The Silk Merchant's Daughter by Dinah Jefferies

romantic.’
    He grinned. ‘Not sure I thought that when I was twelve.’
    ‘So why did you do it?’
    ‘I know I don’t always express myself in the way I’d like to, but it was like being in another world. After my mother died I felt locked up inside and it was only on the lake I could feel close to her.’
    The lake and air shimmered as the light continued to change from pale yellow to a deep seductive pink. And he was right, the everyday world of Hanoi seemed to have disappeared, its sound muted and distant; now all she heard was the gentle lapping of the water and the sound of evening birds as they swooped and dived. The trees around the lake were dark and shadowy and it might have seemed lonely had she not been with him. She soaked in every detail and her nerves dissolved in the simple peace of this luminous world. Then, feeling in complete harmony with the lake, the trees, the birds and, best of all, with Mark, she felt herself let go.
    Despite the mention of his mother he seemed to be in complete control – possession even – of the boat, the lake, and also the evening itself. As he smiled at her, his face, bathed in the fading light of the setting sun, added to the romantic mood ofthe setting. Then, for some reason, she felt a twinge of apprehension.
    ‘I don’t want to leave,’ she said. ‘But maybe we should head back before the light fails.’
    ‘Don’t worry. There’s time. Would you take the oars for a moment? I’ve got my camera and want to just take a shot of you.’
    He handed over the oars, then took out his camera from a small bag. Although he seemed perfectly balanced as he stood up, a real surge of anxiety gripped her. The fear of water had never really left her since the awful time when she and Sylvie had taken a boat out alone on the Perfume River.
    ‘You don’t need to row. I just want to catch you looking as if you are rowing. Can you lean forward?’
    ‘You think I can’t row?’ She laughed. ‘I can row.’
    She made a sudden movement as if to row. It shook the boat and it rocked. Mark lost his footing, sat down abruptly and, in the sudden confusion, she reached out to him and dropped the oar over the edge. She felt embarrassed and stupid.
    ‘Now that’s novel,’ he said and laughed.
    ‘Sorry!’
    With just one oar they could only go round in circles. Mark attempted to summon the boatman, but without success. He stood up again, intending to kneel at the edge, then lean over to try and catch hold of the lost oar, now caught up in a lotus blossom. But still with the camera in one hand, he moved too quickly; the boat rocked, he lost his balance and in a flash tipped over the edge and into the water. For a moment her blood ran cold and she screamed, but it quickly became clear he was safe. As he climbed back in, she began to laugh. She watched him as he shook his head to remove the water from his hair.
    ‘Hey! That’s me you’re splashing,’ she said as he did it again.
    His white shirt was soaked and almost transparent and she could see every line of his arms and chest. Her throat felt full and she swallowed; she had never felt a longing so total that it made her heart race and her breath shorten like this. For a few seconds they stared at each other, neither able to speak, it seemed. She pulled her gaze away, suddenly embarrassed by the intimacy.
    She spotted that he’d dropped the camera inside the boat, and not in the lake, so she picked it up and took a photo of him dripping with water, smiling as she did so. Then they waited, but as the sun sank into the horizon the boatman still hadn’t appeared. She felt safe with Mark but shivered when she remembered the cold darkness of the river the time she had fallen in.
    ‘So?’ she said. ‘What now?’
    He shrugged. ‘That water is freezing!’
    ‘Serves you right for showing off!’
    She spotted a point of light on the lake then heard the sound of oars being dragged through water. They both twisted round to look. The