Mark Lee - The Canal House

My camera bag was on the overhead rack. I took down the Nikon, loaded a roll, and stared out the window. It was a gray, drizzly morning and fog drifted across the parceled fields.

When I was a child, I was so inspired by the graceful beauty of Olympic ice dancing that I begged my parents for pair of figure skates. The gift arrived on Christmas morning and there’s a badly focused snapshot of me tearing the wrapping paper off a cardboard box. The boots were white leather with pink laces; the blades were chrome bright and very sharp. I pulled on the skates in my bedroom, but I resisted using them, sensing that my clumsy performance on real ice would never match the smooth perfection of my dreams.

One evening my father tied the laces together, draped the skates around my neck, and took me to a frozen pond a half mile from our house. I sensed his irritation as he gripped my hand and pulled me out onto the ice. For a cold half hour, I wobbled and slipped and whimpered. I was annoyed with my father for refusing to let me fall, annoyed with my own failure, and I wished a painful death for all the glamorous figure skaters who had ever appeared on television.

I was so frustrated that I pulled away from my father and, with ten or twelve frantic strides, began to skate alone across the ice. Without making a conscious decision, I was moving very quickly toward the edge of the pond. I barely knew how I had started and didn’t know how to stop. I should have been frightened, but the relief of breaking away and the elation of finally moving forward was so overpowering that I stood up straight, extended my arms and glided toward the darkness.

AFTER RICHARD WENT OFF to prepare for the home secretary, I circulated around the tent talking to the guests. There was a feeling of comfortable superiority in their conversation, an assumption that we were all in the same little club together. No one asked about Hand-to-Hand and the women kept reaching out to touch the emerald necklace. My tight dress and high heels, the noisy dance band, and the crowd made me feel trapped. I left the tent searching for some fresh air, walked across the courtyard, and passed through the castle’s barbican gate.

Alone on the bridge, Daniel looked up at the night sky. I could only see his silhouette at first, the broad shoulders and longish hair. My father would have said that Daniel wasn’t a gentleman and perhaps that was true, but there was a sense of grace about him, a resourcefulness and strength that was reflected in his manner. He was everything I feared and wanted, all at the same time.

I walked up to him and stood very close, but we didn’t speak. Daniel reached out and pushed some hair away from my face. He leaned forward slowly, and I was very conscious of the choice I was making. I could have run away from him, passed through the gate, and rejoined the others, but I let him kiss me and I kissed him back. When I stepped away from him, I shivered slightly. Daniel removed his evening jacket and draped it over my shoulders. The lining was still warm from his body.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We’ll go to London.”

“You mean now?”

“I’ve got my cell phone and some money. I’ll call a taxi. The driver can pick us up on the road.”

“Daniel, I can’t.”

“Because of Richard?”

“No, because of Hand-to-Hand. If I quit tonight and walk away, everyone would know what happened. The donors are here, the home secretary is about to arrive.”

“And he expects to meet you?”

“I just need a few more hours,” I said. “Give me the rest of the evening.”

We kissed again and then lights were flashing in the air and I heard the sound of the approaching helicopter. I left Daniel, and when I passed back through the gate Miss Hedges rushed over to me. “The home secretary has arrived,” she said. “Mr. Seaton wants to introduce you.”

I thought about the warmth of Daniel’s jacket while I talked to the home secretary and his entourage of clever young men. I could still change my mind. No one knew what had just happened outside the gate. If I had been cautious or reasonable I would have postponed the decision, but I didn’t feel cautious at that moment. Though I didn’t have a clear plan for the future, I knew it was wrong to stay with Richard.

“What a wonderful party,” the secretary said. “You’ve certainly accomplished a great deal in a very short period of time.”

Richard put his arm around me and gave me a little hug. “I’ve had some help.”

“Of course. I’m not forgetting Dr. Cadell.” The secretary raised his voice so that everyone could hear him. “The prime minister believes that your organization is the perfect conjunction of private compassion and public policy.”

We guided the secretary over to the bumper-car tent and our guest squeezed his plump body into a toy police car. The power was switched on and the drivers careened around the steel floor, smashing into each other. I glanced at Richard. He was smiling like an impresario who had just created some elaborate theatrical entertainment.

“Richard, I’m exhausted. Would you mind awfully if I went to sleep?”

“Go on. Get some rest. You were wonderful, darling.”

“I hope we raised some money.”

“Bags of it. Everyone’s very impressed.”

Back in my room, I removed the necklace and earrings, dropped them in their case, then shook it slightly. Away from the light, the power of the emeralds disappeared and they rattled about like ordinary stones. I laid my evening gown on the chair, put on my jeans, and packed a suitcase. Richard and I had separate bedrooms at Westgate, but I was worried that he would knock on my door after the home secretary left. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I listened to footsteps moving up and down the hallway.

I waited for hours, trying to control my imagination. Daniel came to my room at four in the morning. We were quiet walking down the hallway and I could hear my own breathing. Daniel opened the front door gently and then we were both outside in the courtyard. As we moved across the flagstones, a motion detector switched on the security lights. I thought there would be an alarm, too, some clanging bell that would wake up the house, but nothing happened.

The party tents looked slack and exhausted, heavy with the evening dew. Smashed glasses and empty bottles were scattered across the grass. We crossed the courtyard with our suitcases bumping against our legs and passed through the gate. The sky was still dark, but the stars were fading away and a faint line of morning light had appeared on the horizon.

DANIEL USED HIS PHONE to call a taxi and it met us on the driveway. We reached Kemble at five-thirty and got on the next train to London. In the car, we sat on opposite seats. Looking at him, I felt as if I had just woken up in bed with a stranger. I didn’t know that much about Daniel, but I was drawn to him, even when he’d made me angry. The strength of my emotions, the connection I felt between us, made me wonder. Had my past relationships all been half steps, small commitments held within the boundaries I had created? This was a change, perhaps. I wasn’t sure. Would we separate by the time we reached the next station?

Richard would have made an organized presentation at that moment, taking out a pad of paper to list all the reasons why I was making the right choice. Instead, Daniel moved to the seat next to me and slipped his arm around my shoulder.

“Shall we take a plane to Italy?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Not right now. Richard would follow us there.”