Ruth woke very early in the dormitory above the boat-house. Everyone else still slept; Pilly, beside her, was curled up against the expected disasters of the coming day — only a few tufts of hair showed above the grey blanket. At the end of the row of bunks, Dr Elke’s slumbering bulk beside the door protected her charges.

Of the previous night, Ruth remembered only the driving rain, the sudden chill as they scuttled indoors from the stuffy bus… that and the monotonous slap of the waves on the beach.

But now something had happened — and at first it seemed to her that that something was simply… light.

She dressed quickly, crept past her sleeping friends, past Dr Elke, twitching as she rode through Valhalla in her dreams, climbed down the ladder and opened the door.

‘Oh!’ said Ruth, and walked forward, unbelieving, bewildered… dazzled. How could this have happened overnight, this miracle? How could there be so much light, so much movement; how could everything be so terribly there?

The sun was rising out of a silver sea — a sea which shimmered, which changed almost moment by moment. And the sky changed too as she watched it; first it was rose and amethyst, then turquoise… yet already a handful of newly fledged cotton-wool clouds waited their turn…

And the air moved too — how it moved! You didn’t need to breathe, it breathed itself. It wasn’t wind now, not yet, just this newly created, newly washed air which smelled of salt and seaweed and the beginning of the world.

There was too much. Too much beauty, too much air to breathe, too much sky to turn one’s face to… and unbelievably too much sea. She had imagined it so often: the flat, grey, rather sad expanse of the North Sea, but this…

A shaft of brilliant light pierced the surface and caught the needle of a lighthouse on a distant island… There were fields on this ocean: patches of shining brightness, others like gunmetal and calm oases like lagoons. It never stopped being, the sea, she had not been prepared for that.

The tide was out. Taking off her shoes and stockings, she felt the cool, ribbed sand massaging her bare feet. There were acres of it; golden, unsullied… Moving drunkenly towards the edge of the water, she began to calm down enough to notice the inhabitants of this light-dappled world… Three heavy, ecclesiastical-looking birds diving from a rock — cormorants she thought — but could not name the narrow-winged flock whose whiteness was so intense that they seemed to be lit up from within.

Now she came to the first rock pool and here was a simpler, more containable, delight. Dr Felton had taught her well; she knew the Latin names of the anemones and brittle stars, the little darting shrimps, but this was the world of fairy tale. Here were submerged forests, miniature bays of sand, pebbles like jewels…

By the rim of the ocean, she paused and put a foot into the water, and gasped. It was like being electrocuted, so cold. Even the foam carried a charge… and then almost at once she became accustomed to it. No, that was wrong; you couldn’t become accustomed to this invigorating, fierce stab of cold and cleanness, but you could want more of it and more.

I didn’t know, she thought. I didn’t imagine that anything could be like this, could make one feel so… purged… so clean… so alone and unimportant and yet so totally oneself. For a moment, she wanted everyone she loved to be there — her parents and Mishak and Mishak’s beloved Marianne risen from the dead, to come and stand here beside the sea. But then the sky performed one of its conjuring tricks, sending in a fleet of purple clouds which moved over the newly risen sun, so that for a moment everything changed again — became swirling and dark and turbulent… and then out came the sun once more, strengthened… higher in the sky… and she thought, no, here I can be alone because there isn’t any alone or not alone; there’s only light and air and water and I am part of it and everyone I love is part of it, but it’s outside time, it’s outside needing and wanting.

It was at this point of exaltation that she noticed a small white sail and a boat coming round the point and making for the bay.

Quin too had woken at dawn and made his way to the sheltered cove by Bowmont Mill where he kept the dinghy when it was not in use. He’d been glad of an excuse to get away from the house and bring the boat round for the students; glad that the weather had lifted: the golden day was an unexpected bonus. For the rest he was without thought, feeling the wind, tending his sail…

He saw the lone figure as soon as he rounded the point and even from a distance realized that the girl, whoever she was, was in a state of bliss. The breeze whipped her hair, one hand held the folds of her skirt as she moved backwards and forwards, playing with the waves.

