have seen them. And yet, more and more, she had the feeling that the boat was waiting for someone; not just lying idle like the others. After all, it was not moored, the anchor was still in the bow, and the rope was only twisted twice round the post. It almost seemed as if it might be waiting for her.
She glanced round again, took off her plimsolls and then, without pausing to think, pulled the boat towards her and stepped inside. The sudden movement tugged at the rope and loosened it. Anna sat down, pulled it in, and took hold of the oars. She had never rowed a boat before in her life – though she did remember once taking an oar with Mr Preston when they had been in Bournemouth, and she remembered, too, the golden rule he had impressed upon her about never standing up in a boat – but beyond that she had no experience at all. And yet now she felt perfectly confident.
Carefully she dipped one oar, then the other, then both together in small quiet strokes, and found herself moving steadily away from the post and along the shore. She was moving along towards The Marsh House. Almost without realising it she had turned the boat in that direction.
It was utterly calm and dreamlike on the water. She forgot to row and leaned forward on the oars, looking at the afterglow of the sunset, which lay in streaks along the horizon. A sandpiper – was it a sandpiper? – called, “Pity me!” from across the marsh, and another answered, “Pity me! Oh, pity me!”
She sat up suddenly, realising that although she had stopped rowing she was still moving. The bank to her left was slipping away fast, and already she was drifting past the front of The Marsh House. She saw lights in the first-floor windows, then she made a sudden grab for the oars. Over her shoulder she had just seen that she was heading straight for the corner where the wall jutted out into the water. If she was not quick she would bump into it. She plunged the left oar into the water, hoping to turn the boat, but the oar went in flat and she nearly fell over backwards. At the same moment a voice sounded almost in her ear – a high, childish voice with a tremble of laughter in it.
“Quick! Throw me the rope!”
ANNA THREW THE rope, felt the jerk as it tightened, and the boat was drawn in until it bumped gently against the wall.
She looked up. Standing above her, at the top of what she now saw was a flight of steps cut into the wall, was a girl. The same girl as she had seen before. She was wearing a long, flimsy dress, and her fair hair fell in strands over her shoulders as she bent forward, peering down into the boat.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
“Yes,” said Anna, in her ordinary voice.
“Ssh!” The girl lifted a finger to her lips. “Don’t let anyone hear. Can you climb out?”
Anna climbed out, the girl tied the rope to an iron ring in the wall, and they stood together at the top of the steps, eyeing each other in the half light. This is a dream, thought Anna. I’m imagining her, so it doesn’t matter if I don’t say anything. And she went on staring and staring as if she were looking at a ghost. But the strange girl was looking at her in the same way.
“Are you real?” Anna whispered at last.
“Yes, are you?”
They laughed and touched each other to make sure. Yes, the girl was real, her dress was made of a light, silky stuff, and her arm, where Anna touched it, was warm and firm.
Apparently the girl, too, had accepted Anna’s reality. “Your hand’s sticky,” she said, rubbing her own down the side of her dress. “It doesn’t matter, but it is.” Then she added, wonderingly, “Are you a beggar girl?”
“No,” said Anna. “Why should I be?”
“You’ve got no shoes on. And your hair’s dark and straggly, like a gipsy’s. What’s your name?”
“Anna.”
“Are you staying in the village?”
“Yes, with Mr and Mrs Pegg.”
The girl looked at her thoughtfully. In the fading light Anna could barely see her features, but she thought that her eyes were blue with straight dark lashes.
“I’m not allowed to play with the village children,” the girl said slowly, “but you’re a visitor, aren’t you? Anyway, it makes no difference. They’ll never know.”
Anna turned away abruptly. “You needn’t bother,” she said.
But the girl held her back. “No, don’t go! Don’t be such a goose. I want to know you! Don’t you want to know me?”
Anna hesitated. Did she want to know this strange girl? She hardly knew the answer herself. But to get things straight first, she said, “My hands are sticky because I had a bun for tea, and my hair’s untidy because I haven’t brushed it since this morning. I have got some shoes, but I left them on the beach. So now you know.”
The girl laughed and pulled her down beside her on to the top step. “Let’s sit here, then they won’t see us if they look out. But we must talk quietly.” She glanced over her shoulder, up towards the house. Anna followed her look. “They’re all up there,” she whispered. “That’s the drawing-room where the lights are.”
There was a sudden sound of a window opening just above their heads. The girl ducked down and put her hand on Anna’s shoulder, making her duck down too. Silently they eased their way down a step, and sat huddled together, heads bent, the girl holding Anna’s arm in a tight grip. Above them a woman’s voice said, “How beautiful the marsh is at night! I could sit here for ever.” The girl gave a shiver of excitement and ducked lower. They held hands, laughing silently, seeing only each other’s white teeth shining in the darkness.
“Shut the window,” said a man’s voice from above. There was a sound of music from inside the room, then a burst of laughter and other voices. Someone called, “Marianna, come and dance!” Then the woman’s voice, right overhead, said, “Yes, in a minute. By the way, where’s the child?”
The girl flung her arm round Anna’s waist and they held their breath. Anna did not remember ever being so close to anyone before. Then the man’s voice said, “In bed, I should hope. Come on, do shut the window.” There was a click as the window closed again, then silence. From the marsh came again the sound of the little grey-brown bird calling, “Pity me! Oh, pity me!” A slight breeze ruffled the water and the boat rocked gently below them. The girl let go of Anna’s hand.
“Was it you they were talking about?” Anna whispered. She nodded, laughing quietly. “Then why are you in that dress? Weren’t you meant to be at the party?”
“That was earlier. It’s late now. I’m supposed to be in bed. You heard. Are you allowed to stay up all night?”
Anna shook her head. “No, I’ll have to go soon anyway—” she paused, remembering the way she had come. “Is it your boat?” she whispered.
“Yes, of course. I left it on purpose for you. But I didn’t know you couldn’t row!” They chuckled together in the darkness, and Anna felt suddenly tremendously happy.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked. “Have you seen me?”
“Yes, often.”
“But I thought you’d only just come!”
The