Rapids

PASSWORDS

Vince already had the boat loaded in the back of the car when he reached the hospital. His left shoulder and right knee were aching. When Clive returns, he can tell her about it, he thought. But if Clive didn’t return? Surely if Clive were one of the three, the police would know, they would already have come to the chalet. Vince had thought of hiding the laptop; but then someone might imagine I was stealing. Michela was already waiting for him on the steps at the main entrance, wearing dark glasses. Suddenly she looks like some kind of celebrity. She has a bright blue mini — dress. They let me go into town yesterday afternoon, she smiled. She seemed cheerful. I spent Clive’s money. Then she added: I’ve decided to live, by the way. Her tone was deliberately casual. Glad to hear it, Vince told her. He was awed by her easy elegance, a sort of natural disdain she has.

Throwing her bag in the back, Michela asked, how come the canoe? He had had to lower the back seats. I went out on my own. This morning? She raised her eyebrows. The bruise on her cheek was almost gone. He explained. He had had to drag the thing through brambles. You’re mad, she told him. You could have drowned. Against all his plans, this prompted Vince to say: Did you hear what happened in Germany? She was opening the passenger door. They were in the hospital car park. The pause she left was so long, settling herself now in the seat, wriggling a little to be out of the way of the nose of the kayak propped between the headrests, that he wondered if she had heard. This afternoon, she said firmly, I must check through all the kit. There’s some administrative stuff to do as well. And tomorrow morning I’ll have to shop, because the deal is that we have to provide the food for the first meal. They’re supposed to arrive after lunch. She turned and looked straight at him, smiling falsely. I’m not to mention it, he understood. She knows. As soon as Clive gets back, he said, I’ll hit the road.

When she opened the chalet door, she hardly seemed to notice the transformation that had taken place, the clean floor, clean sink, tidy table. She put her bag down. To work! Vince drove her to the post office, the bank, the internet café. She and Clive had a business e — mail. She made notes of one or two messages. At the post office there were brochures from equipment manufacturers. Invoices and cheques. Heads turned as she stepped out into the street. The blue of the dress was dazzling in the sunshine. She is conscious of those looks, Vince saw. She is enjoying them. But there is still something brittle about her. She is tensed for Clive’s return. Take me to lunch, taxi — man, she told him. She is warm and mocking. The Schloss Café is good, she said.

This was at the end of a dirt road two or three hairpins above the castle that dominates the village. An ample terrace was packed with tables. What time did he say he’d be back? she asked. To Vince’s surprise she has ordered steak and wine. They are sitting under a red and white sunshade looking down over pine trees into the warm green hum of the valley. Yesterday’s river is a harmless brown ribbon flecked with white. Early evening, I think, Vince said. He didn’t give a specific time. Vince has never bothered with sunglasses, but feels the need for them now. The slopes and mountains are pulsing with light. The very air is too bright. I should be back Thursday. He remembered Clive’s voice. The man hadn’t said when.

Good! She was rubbing her hands. Just a few hours, then.

He is struck by her cheerfulness. Her hair is glossy from a morning wash. Perhaps she’s had it trimmed. She’s eating and ordering without any concern for the price, as though this were some special celebration.

I was wondering … he began.

Ye — e—e — es? she laughed, raised her sunglasses for a moment. Her eyes are playful.

Wouldn’t it be better, maybe, to come to some agreement with Clive, about the, er, money side of things, then for you to go and live elsewhere, perhaps, with friends. I mean, with the situation as it is, you risk getting upset. Or getting more attached, without solving anything.

She put down her knife and fork, patted her breast. I was wondering, she mimicked, head cocked on one side, voice pompous. Wouldn’t it be better if Mr Banker minded his own business? She burst out laughing.

Please call me Vince, he said.

Anyhow, I don’t have any friends, she said.

Vince found this hard to believe.

Not in Italy. And anyway I don’t want to speak Italian. But we’ve been through that. I don’t even want to think it.

Go to England.

Are you inviting me? she asked.

Vince was taken aback. Actually, I wasn’t.

She smiled brilliantly. Please, Mr Ba— No, sorry, Vince, please, stop worrying about me. Okay? Come to think of it, after lunch, you might want to get going right away. If Clive is late you risk falling asleep at the wheel.

Vince told her he enjoyed starting a long drive in the evening, then stopping at a hotel as soon as he felt drowsy. She refilled her glass. She is drinking steadily. Behind her sunglasses he senses the eyes are searching him. She said: You think he might not come back, am I right?

Vince was caught out. Not at all, I just promised I’d stay till he did.

The waitress arrived, hovered, went off.

Why wouldn’t he come back?

Oh I’m sure he will, Vince said. His voice sounded wrong. And then, I’ll get moving, obviously.

