Undine -

Chapter 3

SOPHIE trudged down to the lakeside, her hair caught up in a French roll, the straw leghorn perched on her head. It was mid-morning, blazing hot and she felt more like a prisoner on her way to the gallows than her first swimming lesson with Thomas Benchley.

'There's a nice shallow spot tucked away beyond those trees,' Thomas assured her. 'Nice bit of sand and not too steep an incline.'

As the caretaker turned to grin at her, Sophie tried to turn her scowl into a look of studious intent.

'Don't look to so terrified, Miss. I won't let you drown.'

'It's not you I'm worried about.'

'My old dad threw me into the deep end of a swimming pool. I soon swam.'

'That's not very encouraging, Thomas.'

She followed the caretaker along the narrow trail that skirted the lake through a belt of trees to the north. The trail widened into a tiny cove with a white sandy beach flanked with reeds.

'Water's usually a few degrees warmer near the shore, Miss, especially here.'

Sophie dropped her towel onto a rock, then undid the ties of her blue silk sarong. Beneath, she wore a tiny bikini, beautiful but impractical, designed exclusively for sunbathing - but it was all she had and would have to do. Self-consciously, she stood waiting for Thomas to disrobe wondering why on earth she had allowed Elizabeth to bully her into doing this.

I must be mad. It's been five years since...

She recalled the day with dreadful clarity. Herself and David in the sea at Brighton. Her reticent, him impatient. The session had ended in tears with them not speaking to each other for hours afterwards. David, waspish at the best of times, had been particularly belligerent.

'Why the hell can't you just try, Sophie? It's no use hopping along with one foot on the bottom bleating about how you almost drowned when you were  a kid. Life goes on, babe. So get on with it.'

So she floundered and spluttered her way towards him, taking his abuse because she loved and trusted him. Or so she thought.

'Right,' Thomas announced, hitching up the waistband of a pair of ancient swimming shorts the colour and texture of old bark. 'Ready when you are.' He waded into the lake, rubbing his palms together and hissing appreciatively.

'Come on, Miss. Water's lovely.'

Sophie stepped forwards, gingerly dipping her toe into the water. 'I have a bad feeling about this.'

'Lesson one,' Thomas said, holding up a gnarled finger. 'Be confident.'

Sophie squared her shoulders and waded in up to her knees. The water was cold, but not unbearable. The sand beneath her feet gave way to shingle. Thomas beckoned impatiently. 'You've got to be at least waist deep, Miss. That's right, now give me your hands.'

She reached out. The caretaker's grip was firm.

'Now. I want you to stretch out and kick your feet hard as you can.'

Sophie nodded, trying to muster confidence and pushing Brighton to the back of her mind. She bent her knees and gasped as the lake water lapped her throat and chin. Then she kicked out, sending a wake of white foam boiling behind her.

'That's it,' Thomas encouraged. 'Now, I'm going to walk backwards and take you with me. Keep kicking those legs. Are you ready?'

'No,' Sophie gasped, scowling as the caretaker threw back his head and laughed at her. 'That's the spirit.'

They splashed slowly around the bay, churning up the water and frightening the wildfowl in the reeds. That the water was never deeper than chest height didn't assuage Sophie's fear.

'Don't you dare let go, Thomas.'

'Safe as houses,' Thomas assured her, backpedalling. 'Safe as-'

Sophie felt Thomas tug at her hands, felt those hands tighten and sink below the lake. She brought her knees up reflexively, watched in horror as Thomas gave a squawk and disappeared beneath the water. Her feet scrabbled wildly for a footing before she was dunked forcibly by the caretaker's falling body.

Sophie wrenched her hands from Thomas's grasp, mindful only of her own survival, watching in consternation as the caretaker resurfaced, his blue eyes a-twinkle with mirth.

'I've two left feet,' he roared amiably, and Sophie felt like slapping him.

'You scared me half to death,' she cried backing away from him, part angry, part amused, mostly frightened by the older man's clumsiness.

'Sorry 'bout that. It's my old feet. Bunions, you see.'

Sophie lifted a veil of soaking hair from her face. 'Bunions?'

'Aye. Give me jip, they do. Make me clumsy without my shoes on. Now, shall we try again?'

Sophie shook her head emphatically, heading back for the shore. ''Elizabeth's got a lot to answer for.'

Thomas nodded. 'I'm not much of a swimmer myself.'

'It's alright, Thomas. I'll ask Mrs St Clair about proper swimming lessons - in a proper swimming pool.'

'Are you alright, Miss?'

'I'm fine. I think I'll spend the rest of the morning here, sunbathing...and recovering.'

Thomas scooped up his clothes and towel then said sheepishly, 'There's nothing I can't tell you about double digging and hot house hydrangeas.'

When he was gone, Sophie lay back on the sand. She leaned on her elbows, gazing across the lake.

You're a defeatist, Sophie, you know that?

Self-contempt soured her mood. How many more years was she going to struggle with this weakness? She hated being weak. This fear of water was her one failing, the only part of herself over which she had no control.

Sophie gazed at the serene surface of the lake, so benevolent and shining - then got to her feet and padded down towards the water.

She waded in up to her knees, then her thighs. At waist level she kept glancing back at the beach to reassure herself that dry land was only ten paces away. She told herself that lakes had no tides and were therefore predictable; then ran her hands and arms beneath the crystal water, smiling as the movement created dapples of shadow on her flesh.

'There's nothing to be scared of,' she murmured. Then she heard the din of roiling waves and deep, dark water; the wail of gulls accompanied by her own screaming. Sophie jerked upright, the cool membrane of lake water clinging and hostile. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

'Stop it,' she whispered, shaking her head and closing her eyes. 'That was years ago.'

...but not in my head...in my head I'm in still there...trapped in that nightmare...

A small wave broke gently over Sophie's midline. She opened her eyes and froze. Waist deep and two paces from her, stood Michael St Clair.