls, and grass grows on palace floors where kings once entertained the elite of an empire.”
“I find that thought reassuring more than frightening,” she said. “I have heard of how ugly some parts of the country are becoming with the slag heaps from coal mines and other waste products of industry. I do not suppose those activities will end anytime soon. But when they do end—if they ever do—perhaps nature will reclaim the land and erase the man-made ugliness and create beauty again.”
“I have an uneasy feeling,” he said, “that if we continue to stand here, someone or other is going to feel invited to join us. I do not wish to be joined, do you?”
“No.” She looked up at him, her cheeks warming at the admission.
“And if we walk toward the pavilion, the same thing might happen,” he said. “I can see that there is a path beside the river on the other side of the lake. My guess is that it goes as far as the waterfall.”