They ate. The fare was standard but good. The day was too hot again, though they were pleasantly shaded, lightly dressed. Vince’s body ached in various places from yesterday’s adventure, but when sitting down to meat and wine these are not unpleasant aches, more reminders of being alive. Perhaps Michela feels the same way about the bruise fading from her cheek. There comes a point when a wound makes you more aware of the healing process than the damage. Even the tension between them is something to savour.

Tell me what you will do when you get back home, she asked. He explained that strictly speaking he wouldn’t be going home. He must drive straight to the office. There would be at least ten days, non — stop, of sixteen — hour work stints, sandwiches grabbed in the canteen, a few hours’ sleep in his service flat.

What’s so important?

It was a question, he says, of deadlines for filing accounts, mainly for the bank’s American operations. Things can often be accounted for in various ways.

You mean you have to look for loopholes, to avoid taxes.

Vince shook his head. Not at all. He smiled. Everybody thinks that. Actually, it’s a question of choosing the form of accounting for every transaction that most nearly and clearly represents reality, so that everybody is in a position to understand what’s going on, the directors, the institutional investors, the shareholders. If they don’t understand the situation, it’s hard for them to know how to behave.

So, at least with money, you know how to behave. She was smiling. She enjoys making fun of me, he thought. My job is more to do with defining what has happened, he said, not making the investment decisions.

And after those two weeks, you can go back to your house and daughter?

He explained that Louise lived with her uncle’s family.

Why?

I spend the week in the city and her school is a hundred miles away.

You put your work before her, Michela said.

Vince has understood that these provocations do not necessarily indicate hostility. When Gloria died, I didn’t know what to do. I was thrown. I thought the best thing was to keep working as before.

Giving your whole life to money.

Vince poured himself more wine. You let me off the hook with that kind of crude attack, he told her. Mouth full, she raised an eyebrow. Money, he spoke quickly, is that invention which makes all resources measurable in common terms and hence transferable, so that people don’t have to swap a cow for a field. Yes? Or a goat for a kayak. The bank is that place where the units of wealth can be stored so that resources can be exchanged when and where it is most convenient. Or alternatively they can be used by someone else while the real owner is deciding what to do with them, so that wealth is not just left lying around in heaps of gold. A banker is not serving money, he’s at the centre of a complicated network of exchanges that makes life possible.

Yes, Professor. Of course. But the way it actually works stinks, doesn’t it? No one is thinking where the resources should go. Only where money is most likely to multiply. There’s no morality in it, let alone compassion.

In my case, Vince said, the morality is in the honesty of representation.

She had finished. She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, pushed her chair back, crossed her long legs. What do you do in the evening, then?

Vince shrugged. Nothing. I get back to the flat late. Bit of TV. Bed.

And at the weekend?

Maybe I take the canoe out on the estuary. Which is going to seem pretty dull after last week.

Or you could visit Mandy.

I could, yes.

You must have lots of friends, she said.

Not really.

Oh, I find that hard to believe. Again she is mimicking. She is almost too good at it. He smiles. Acquaintances, I suppose. Business friends. Gloria’s friends.

You don’t really want to go back to your job, do you, Mr Banker?

Vince remembers that Clive had suggested the same thing. Perhaps they had talked together about him. He decided to be honest. You know, I don’t quite understand what I want. Actually, I don’t know how I can understand. It would mean knowing the future, knowing myself. I’ve changed.

You see, Michela said, I was right, you don’t want to go back. The young woman seemed very pleased with herself. She lifted her glass to her lips again.

Vince looked down the valley. Clouds were gathering over the peaks now. Perhaps there was the first smell of a storm in the air. There seemed to be a lot of birds on the move. I feel I would like to take a risk, he said. That’s all.

Like you did yesterday on the river.

I suppose so. I had a good time. I mean, even when it was bad.

You know what Clive says?

What?

A fragile candour crept into her voice. You know he liked to run rivers that he really shouldn’t? Like on the last day of the trip. We should really have got off the river at lunchtime, you know.

Looking back on it, yes.

Well, Clive always says, the trouble is, after the high of getting away with it on the river, nothing has really changed. It isn’t a real risk. That’s what he said. Not a real risk.

Vince watched her. Behind the enigma of the sunglasses there was a sudden vibrancy. So, he asked, what would a real risk be, as far as Clive is concerned?

She was shaking her head slowly. He waited. You don’t want him to come back, she said, do you?

Vince hesitated.

Tell the truth! She was trying to laugh, but her voice faltered. Give an honest account.

I’ve been worried he might not, Vince admitted now. Actually, well, I contacted a possible alternative guide, you know. Just in case. So you wouldn’t be in trouble with this group that’s coming, I mean contractually, if he doesn’t turn up.

