Julius and Jake hesitated beside her. Julius knew what held her back, because his senses were highly developed where Grace was concerned. Jake was looking at her curiously.
‘I think, Uncle Nathaniel, I would rather walk on the bank today. If you don’t mind, of course?’ Grace’s voice was clear and steady.
Nathaniel saw what was the matter, and blamed himself for his insensitivity. ‘Walk by all means, Grace. We will keep pace with you.’
‘Don’t hold back on purpose. Perhaps Jake will walk too, to keep me company?’
‘Good idea. Thank you, Jake,’ Nathaniel said. Julius scrambled into the punt after Clio, without looking round. The twins sat facing each other amongst the piled cushions and Nathaniel stationed himself at the back. He dropped the pole into the water, pushed, and twisted it to lift it free. The punt shot forward and drops of spray scattered concentric circles in its wake.
Grace and Jake began to walk, side by side.
Jake could think of nothing to say, now he had the unthinkable chance of being alone with her, out of earshot of noisy siblings and all the busy demands of the Woodstock Road. He wanted to say everything, to pour out his astonishment that Grace, who was only his cousin and ally, had suddenly turned into an intriguing mystery. He wanted to ask her if she felt the same, to compare and confide, to draw her closer, this unknown Grace. The clumsy words jammed in his head. He could only manage, thickly, ‘It’s all different, all of a sudden. It is, isn’t it?’
Grace seemed calm, as if she understood everything. She nodded her head once, very slowly, ‘Yes. Everything is different.’
‘You’re not just Grace any longer.’
‘Nor are you just Jake.’ Her voice was very low, almost inaudible.
Jake could hardly breathe. So Grace felt it too, then, this naked and painful awareness? The intimacy of it was terrifying, and intoxicating. They were walking very close together. Their arms almost brushed, and then Jake’s fingers hanging loosely at his side touched the tips of Grace’s. A current shot up his arm. Their hands groped, in the folds of Grace’s blue skirt, and then clasped together. They walked on, linked together, staring straight ahead of them at Nathaniel’s back as he bent and straightened to the pole.
Clio sat facing them, her expression unreadable at this distance. It was like holding Clio’s hand, Jake thought. This hand was the same shape as Clio’s, there was the same warmth in the palm of it. But there was the sudden, startling difference. Bewildered, Jake tried to work out what he did feel.
He wanted to take Grace and hold her against the ribbed trunk of one of the trees; he wanted to rub his face against her and push his hands into the blue dress. He felt like an animal, like one of the museum’s Mammals in rut, in the grip of terrible instincts. He was disgusted, and ashamed, and confused by what had been set off within him.
He believed that what he was thinking about Grace was almost as bad as thinking it about Clio.
Jake’s skin burned and his vision blurred, but he went on walking stiffly, staring ahead of him, all the heat of him concentrated in the palm of his hand.
Grace was silent too. She was thinking, If he tries to kiss me, what will I do? She wanted him to kiss her, she wanted him to admit, although she couldn’t even have defined what the admission would be. She knew that she had suddenly acquired some power, but now she had sensed it she was afraid of using it.
She thought, I’ll let him, and then I’ll break away from him and run. I’ll know he loves me, he’ll be mine then …
Jake didn’t try to kiss her. He walked on, miserably, his eyes fixed on Clio and Nathaniel and Julius on the river, but he held on to Grace’s hand as if he would never let go.
At last they saw Nathaniel draw the pole in a wide arc from the stern of the punt. The long nose swung across the river until it pointed back towards them. It was time to head home again. Jake and Grace jumped guiltily apart. They stood awkwardly until the punt drew level and Clio’s accusing eyes settled on them.
‘Are you enjoying the walk?’ Nathaniel boomed.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Grace said.
They turned together and began to follow the punt once more. Instead of all the things he wanted to say and couldn’t, and all the banalities he might have settled for instead, Jake blurted out, ‘Are you afraid of boats?’
It was the first time since the Mabel summer that Grace had been obliged directly to refuse to go out on to the water. Usually, with some ingenuity, she was able to evade the possibility well in advance. Now she thought how inadequate Jake’s words were. ‘Afraid of boats’ took no account of the nights when she bit the insides of her mouth to stop herself falling asleep, so the dreams couldn’t come, nor of the waking cold terror of the sound of the waves, of the simple smell of salt water.
She said, ‘I think you might be too, if you had almost drowned.’
‘Why didn’t any of us know? Haven’t you told anyone?’
Grace considered. ‘I think Julius guessed.’
Jake didn’t want to hear about Julius now. Grace went on, ‘I haven’t told anyone. Only you.’
Jake gave her such a look of happiness and gratitude for singling him out that Grace forgot her humiliation over the punt.
‘You mustn’t worry about it, Grace, I’ll look after you, there’s no need to be afraid of anything.’
She smiled, looking up at him, tasting some of the satisfaction of power. ‘Thank you, Jake,’ she whispered. He was her admired cousin, their long-time ringleader, and she wanted his allegiance to her alone, that was the admission. And it came to her that although Jake was sixteen and clever and she was three whole years younger and had been taught nothing, she still knew more than he did.
Behind the folds of her skirt she reached her hand to touch his again, and he took hold of it as though it were the Grail itself.
The twins and Nathaniel were waiting at the jetty. Julius looked from one of them to the other, with resignation. Clio stared straight ahead, and even in his confusion, Jake saw that she was jealous. He took care to walk beside her on the way home. Only Nathaniel seemed oblivious to what had been happening. He had taken the newspaper out of his bag again and he beat the rolled-up tube of it against his leg as he strode along.
When they came home, Eleanor was waiting for Nathaniel. ‘Oswald Harris is here,’ she said. ‘In your study.’
Dr Harris was one of Nathaniel’s colleagues, a specialist in Romance languages and an old family friend. He was a particular favourite of the Hirsh children, and Clio’s face brightened at the mention of his name.
‘Oh good. Will he play something with us?’
‘Not now, Clio,’ Nathaniel said abruptly. ‘Off you go, all of you.’ He went into the study, and they saw Dr Harris jump up to greet him without his usual smile. Eleanor and Blanche were left in the hallway, their clothes dappled with coloured light from the stained-glass panels in the front door.
Afterwards the cousins recalled that evening at the end of July as the first time they heard adult talk of Serbia and Austria, and the first time they overheard the murmured word crisis.
They paid little attention to it, then.
That year Hugo and Jake were considered old enough to join their parents for dinner, but the twins and Grace still had to sit down with the Babies for nursery supper. Jake was hanging up his jacket in the