Eva Ibbotson

Dubrov described the accident, but Rom’s puzzlement only increased.

“There is something there that I don’t understand,” he said. “Something that doesn’t fit… Meanwhile, let me know in what way I can be of service to you. I’m well aware that in depriving you of two Wilis I have a debt to pay.”

Dubrov shook his head. “It’s of no importance now. We are only filling in time. But perhaps if you could have a word with the people in the shipping office? We’re trying to alter some of our bookings so as to go back on the Lafayette on the fourteenth—it’s a question of getting Madame straight to Cherbourg—and they are not being too cooperative.”

“I’ll certainly do that. The Captain of the Lafayette is a good friend of mine—there shouldn’t be any trouble. And you ought to have Olga back by the end of next week.” He raised inquiring eyebrows at Dubrov. “It was Olga Narukov, wasn’t it, that Edward took?”

“Yes,” said Dubrov, “it was Olga,” and for the first time since Simonova’s accident he laughed.

Rom had taken his hat from the stand and was about to leave when Dubrov said, “And Harriet? I have a ticket for her on the boat.” He was silent, thinking of the girl he had picked out at Madame Lavarre’s and wanted against all odds, seeing from the start the dedication, the intelligence. “She stays with you?”

“Yes,” said Rom. “What I have, I hold. I’m through with scruples.”

At Follina, Harriet’s ruin continued. Her happiness spread in ripples through the house, the gardens, the village… Returning after a morning’s work, Rom would hear bursts of laughter from behind the trees and find her teaching old Jose how to do an entrechat or pretending to be a lone swan which had got out of step with the music. Manuelo’s baby was said to have smiled his first undoubted smile at her; Manuelo’s mother-in-law gave her a charm against rheumatism: a pleasing confection of batskins, jaguar claws and human teeth. Even Grunthorpe, the ill-tempered manatee, was unable to resist such evident radiance and occasionally condescended to surface at her behest.

For Rom, since he had snatched Harriet from the stage, there had been no moment of hesitation, no second when he did not know his mind and heart. She was everything to him—beloved companion, intellectual equal and passionate mistress—one of the world’s naturals for that mysterious act which human beings use to break down the barriers of the self. Nor could he doubt her love. Love streamed from her—it was in every word she spoke, every breath she drew. Yet he could not get her to speak of the future. This girl whom he had discovered throwing scraps to a wicked-looking caiman in the creek grew visibly terrified when he spoke of the time when they would leave Follina.

Three days after he had been to Manaus, the expected confirmation arrived from MacPherson in London. The technicalities were now completed and Stavely was his. A letter to Professor Morton, asking permission to marry his daughter, lay ready on Rom’s desk.

That morning he took her out in the Firefly. He was teaching her to handle the little boat; she was quick to learn and never happier than when she was on the river helping him to reed logs into the temperamental fire-box, wrinkling her nose at the lovely smell of woodsmoke and steam or handling the tiller with that grave concentration that was her hallmark.

It was a magical day, free of the sullen rain-clouds that so often mustered by noon; the clear, calm water mirrored the peaceful sky.

“The Maura must be the most beautiful river in the world,” said Harriet blissfully. She was wearing the old blue skirt and white blouse she had saved from the holocaust, not trusting her new clothes to Firefly’s whims. There was a smut on her cheek, but Rom had decided against removing it; it was a becoming smut, dear to his heart. “Oh, look—isn’t that your otter?”

He nodded. “That’s the male. They’ve been in that bank since I came—a most faithful pair. In a moment you’ll see a clump of palms on the left leaning over the water—there’s usually a sun bittern there… Yes, look, he’s just flying up now. Incredible, isn’t it, the orange and gold…”

“You know it all,” said Harriet wonderingly. “You give people this river.”

Rom shook his head, turning to adjust the throttle. Not people, he could have said: just you.

He came over to sit beside her, putting his hand over hers on the tiller, not because she needed help but because he wanted to be where she was.

“Harriet, I know you love Follina and being here and God knows I do too. I’ll do everything I can to hang on to the place—but it is time to think of the next step. If I am to put Stavely on its feet, I can’t delay too long.”