You did what?

Vince feels ridiculous. He explained his conversation with the people at the rafting centre.

But why should you care? It’s nothing to do with you.

I … it seemed a way to help. Vince began to search in his wallet for the card he had been given. Shuffling through three or four, he heard her say:

So, you think Clive blew himself up.

Vince shut his wallet. He looked up. Her face wore a strange expression of triumph, pained and exulting. He shook his head. He didn’t know what to say.

If he doesn’t come back, you want to stay and have sex with me, right?

God! Vince was appalled. No. For heaven’s sake, Michela!

Why else say you’re staying till he comes back when you don’t think he is coming back. I don’t mind if you want to have sex with me. Most men do.

It’s not what I want, and certainly not something I’ve been planning.

Don’t be so upset! She leaned forward across the small table and put her hand gently on his. Vince can see the tops of her breasts. There’s a sort of … she smiled, but slyly. Yearning is the word, isn’t it. There’s a yearning in you.

Vince said firmly. I’m sure Clive wasn’t one of the people who blew themselves up. He’s not that crazy. And I assure you that I’m not trying to get into your bed.

She withdrew her hand abruptly. Let’s get the bill and go. She stood up, pulled the dress down a little on her thighs. But climbing into the front of his car, she asked, When was the last time you made love?

I beg your pardon.

Come on, Mr Proper, don’t pretend you didn’t understand.

But why do you ask me a question like that? She has him riled now.

Why not? I just wonder if you’re, er, giving the best possible representation of all your various transactions. Laying it on, she said: I’m concerned for you of course. It was crazy of you to stay here when you should be back in London accounting for all that money. Oh, and by the way, I don’t think those men who blew themselves up were crazy at all.

Despite his age, Vince has no experience of conversations like this. Perhaps this is why he can’t leave be. Michela has a strange glow on her face.

Let’s talk about Clive, Vince says. You didn’t seriously imagine I thought he might be one of the three. Watching the road as they began to drive, Michela told him: The last time Clive and I made love was four days before your group arrived, and one day before two people were killed in a demonstration in Milan. I don’t know if you heard. The police charged some demonstrators and two protestors fell under the wheels of a tram. We were right close by. That night Clive was mad. He smoked a lot of dope. Then the day you arrived, that night, he told me that we weren’t going to make love anymore. He was obsessed that he should be doing more about everything that was wrong.

Maybe, Vince said, negotiating the unsurfaced road, to go back, that is, to what we were saying before— maybe the real risk, for Clive, would have been to settle down with you.

Don’t be sentimental, she snapped.

Vince was remembering Clive’s peculiar charisma. It had to do with a sort of sovereign aloneness. He turned the car onto the main road through Sand in Taufers. After a moment’s silence, Michela picked up: Anyway, I told him, if he really couldn’t live because of how things are in the world, he should do something important, not just go chucking himself down dangerous rivers. Again an odd ring to her voice made Vince glance sideways. Michela was sitting on her hands, back straight, lips pressed tightly together. He wondered then if she had bought her new dress and sunglasses before or after hearing that news from Germany. Seat — belt, he said. You haven’t done up your seat — belt.

They spent the afternoon checking out the equipment. Michela changed into some old denim shorts. Vince pulled all the boats off the trailer and Michela got into them and checked what size of person they were padded out for, more or less, and put a sticker on the boat— small, medium, large. There were twenty people in this group, she said. From Birmingham. I hope I can understand their accents. But at least five would have their own kayaks. There was no one under seventeen. It should be a question of removing padding rather than adding, she said. Towards four, the first thunder rumbled far away up the valley. Clive will have to drive in the rain, she said. It would take him an hour from Bolzano.

They had all the boats out on the baked ground between the chalet and the pitches and Vince moved quickly to stack all of them on the trailer again and cover the top with a sheet of heavy plastic. Shit, we’re two paddles down, Michela discovered then. The one Phil had broken. The one she had lost. If necessary somebody could use the splits, but that still left one short. I’ll go to ask at the rafting centre, Vince offered. They’ll have paddles. The first big raindrops were falling. A wind rose. All around people were hurrying to zip up their tents and tighten the guys. Stay here, she said. We can ask tomorrow. If necessary there’s a place in Brixen we can buy from.

They hurried to the chalet. The rain began to fall in slapping waves. The wind gusted violently. Hang on, Michela said. Let’s freshen up. She stopped just outside the porch, on the steps, and let herself be soaked. Vince was already in. The doors and windows were banging. He turned and saw her shoulders shiver as the yellow T — shirt darkened. Then she came in, drenched, laughing. But the moment everything was shut, it was hot again. How tense we are, Vince realised. He had thought they were relaxing, sorting out the boats. Instead it seemed they were more on edge than before.

