like this, rinsing stones for no reason and prodding at the soft mud in the shallows? He raised his head to work out whether the memory was genuine or whether it was some curious reverse echo, by which the present seems to duplicate itself in the past.
The girl had stopped her labour with the stones. On all fours, she bent close to the water’s surface as if it were a mirror. Looking back at her was another girl – one he knew.
‘Amelia!’
He grasped for her, but at his touch she was gone and his fingers were wet.
The girl sat up and turned her ever-changing eyes on him in an attitude of mild concern.
‘Who are you? I know you’re not her – but if you are … if you are – am I going mad?’
She handed him the stick and indicated with a vigorous motion that he should dig a channel with it. She lined it with her stones. She was exacting in her expectations and it took some time before she was satisfied. Then, he understood, they were to watch it. They saw how the water trickled in, and how it silted up, and how rapidly the work of the river undid the work of a man and a child.
In the end, they carried the coffee outdoors and down to the boathouse. It was generally agreed that a riverside setting would be more interesting than an indoor photograph, so they must make the most of the dry weather while it lasted.
Once they’d got the camera in position, Daunt went to prepare the first plate. ‘While I’m gone, here are the other exposures. From last time.’
Helena unfastened the hinged lid of the wooden box. The interior was lined with felt. It contained, each in its slot, two glass plates.
‘Oh!’ Helena said, when she was holding the first up to the light. ‘How strange!’
‘It takes you aback, doesn’t it?’ Rita said. ‘Light and shade are reversed.’ She peered at the same plate. ‘I fear Mr Daunt was right and you already have the best ones. This one is rather blurred.’
‘What do you think, darling?’ Helena asked, passing the plate to Vaughan.
He glanced at the plate, saw a smudge of a child, and looked away again.
‘Are you all right?’ Rita asked.
He nodded. ‘Too much coffee.’
Helena removed the second plate from the box and studied it. ‘They are blurred, it’s true, but not so much that you can’t see the thing that matters. It is Amelia. That’s perfectly plain.’ Her voice contained no unsettling intensity, no rising note of hysteria. It was measured, mild even. ‘This question in Mr Armstrong’s mind will never come to anything, but the lawyer thinks we should be ready, just in case.’
‘Mr Armstrong’s visits continue?’
Helena’s nod was unperturbed. ‘They do.’
Rita caught Vaughan’s face as it flinched at the sound of the other man’s name.
But then Daunt was there. Helena slid the plates back into the box and swung the child into her arms with a wide smile. ‘Where do you want us for the new photographs?’
Daunt looked to the sky to gauge the sun, then pointed. ‘Just there.’
The girl fidgeted and struggled, turned her head and shuffled her feet, and one expensive plate after another had to be abandoned that was not worth developing.
Just as they were on the point of becoming dispirited, Rita made a suggestion.
‘Put her in a boat. She’ll settle on the water, and the river is steady.’
Daunt eyed the river to see how much motion there was in it. The current was untroubled. He shrugged and nodded. It was worth a try.
They carried the camera to the bank. Helena brought the little rowing boat from the days of her girlhood out to the jetty and secured it.
The river pulled at the boat with even energy, tautening the mooring rope. The girl stepped into it. There was no rocking, no need to get her balance. She stood, poised on the shifting water.
Daunt opened his mouth to ask her to sit down, but there then came one of those moments that mean everything to a photographer and he thought better of it. The wind chased the heavy cloud from the sun and put in its place a scant white veil that softened the light and blurred shadows. In response the water lightened to a pearlized finish at the very moment that the girl turned to gaze upriver in just the direction the camera needed. Perfection.
Daunt whipped away the lens cover and all fell silent, willing the sun,