His father relieved the awkwardness by asking, “What are we going to do?”
“Why not the river?” Hardcastle suggested.
They set out in two punts from the barges. The Professor and his wife had excused themselves, saying that they had to work. Hardcastle took charge of Glory and Riska; Peter of the rest. They turned up the Cherwell, past the Botanical Gardens, through Mesopotamia, coming at last to Parsons’ Pleasure. The sound of bathers on the other side of the island warned them. The ladies got out, while the men drew the punts across the rollers, taking them round to the farther landing. Barrington accompanied Nan by the footpath.
Directly they were alone she turned to him, “Is there anything between them?”
“Between who?”
“That girl and Peter?”
Her husband laughed and held her arm more firmly, “Between her and Peter! What an idea! Match-maker!”
Nan leant against him, as if seeking his protection. “Match-maker? Not that. I dread it. I want to keep them with us, Kay and Peter, always—always.”
Tears were in her eyes. He remembered; once before in this place he had seen her like that. “Have you forgotten?” he said. “It was here that it all began—everything between us. It was after we three had met—a rainy day, with the sun coming out. I left you to take the punt round the island, and Jehane said something behind my back—something that brought tears. It was when I saw you crying, Pepperminta, that I loved you.”
She uttered the wonderfully obvious, linking up his memory with the present. “We little thought of Peter then.”