It was past five o’clock. Her T — shirt was clinging to her body. Vince looked away. Bending forward, Michela peeled the shirt off, towelled herself quickly, put on another. Then took off her shorts. Her pants are white. He couldn’t understand if she was doing this on purpose. She seems so natural, opening and closing a couple of cupboard doors. Where did you put my jeans? she asked. I can’t believe you sorted our stuff out like this. Second drawer from the top, he said, I think. You’re weird, she told him. He gazed determinedly out of the window where somebody was trying to ride a bicycle under an umbrella across a field of mud. There! She was dressed. Let’s be English and make tea.

The rain beat on the wooden roof. They sat quietly over their tea. There was too much at stake to say anything now. Outside, plastic bags, bits of polystyrene, a sheet of newspaper, are being chased about in the wind. Michela’s face is crossed by sudden spasms. Vince watches. A moment of misery is transformed into elation. She gets up and walks back and forth between sink and table. She throws herself on the bed. Oh shit! Suddenly Vince is aware she is smiling at him. A warm smile. Then she is gathering up an armful of clothes, kicking the wall. She wants it to have been Clive who killed himself, Vince thinks. And she is terrified he has done it for her. The news, the girl suddenly said. Where’s the radio. Damn! It was a couple of minutes past six.

She found an Italian station. Vince can’t understand. Her face is concentrated. She’s sitting on the bed, chin on hand. Then, with a grimace, she turns it off. So? Oh various groups have claimed responsibility. Police think they may have identified the one who spoke to them, matching the recordings they made of his voice. They didn’t say who though. Then she was furious. Can you believe they had some prick expert comparing them with the Islamic suicide bombers. I can’t believe it. They’re not terrorists. They didn’t hurt anyone else. Then not a single word about what the conference decided! Vince watched her. Nothing, most probably! The girl was full of pent — up energy. Their world is burning up and all they can do is criminalise the people who care. She stretched forward and grabbed her ankles. For a moment her arms seemed to be straining to pull her legs towards her, while her knees thrust down against them. Ow! She sat up. In a hundred years from now, those men will be heroes, saints.

Vince’s phone was ringing. He saw from the display it was his colleague, Dyers. Vince? Listen, I won’t be in the office tomorrow when you get back. His wife’s father, the director said, had just passed away. He was going to Edinburgh for the funeral. I just wanted to tell you what you’ll find on your desk when you get back.

Vince listened and asked pertinent questions. At the same time his gaze met Michela’s. Their eyes held each other’s as they never did when they were talking. It was close in the room with the rain outside and the accumulated heat of the morning in the wood. Vince was sweating. I’ll give precedence to the stuff from V. A. then, he said. I presume we can rely on their assessment. As he spoke, her bright eyes were intent and enquiring. There was just a hint of a smile on her lips. Vince imagined her passing judgement on the work he did every day. She wants to see into my world and dismiss it. Is everything okay there now? Dyers was asking. Ready for the drive back? I should be leaving in a hour or so, Vince said. Michela raised a mocking eyebrow. When he closed the call she was still watching him. Should be? she asked. Then she said, Look, call the airport. We can find out what time he landed.

Vince gave her his phone and she called directory enquiries. The rain still clattered on the roof. He said it was a charter flight, Vince remembered. Michela spoke in Italian. Her voice seemed sharper, more nasal. They were sitting together now on the stools by the counter beneath the window. The earth outside was black and splashing with puddles. The trees screening the river were waving darkly, but above the peaks, to the right, Vince could see a break in the clouds. It is easing off. Michela suddenly smiled. Waiting to be connected, she ran a fingertip round the wound on his left hand. Then she saw the white mark on his ring finger. She looked at him, lips pursed, head cocked.

Pronto? Si. Volevo sapere … Vince didn’t understand. The conversation went on longer than seemed necessary. Apparently Michela was objecting, insisting. He understood the words Germania, Berlino, Dusseldorf. She closed the call. There is no charter flight, she said. She shook her head. It’s a small airport. There was a flight from Vienna this morning, Frankfurt early afternoon, Dusseldorf at seven. But it seems crazy to go from Berlin to Bolzano via Dusseldorf.

She stood and paced the room. He was bullshitting you. Oh fuck! She flung open the door. The cool air rushed in with a sprinkle of rain. Fuck and shit! Don’t say anything, Vince warned himself. He was trying to understand. Perhaps the flight was cancelled, he eventually said. What reason would he have had to lie to me? Charters often get cancelled. Perhaps he’s called the campsite, to leave a message. At once, Michela was pulling on her sandals. She hurried off. Vince stood at the door watching. It was pushing seven now. A beam of sunshine lay horizontally across the glacier high over the village. I am afraid even of thinking of the next few hours, he realised.

