The Image in the Water by Douglas Hurd Read Free Book Online

friend, we can discuss intimate things. Our moral tutor says that there can be an allowance for moments of exceptionally strong cause. That it may be better to make sex before marriage than to repress it. I had thought that tomorrow, even today, after our walk Anna and I might discuss this.’
    The confidence was too great to be ignored, the day unrolled accordingly. For Roger it stopped being the first day of a new chapter of his life. It became instead an interlude, unrelated to past or future. He told Friedrich about Sylvia. They walked to Mothecombe, changed into trunks in the cubicles provided and swam in the bay. It was virtually high tide, and not easy to find a space on the sand for sunbathing among the picnicking families. A path lined by brambles, which somehow found substance in the sandy soil, led up across two stiles and a deep lane to the old one-storey school-house of grey stone. They climbed some steps past two magnificently outpouring fuchsias on to the small terrace of a café. Metal tables were decorated with real cornflowers stuck into patterned mugs. Customers were protected from the sun by umbrellas without commercial emblems, a job lot from a country-house sale, in pleasantly faded blue, pink and yellow. Two lively old ladies had converted the schoolhouse. The young men ate pasties, then homemade treacle tart, and drank cider. Roger talked of his childhood holidays there, of the ponies lent by the big estate, of the August bank-holiday cricket match, of the dangers of the fierce tides in the estuary. Friedrich talked of Heidelberg and the vineyards of theNeckar valley, of his father the civil servant, of holidays in Dubrovnik, walks in the Black Forest with his theological tutor. They did not talk much further about either Anna or Sylvia.
    Back at the beach they sunbathed again on firm clean sand just left by the sea. Children were shrimping in the rock pools, then began to play cricket. A small yacht anchored in the bay and a boat came ashore. Fathers built sand castles. The sun held just the right warmth, the afternoon noises round them were old-fashioned, informal and friendly.
    â€˜We lay close together because the sand was wet and we had only my towel. I cannot remember who took the initiative.’
    â€˜Initiative?’
    â€˜In holding the other’s hand.’
    â€˜Just that?’
    â€˜Only that. It sounds silly. Perhaps it was me. I liked him, he looked like St Sebastian, it was an odd day. I had hardly slept, the cider worked. But then, quite quickly, it changed.’
    They swam again. It was the hour when the sun feels hottest, but has passed its full strength. Clouds appeared and a breeze began. One of the families greeted Roger and he introduced Friedrich. His head ached a bit; he felt salty and overcooked.
    â€˜Can I ask you something more, Roger?’
    â€˜Of course.’
    â€˜Can you advise me where to stay tonight? You see, we had planned, Anna and I, to walk all day, and reach the hostel at Salcombe. But that, I fear, is too far for me now.’
    There was plenty of space and plenty of food in the cottage,and no reason at all why Roger should not invite his new friend to stay the night. But he held back, not thinking the question through, but because an instinct which he did not analyse imposed a full stop.
    â€˜There’s a pub at Holbeton. Not far, not bad, not expensive. I’ll drive you there if you like.’
    A pause. Roger never knew if it included disappointment.
    â€˜Yes, please.’
    â€˜And that’s how it was.’
    â€˜And afterwards?’
    â€˜I have never seen him again. We exchanged Christmas cards once. Nothing else.’
    â€˜Nothing whatever?’
    â€˜You are right to ask. Nothing. Not with him, not with any man, any boy. Never.’
    â€˜You have heard from Courtauld?’
    â€˜Last night, I will read it to you.’
    Seebright found the note quickly.
    Dear Seebright,
    I have received your note and