never dream of committing herself to the beach. ‘It isn’t fair. Just look at me, and these things come from Fabiani.’
‘You poor thing,’ I said derisively. ‘Will they go in the water? And for Pete’s sake, are you going to bathe with that Koh-i-noor thing on?’
‘Heavens,
no
!’ She slipped the enormous marquise diamond off her finger, dropped it into the plastic bag that held her cosmetics, and zipped the bag shut. ‘Well, let’s go in. I only hope your friend doesn’t mistake me for the dolphin, and let fly. Much the same general shape, wouldn’t you say?’
‘You’ll be all right. He doesn’t wear yellow.’
‘Seriously, there
isn’t
anyone watching, is there, Lucy? I’d just as soon not have an audience.’
‘If you keep near inshore they can’t see you anyway, unless they come to the front of the terrace. I’ll go and look.’
The water in the shade of the pines was a deep, deep green, lighting to a dazzling pale blue where a bar of sand ran out into the bay. I walked out along this, thigh-deep, until I was about fifty yards from the shore,then turned and looked up towards the terrace of the Castello. There was no one visible, so I waved to Phyllida to follow me in. As we swam and splashed, I kept an eye open to seaward for the dolphin, but, though I thought once that I could see a gleaming wheel turning a long way out, the creature did not approach the bay. After a time we waded back to the beach, where we lay sunning ourselves and talking idly, until Phyl’s remarks, which had been getting briefer and briefer, and more and more sleepy, ceased altogether.
I left her sleeping, and went back into the water.
Though I had kept a wary eye on the woods and the terrace every time I bathed, I had never seen anyone since the first day, so it was with a slight feeling of surprise that I now saw someone sitting there, at the table under the stone-pine. Grey hair. Sir Julian Gale. He lifted a hand to me, and I waved back, feeling absurdly pleased that he should have bothered. He turned away immediately, his head bent over a book. I caught the flutter of its pages.
There was no one with him on the terrace, but as I turned to let myself down into the deep water beyond the bar, something else caught my eye.
In one of the upper windows, which stood open, something had flashed. And behind the flash I saw movement, as whoever stood watching there lifted the binoculars again to focus them on the bay …
There is something particularly infuriating about being watched in this way. I should have dearly loved to return rudeness for rudeness by pulling a very nastyface straight at the Castello windows, but Sir Julian might have seen it, and thought it was meant for him, so I merely splashed back to the sand-bar, where I stood up, and, without another glance, stalked expressively (Drama School exercise; Outraged Bather driven from water) towards the rocks at the southern edge of the bay. I would finish my swim from the rocks beyond the point, out of range of the Castello.
I hadn’t reckoned on its being quite so difficult to stalk with dignity through three feet of water. By the time I reached the end of the sand-bar and the deep pool near the rocks, I was furiously angry with Max Gale, and wishing I had gone straight out on to the beach. But I was damned if I would be driven back now. I plunged across the deep water, and was soon scrambling out under the pines.
A path ran through the tumble of rocks at the cliff’s foot, leading, I supposed, to Godfrey Manning’s villa, but its surface looked stony, so I stayed on the rocks below. These, scoured white by the sea and seamed with rock pools, stretched out from the cliff in stacks and ridges, with their roots in the calm, creaming water.
I began to pick my way along between the pools. The rocks were hot, and smooth to the feet. There were crevices filled with flowering bushes, running right down to the water’s edge where the green swell lifted and
‘You poor thing,’ I said derisively. ‘Will they go in the water? And for Pete’s sake, are you going to bathe with that Koh-i-noor thing on?’
‘Heavens,
no
!’ She slipped the enormous marquise diamond off her finger, dropped it into the plastic bag that held her cosmetics, and zipped the bag shut. ‘Well, let’s go in. I only hope your friend doesn’t mistake me for the dolphin, and let fly. Much the same general shape, wouldn’t you say?’
‘You’ll be all right. He doesn’t wear yellow.’
‘Seriously, there
isn’t
anyone watching, is there, Lucy? I’d just as soon not have an audience.’
‘If you keep near inshore they can’t see you anyway, unless they come to the front of the terrace. I’ll go and look.’
The water in the shade of the pines was a deep, deep green, lighting to a dazzling pale blue where a bar of sand ran out into the bay. I walked out along this, thigh-deep, until I was about fifty yards from the shore,then turned and looked up towards the terrace of the Castello. There was no one visible, so I waved to Phyllida to follow me in. As we swam and splashed, I kept an eye open to seaward for the dolphin, but, though I thought once that I could see a gleaming wheel turning a long way out, the creature did not approach the bay. After a time we waded back to the beach, where we lay sunning ourselves and talking idly, until Phyl’s remarks, which had been getting briefer and briefer, and more and more sleepy, ceased altogether.
I left her sleeping, and went back into the water.
Though I had kept a wary eye on the woods and the terrace every time I bathed, I had never seen anyone since the first day, so it was with a slight feeling of surprise that I now saw someone sitting there, at the table under the stone-pine. Grey hair. Sir Julian Gale. He lifted a hand to me, and I waved back, feeling absurdly pleased that he should have bothered. He turned away immediately, his head bent over a book. I caught the flutter of its pages.
There was no one with him on the terrace, but as I turned to let myself down into the deep water beyond the bar, something else caught my eye.
In one of the upper windows, which stood open, something had flashed. And behind the flash I saw movement, as whoever stood watching there lifted the binoculars again to focus them on the bay …
There is something particularly infuriating about being watched in this way. I should have dearly loved to return rudeness for rudeness by pulling a very nastyface straight at the Castello windows, but Sir Julian might have seen it, and thought it was meant for him, so I merely splashed back to the sand-bar, where I stood up, and, without another glance, stalked expressively (Drama School exercise; Outraged Bather driven from water) towards the rocks at the southern edge of the bay. I would finish my swim from the rocks beyond the point, out of range of the Castello.
I hadn’t reckoned on its being quite so difficult to stalk with dignity through three feet of water. By the time I reached the end of the sand-bar and the deep pool near the rocks, I was furiously angry with Max Gale, and wishing I had gone straight out on to the beach. But I was damned if I would be driven back now. I plunged across the deep water, and was soon scrambling out under the pines.
A path ran through the tumble of rocks at the cliff’s foot, leading, I supposed, to Godfrey Manning’s villa, but its surface looked stony, so I stayed on the rocks below. These, scoured white by the sea and seamed with rock pools, stretched out from the cliff in stacks and ridges, with their roots in the calm, creaming water.
I began to pick my way along between the pools. The rocks were hot, and smooth to the feet. There were crevices filled with flowering bushes, running right down to the water’s edge where the green swell lifted and
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