Nothing. Michela came back. But she seemed pleased. She was smiling. We’ll just have to be patient. Why don’t we take a look at his laptop, Vince said. Perhaps there’ll be some letter or something. The girl was wary. Clearly she is nervous that they will indeed find something. But as Vince expected, the screen demands a password. Any ideas? As he asks, he taps in, ‘Michela’. Error! Incorrect password. Then ‘No global’. And ‘No — Global’. Error! He tried zeros instead of ‘o’s. Stopper, she said. He likes those river words. Eddy — out. Vince typed in one after another. She was standing at his shoulder watching. Error!

I give up, she suddenly said. What do I know about Clive in the end? Nothing. Vince kept typing. I mean, I know him, but I don’t know anything about him. He never said much about his family, old girlfriends, anything. Vince stared at the small luminous rectangle. Come on, he said. Try, think. But how can you ever know the word another person will choose? After all, Vince had never found the password Gloria used for her e — mail. Kyoto, Michela said. Destiny, Vince tried. No doubt there would have been some way of accessing the program, with expert help, but he hadn’t bothered. He had packed her computer away and forgotten about it.

Rabiaux, Michela said. That’s the name of this mad wave he loved to play on in France. They do rodeo competitions there. R — a—b — i—a — u—x. It’s on the Durance. Error! Incorrect password. Rebel then. The girl began to laugh. She is relieved when the error sign comes up. Paddle. Puddle. Ferry — glide. Break — in. Break — out. The sheer fact. She was giggling. He always says that. The sheer fact is … It drives me crazy. Free — style. Rodeo. Vince gave up. She had put a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her. Maybe we might go out and grab a pizza, he said. He’ll already be here when we get back and I can set out on a full stomach.

They sat in the same pizzeria with the ancient keyboard player and the clutter of kitsch. Vince explained that they had come here after that last trip, when she was in hospital. I booked the bloody place, she told him. And for next week too. They should kiss my feet the business I’m giving them. Then she asked: I hope everybody was properly concerned about me, by the way.

Waiting for their order, Vince ran through people’s attitudes, mimicking. He isn’t a very good mimic. But suddenly they were laughing together. It’s as if we were happy, he thought. Amelia and Tom, he remembered, were both being terribly solemn and self — important, as if they were involved. He described the conversation with Tom. Michela did her characteristic head — shake. I should never have bothered them like that, poor things. At last the girl seemed completely relaxed. I thought she was a happy person! Vince did Amal’s high — pitched voice. I really liked Amal, Michela said. She frowned. You don’t think he was castrated or anything? Sorry, not funny.

The keyboard guy, Vince resumed— isn’t he fantastic, by the way? — was playing ‘El Condor Pasa’. You know? I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail. Gloria used to like Paul Simon, he said. My wife. Tell me about her, Michela asked. Having cut up her pizza into slices, she folded each one in long fingers, eating elegantly, with appetite.

Vince talked. He feels strangely at ease, speaking without pain or embarrassment about his wife, about the music she listened to, the sports she did, her rather brusque, efficient ways. We will drive back to the chalet now, he thought, and Clive will be there. I will shake hands with him, say a word or two about the prices they should be asking for their courses, then set off for England, the City. My desk is piled with papers. For a moment it crossed his mind to worry whether his passport was still in the glove compartment.

And your ring, she asked. She still had food in her mouth. Smiling an apology, touching her lips with a napkin, she looked very young, fresh, at ease. Vince explained how he had dropped it into the rapid. The moment seemed far away. It’s the strangest thing I ever did in my life. She is attentive again, reflective. Perhaps you should do more things like that, Mr Banker.

Don’t call me that, Vince said.

Their eyes met.

But you are, she said. I’ll give precedence to the stuff from what’s — its — name, she mimicked his phone voice.

If I was just a banker, I would have gone back a week ago.

That’s true. Looking away, she said: I’m glad you didn’t.

The chalet was as they had left it. Clive isn’t back. Again the young woman was on edge. They spread a bin — bag on the damp steps outside the door and sat there together as darkness fell. The evening was fresh and mild. There was still thunder somewhere far away. Lights high up on the mountainside seemed nearer in the clear air, as if the night were blacker and softer than usual. After a while she slipped a hand under his arm. At what point will you decide to go anyway? Vince sighed. Good question. He felt anxious. Then he said: Help me put up my tent somewhere. I’ll still be in time to leave in the morning. She didn’t move. It’s horrible putting up a tent in the wet. You can stay in the chalet. Vince isn’t happy with this. Michela, he said firmly, I am not, repeat not trying … Clive slept on the floor, she said, in his sleeping bag. If you’ve got an inflatable mattress, you can use that.

