In Certain Circles by Elizabeth Harrower Page A

edge.’
    â€˜Well, not quite.’
    â€˜They’re insane. It’s only the filthiest day of the year. They’ll have everything from water spouts to tidal waves out there. I wonder if someone else would like to go for a sail?’
    â€˜Oh yes, Daddy! Yes, yes.’ The twins slipped off their chairs and ran to him, rubbing pastry into his trousers and sweater and hair as they swarmed over him. ‘Go for a sail. Take us, Daddy.’
    â€˜Well,’ Lily said, reasonably, when he opened his eyes at her.
    Zoe clung to the tiller like someone riding a steer in a rodeo. The light was now peculiarly sulphurous and the wind was noisy as an opera with all the principals assembled, shrieking over the death of the hero. How close to the water she was! And yet she seemed to be thinking of something else while she fumbled with soaking rope and wood and hair. Some shipping, foreign cargo freighters, lay at anchor, deserted; otherwise, the harbour was stripped of life. It occurred to Zoe that she might be in danger, yet she had an impression of being locked away safe and secure with all eternity in which to reach conclusions.
    With tremendous speed she reviewed everyone she had ever known—the lucky, invulnerable. Even Russell, who should know better, was a light-minded man. Even this month, with so much sadness, he sang to her on the telephone, told terrible jokes against himself, bought presents for no special reason and behaved, generally, in a foolish way. And in Paris, Joseph, who had so little judgment that he considered himself in the midst of some deathless love affair. For a man of that age to be so romantic! Hard-working, accomplished, perhaps even an artist, but basically weak, she decided harshly. To love more than you were loved in return—how little character that showed!
    Stephen. All the careful compliments from the family that fell short of accuracy. They could not admit the significance of his life because it would show them at such a disadvantage. Too bad, she thought grimly, welcoming an excuse to take up arms against the old life, returning like a warrior from the first death she had known. Well, they would respond to him if she had to apply thumb screws.
    If they wanted to throw down challenges, she would pick them up though her life was at stake. If she had to battle colossal disapproval, they need not think she would hesitate. When she had said this yesterday to Anna, Anna had only replied, ‘Don’t you ever find the people you’re reacting against are paying less attention than you think? If you look decisive, people think you know what you’re doing, and they’re always relieved.’
    â€˜That sounds like a wise observation, Anna.’ The only thing was, she had blocked out the sense of it, absolutely knowing it was nothing to her purpose. Her purpose was to feel opposed.
    Yet some very small sensation that perhaps no one was daring her to fall in love with Stephen and marry him, that her defiance was directed at no one, caused her to hesitate this Sunday morning. Almost, she could feel herself checked on the brink, pricking her ears, scanning the horizon for comments and signs, testing the air for danger or promise, breasting the challenge scented everywhere.
    Three sickening gulps of saltwater woke her. She heard a cry and turned. A heavy crack on the skull blacked out even the deepest spell. There was underground singing. Everything moved and heaved under her. Half-drowned, she saw Stephen and some strange man leaning over her.
    So be it.
    Stephen was shouting. She said, ‘I wanted to think. What’s this—a ferry?’ Then she was sick. ‘Is Gavin’s boat all right?’ And she was sick again. Stephen held her as she leaned over the tossing sea.
    Dried and warmed and fed and combed, three hours later she was sitting up in bed receiving visitors.
    â€˜Stephen saved my life, and we’re getting married practically tomorrow.