“It’s a lovely night,” said Dominic dreamily, halting at the edge of the road, unwilling to cross, and shorten the way he still had to walk beside her.
“Lovely,” said Tamsin.
“If you’re not tired—”
“I’m not tired.”
“I thought we could walk along the cliff road towards Pentarno a little way, and then turn in by the other lane.”
“If you like, yes, of course.”
It was his day. She’d said yes to everything he’d suggested, the first dance, the offer to escort her home, and now this delicate prolonging of his pleasure. Perhaps to leave him room to expand and show his paces, because that was what he wanted, and she liked him well enough to give him his head, and certainly needed no help to manage him. Or perhaps to mark more clearly how firmly she had said no to everything Simon had asked of her. She had played Dominic’s game neatly back to him, and she knew already what he didn’t yet know: that he wasn’t in love with her in the least degree, and never would be, though there would be times when he would feel that he was. Nobody was going to get hurt by the game, it wasn’t going to get rough; but they would both enjoy it and learn something from it, and be a little bit the richer ever after. What she hadn’t expected was that he would say anything in the least extraordinary or out of the pattern. And when he had, their relationship had opened out on quite another plane. The game would delight him while his holiday lasted, and make it memorable afterwards. But the second relationship might well last much longer, and be seriously valued by them both. And neither of them would break any hearts. So she went on saying yes; yes to everything.
They had reached the edge of the dunes, and halted there on the seaward side of the road. The moon laid rippling scallops of luminosity along the sea, and away on their right the squat spire of St. Nectan’s tiny church protruded from its hollow of sand, half- obscured by the ruled hedges of tamarisks.
“Tamsin—may I call you Tamsin?”
“Yes, of course, Dominic.”
“Tamsin—how much do you really like Simon?”
She had never been more startled in her life. It hadn’t taken her long to see that he was almost as dazzled by Simon as Paddy himself. She couldn’t blame him; she knew all about that powerful magnetism, even if she herself was immune from responding to it. But he wasn’t protesting or wondering, he was asking her, as one friend to another. Maybe he felt it flattering to be even a make-believe rival of the great man. Or maybe he just wanted to know. Or maybe, even more dangerously, he wanted to hear what she would say, because she wouldn’t be answering him, and that would tell him a great deal.
“I like him well enough, but for certain attitudes. And those I don’t like at all.”
“Then he really has asked you to marry him?”
At first she thought that his sophistication must have slipped very badly to permit him to ask such a thing; then the deliberation of his voice warned her that they were on the second plane, and this was in earnest.
“Yes, he has.”
“Eight times?”
“I haven’t counted. Probably. Most times we meet.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Why don’t I what? Count?”
“Marry him.”
“Look,” she said, turning her back on the shining innocence of the sea, “even if he meant it, the answer would still be no. But he doesn’t. He’s spoiled and flippant and mischievous, and in bad need of a fall. He’s only had to smile at people all his life, and whatever he wanted has fallen into his lap. And he doesn’t care what he breaks in the process. No, that’s too steep. He just doesn’t realise that he breaks anything, all he sees is his own wants. He’s just having fun with me.”
“
“You’re not Simon, my dear. Do you think he’d be concerning himself with why I turned
“No,” agreed Dominic honestly, “but then, he’s in love with you, and—”
It was the first mistake he had made, fumbling between the two planes of his liking for her, and he was thrown out of his stride by the gaffe. To cover himself he took her rather agitatedly in his arms, gingerly in case she objected, but already almost persuaded she wouldn’t. She was laughing; she shook gently with honest amusement against his chest.
“And you’re not! Go on, say—”
He did not so much lose his head as throw it away, and without it he was much more adept. He felt gently downward with his lips to her mouth, and kissed her. It wasn’t the first time, he knew what he was doing. But perhaps it was the first of its kind, warm and impulsive and affectionate, and quite untroubled.
When it was over he held her for some minutes still, not wanting to talk.
“That wasn’t necessary,” she said in his ear.
“No, I know it wasn’t.”
“Aren’t you going to say you’re sorry?”
“No. I’m glad. I enjoyed it very much, and so did you. But I won’t do it again, because it would spoil it.”
“You,” she said helplessly, “are an extraordinary boy.”