Every time headlights turned into the campsite, there was a moment of tension and expectancy. But the cars never came this far. Towards midnight she asked: Assuming it was him, I mean, you know what I mean, do you think he would have done it to prove something to me. Am I responsible? Or would he have done it even if he had never met me?

What kind of answer is she after? There are a hundred and one reasons, Vince said, why a guy comes back late from a trip, or doesn’t come back at all for that matter. The car, he suddenly thought, their Jeep! The thing to do would be to find out where the Jeep was, whether it had been abandoned. Though even that wouldn’t actually prove anything. Out loud, he said: Whoever blew themselves up like that, it was their decision and no one else’s. He paused. Like it was your decision to go down the rapid the way you did. You can’t blame Clive for that. On the contrary, you put his life and mine at risk. That’s true, Michela said. Keith and Mandy, Vince went on, kept talking about a community experience, and it was, I suppose, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t responsible for themselves, does it? This car, he thought, as headlights swept into the site, this will be the one. Here he is. The headlights were in fact coming their way. They were passing the bathrooms. He felt her hand tense under his arm. The lights stopped abruptly and went out two chalets away. She sighed. She is shaking her head. It’s so weird, not knowing if he’s alive or dead. And no one to phone. There’s no one I can ask.

When Vince went to the car for the inflatable mattress, she called, Vince! He already had it under his arm. You may as well sleep with me.

I told you— Vince began.

It’s not an invitation to have sex. She was giggling. It’s a big bed. Keep your clothes on if you like.

I’ll be waking you up. I always go to the loo a couple of times a night. He was pleased with himself for having admitted this.

I don’t think I’ll sleep anyway, she said.

And when Clive arrives …

He won’t. She seemed quite certain now.

But if he does.

You’re not doing anything wrong. You slept in the same tent as your daughter last week. Anyway, he doesn’t own me. He wasn’t even sleeping with me.

There were still cars pulling into the campsite from time to time. Headlights swung across the curtainless windows. The wooden walls whiten and spin. Vince had lain down on the bed fully clothed, his hands behind his head, his legs crossed. She had changed into pyjama shorts and top. She didn’t hide when she took off her clothes as his daughter did, and even his wife in her way, but she was quick and discreet. She got under the bedclothes. He glimpsed the long legs, the lithe stomach. She too turned on her back and lay still, listening to the last of the campsite noises, a tinkle of low music, a drunken voice. Vince’s mind had just begun to drift, when she said: I’m afraid. At once he was awake.

What of?

Afraid he’ll come back, afraid he won’t come back. She sighed. Afraid he’s dead. Afraid he just left me without even the courage to say so. She sighed again, turned and found Vince’s hand. Afraid in general. What will I do now? I was so sure of him, she whispered, so sure. It was like, everything was decided. Then first he cuts me off. He won’t sleep with me. Now he disappears, right when this group is arriving. I don’t even know if he has disappeared.

Again there came the sound of a distant car. They waited. Then a door slammed, there were low voices. She laughed softly. Her fingers squeezed his unresponding hand. When I heard you on the phone earlier, talking about your job— this, that, give precedence, we can rely on so and so— I felt so jealous, the way you know who you are. You have a place. Her voice was a thread now. I’m not even the romantic girl who killed herself. After all, if I’d really wanted to die, I wouldn’t have done something so useless as trying to drown myself within a hundred yards of a guy who’s spent his whole life teaching white — water rescues. She laughed. She is on the brink of tears.

Vince opened his hand and let hers slip into it.

I’m afraid of everything really. The dark and the intimacy had freed her to speak. I’m always afraid something won’t happen, you know, and at the same time I’m afraid it will. I was afraid Clive would want children right away, and afraid he would never want children. I’m afraid the planet will burn up and afraid they will prove us wrong, it won’t burn up, and we’ve wasted all our lives protesting for no reason. She paused. I’m afraid of being weak, and terrified what it would mean to be strong, to take the lead. Clive always said, Be strong. Be strong. But I was always following. I think that frightened him. When we were paddling he would invent little tricks to make me go up front and take a rapid first.

Again headlights crossed the room. This time they didn’t even listen carefully.

Maybe, in the end, we weren’t really that different. Again she laughed softly. She lifted her head from the pillow. You’re being very quiet, Mr Banker.

I’m listening, Vince said.

You’re dirtying my sheets with those jeans, she said. Take them off. What are you afraid of? It’s the woman’s supposed to be afraid. I know you’re not going to rape me.

I’m afraid of giving the wrong idea.

Take them off, she told him. Don’t be uncomfortable.

Vince let go of her hand, climbed out of bed, removed his jeans. She was curled towards him. It was disturbing. He climbed back in.

I think, she resumed, so many of these people who do dangerous things on rivers and mountains are afraid. It’s funny, but I’m pretty sure. Afraid of dying, afraid of settling down. Afraid of life beginning really, and afraid it will never begin. These sports are something you do instead of life. Suddenly, she propped herself up on an elbow. Do you see what I’m trying to say, Mr Banker? They’re things people do instead of living. Really, you should tell your bank to invest in all these high — risk sports because it’s what everyone really wants. Hang — gliding, deep — sea diving. To feel they’re really living, when they’re not in danger of living at all. She lay back on her pillow. Clive’s problem was, he had seen through it. It didn’t work anymore. That’s why he was so sad. But you should invest your money in these kinds of things, she finished. You could get rich. Now she was running a finger softly back and forth in the hair of his forearm.

Vince said: How would you like to run the upper Aurino with me. Just us two.

The finger stopped. You what?

Tomorrow We could run the upper Aurino again. You do the shopping early. I sort out the paddle and the guide at the rafting centre. We should have about four hours before the party arrives. If we don’t take any breaks, we can do it.

After a thunderstorm?

It can’t be any worse than it was last time.

She was intrigued. You have to drive to England, she reminded him.

If I drive through the night, tomorrow, I’ll still be back Saturday morning.

In fine condition for a sixteen — hour working day.

Right, Vince laughed. Let’s do it.

Suddenly, she threw an arm across his chest and snuggled towards him, her cheek was on his shoulder, her lips only inches away. My old banker wants to kill himself.

I want to run that river. With you. You lead.

You really don’t want to go back at all, do you?

Vince was silent.

At that point, we may as well just make love, she said. Her arm tightened round him.

No, Vince said.

Why not? It’s not so dangerous as running the upper Aurino, and it’ll eat up less of your precious time. You can leave as soon as we’ve finished.

I can’t.

She laughed. I know you’ve grown old counting all that money, but not that old.

I’m terrified, Vince said.

The girl’s grip softened a little, but the arm stayed where it was. After a minute or two, he said quietly, I would like to run that river again.

You can count me out, she whispered. I’ve chosen to live.

The minutes ticked by. The air coming through the window was chill now. Soon someone would have to close it.

Listen, Vince eventually said. Are you listening?

Ye — e—e — es.

If Clive doesn’t turn up, tonight, before lunch tomorrow …

Which he won’t.

I think he probably will.

Let’s say he might.

Well, if he doesn’t, what about …

Ye — e—e — es.

Vince hesitated.

Mr Banker will try to make love to me?

No. No. What about … if I stay. He stopped.

What do you mean?

I stay and run these summer courses with you. I phone the bank, tomorrow, and tell them I’m resigning.

Again she lifted herself on an elbow. She was looking down on him. You’re not serious.

I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. He smiled. I’m always serious.

Well, you’re mad then. You’re more suicidal than I am.

The only thing I want to know, he said, is whether you would like me to stay, or not.

Don’t make me responsible, she objected quickly.

It would always be my decision. You haven’t forced me to do anything. You haven’t even invited me.

Where would you stay? she asked.

I have my tent, Vince said. My airbed.

You can’t spend the whole summer in a tent.

Why not?

Not at your age.

Go to hell. Now, would you like me to stay or not?

And afterwards? When summer’s over?

I don’t know. I haven’t thought. I want to do something different. I’ve got enough money in the end. I don’t need money. I’ve decided I want to do something different. Work for a cause even. I don’t know.

Not because of me?

Vince hesitated. Maybe partly because of you. Does it matter? I know there can’t be anything serious between us.

Why not?

You’re in love with Clive. He’ll be back in the end. You just said how old I am. And there are thousands of nice young men.

Michela sank back on the bed. She shook her head, then giggled. Funny if he arrived now.

So? Vince asked.

I won’t say, she said. It’s your decision, regardless of me.

But you won’t stop me.

I’ll tell you after you’ve phoned the bank and resigned.

Vince thought about this. Fair enough, he says. I’ll call as soon as someone’s in.

They lay in silence for perhaps five minutes, then Vince got up to go to the loo. He closed the window and let himself out. The night was bright with stars and the gleam of a crescent moon. The glow of the sky made the mountains loom darker. Vince stopped and gazed. Was it that all life until now had been a tired spell, from which he was suddenly released? Or was it this situation that was snatching him from reality? The lights of the bathroom came on as he approached. He emptied his nervous bladder. Or each state was a form of enchantment, worth as much or as little as the other. Every place is its own spell, Vince thought. Walking back, something again forced him to stop and look around. The sheer bulk of the mountains imposes a sense of awe, he thought, looking away to the jagged silhouette of the peaks. I’m impressionable, he decided.

Entering the chalet, he found to his surprise that Michela had fallen asleep. She has invaded his side of the bed. He climbed in and lay beside her. He is cramped. I’ll never sleep. What if Clive had killed himself. It must be so horrible for her. Very lightly, he allowed his fingers to push her short fringe across her forehead. We haven’t really taken this in yet. The skin round the eyes tensed, wrinkled, relaxed again. Michela, he whispered, not to wake her. It is impossible to imagine the girl will ever be his lover. She is playing with me. She likes to mock. To lose such a woman would be terrifying, he thought. Yet, Clive had thrown her away. Clive, Clive, Clive. His mind drifted. You were always awed by men like Clive …

Then, towards dawn, there was a sudden explosive clatter and the door banged open. A hot wind rushed in. Vince is sitting up, rigid, staring. Clive! The man seems appallingly dishevelled, grizzled. Wally is swinging from his neck. Vince, what the hell are you doing here? Vince looks down. The girl is still asleep. Vince can’t open his mouth. He shook his head. We haven’t. It’s not … Clive swung off his backpack and banged it on the floor. He was laughing, a loud, booming laugh. Well, you should have, mate. While you had the chance. And he began stripping off his clothes. He is going to get in the bed too. There is a strange smell in the room, Vince noticed. Rather boldly, he said: So you didn’t blow yourself up, then? Clive stopped. Yes, I did. Of course, I did. Vince stared. What do you think that smell is? It was burning. Clive’s hair is smoking. Wally too. The air is full of ash. Gefahrlich! he shouts. Draussen! His clothes are black. His legs slipping out of his jeans are charred stumps. There is ash on the floor, ash on the bed. You throw a handful of ash in the river and it comes back in clouds. Vince can taste it on his lips. Do you think, Clive laughs, I’d be afraid of blowing myself up? Thrust close to him now, the face is blackened bone around gum — less, grinning teeth.

Vince! For Christ’s sake. His waking eyes met Michela’s. She’s leaning over him. God, I thought you were having a heart attack. Vince breathed deeply. Stupid nightmare, he told her. What about? He collected himself. Nothing. The usual angst. She is on her elbow, smiling. Without thinking, he said, You’re beautiful. I beg your pardon? Beautiful. She laughed: No sooner do you show a man you trust him than the flattery begins! Vince shook his head. I’m sorry, if I woke you. No problem. She resumed a sleeping position, turned her back to him. Then she said softly: I do know you’re only after a nurse for your decrepitude. Yes, I’m ancient, he told her. Like the planet. Well, she was still teasing, I can’t look after both of you.

Vince lay still. Outside the light was brightening. What time was it, five, six? Soon the bells would ring. In just a few hours he would have to make that call. The fact is, she went on, an old guy like you could pop off any minute. I could wake up with a corpse in the bed. He found this too cruel. Don’t worry, I’ll be in the tent tomorrow. Oh I don’t mind, she laughed. Better than a man who sleeps on the floor. After a moment’s silence, thinking of his dream, Vince said: He probably just had a problem with the car or something. I don’t know, a flat tyre. Please, she said. Please. Let’s sleep.

Vince knew he wouldn’t sleep now. Again he found himself looking at her. Above all, the long neck, the soft V of glossy hair growing on the nape. How careful, it suddenly occurs to him, how careful I’ve always been! With what caution his life had been planned, his career. How they had gone back and forth, back and forth over the business of Louise’s school, the possibility of a move to London. Then Gloria was taken. She was there one minute and gone the next. Just the one phone — call. Those thirty seconds of intimacy. I’m so, so sorry, she said. They had blocked out everything that came before. Vince gazed at this white neck, the wonderful pattern of that cropped hair. It is a miracle. Do you think, he asked then in a low voice— do you think it would be crazy of me if I asked if I could hug you? She didn’t reply. She must be sleeping. Michela? he whispered. After thirty seconds or so there came a low chuckle. Sorry, I thought you must be talking to someone else. Well? Hmm. On reflection, yes, I think it would be crazy. The light was growing steadily now, sharpening the angle of her shoulder, colouring her hair. Yes, it would definitely be crazy, Mr Banker. You promised to stop calling me that. Only when I see you’ve phoned the office and resigned. I’m a sceptical modern girl. Hug me, he said then. She lay still. Oh, did you say something? Hug me. Sorry, what was that? Hug me! Just a hug, mind, he added. She turned and all at once her arms are round him, her cheek pressed against his. Vince held the girl quite tightly and waited.