The obvious images were soon abandoned. This was not Botticelli’s Venus risen from the foam, not Undine welcoming the dawn, but something simpler and, under the circumstances, more surprising. This was Ruth.

She stood quietly watching as he dropped his sail and allowed the dinghy to run onto the sand. It was not until she waded out to help him, pulling the boat up with each lift of the waves, that he spoke.

‘An unexpected pleasure,’ he said idiotically — but for Ruth the creased, familiar smile threatened for a moment the impersonality of this scoured and ravishing world. ‘I didn’t think you were coming.’

‘My mother bullied me and Uncle Mishak. Oh, but imagine; if they hadn’t. Imagine if I’d missed all this!’

‘You like it?’ asked Quin, who found it advisable to confine himself to banalities, for it had been disconcerting how well she had fitted the dream of those who come in from the sea: the long-haired woman waiting by the shore.

She shook her head wonderingly. ‘I didn’t think there could be anything like this. You lose yourself in music, but in the end music is about how to live; it comes back to you. But this… I suppose one can have petty thoughts here, but I don’t see how.’

The dingy was beached now. Quin took a rope from the bows and tied it round a jagged rock — and together they made their way towards the boathouse. Since she had walked in a trance towards the rim of the sea, Ruth had never once looked backwards to the land. Now she stopped dead and said: ‘Oh, what is that? What is that place?’

‘What do you mean?’ Quin, at first, didn’t understand the question.

‘Up there. On the cliff. That building.’

‘That? Why, surely you know? That’s Bowmont.’

Ruth was unlucky. She could have seen it in driving rain or in winter when the wind blew so hard that no one had time to look upwards. She could have seen it, as many had, when a shipwreck brought weeping women to the shore, or on a day when the notorious ‘fret’ made it no more than a threatening, looming shape. But she saw it on a halcyon morning and she saw it, almost, from the sea. She saw it — half home, half fortress — with the pale limestone of its walls turned to gold and the white horses licking softly against the cliffs it guarded. Gulls wheeled over the tower, and the long windows threw back the dazzle of the sun.

‘You said it was a cold house on a cliff,’ said Ruth when she could speak again.

‘So it is. You’ll see when you come to lunch on Sunday.’

Ruth shook her head. ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘I shan’t be coming to lunch on Sunday. Nor on any other day.’

It was Kenneth Easton who had told the students that Verena would not be coming to the boathouse.

‘She’s staying up at Bowmont,’ he said as the train steamed out of King’s Cross Station. ‘The Somervilles have invited her.’ And as they stared at him: ‘It’s only natural — her family and the Professor’s belong to the same world. It’s what you’d expect.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t,’ Sam had said staunchly. ‘It’s not like the Professor to single one student out.’

‘Lady Plackett’s going to be there as well. She and the Professor’s aunt are old friends. And there’s going to be a dance for Verena’s birthday. The Somervilles insisted,’ said Kenneth, well briefed in Verena’s version of events.

For Pilly and Janet, the thought that they wouldn’t have to share a dormitory with Verena came as a welcome relief, but Ruth had been silent for a while, staring out at the flat, rain-sodden fields. Quin’s story and hers was over — yet it had hurt a little that in spite of what he had said about Verena, he cared for her after all.

It had not taken her long to school her thoughts and tell herself how little this concerned her, but she meant what she said about not coming to lunch. Exaltation was one thing, but seeing Verena Plackett lording it in the house which, if this had been a proper marriage, would have been her home, was quite another.

One could expect only so much uplift, even from the sea.

Pilly had come closest in the speculations about Verena’s pyjamas. They were blue and mannish, but elasticated at the ankle for she wore them to do her exercises.

Verena always exercised with vigour, but this morning her press-ups had a particular élan and her thighs scissored the air with a special purpose, for she had decided, if all went as she hoped and she became Mrs Somerville, to accompany Quin on his expeditions, and fitness now was imperative.

Her window took in a view of the bay and the boat-house where the other students still slept. Verena had no objection to the laboratory; as Quinton’s helpmeet and fellow researcher, she approved of a field station so close to the house, but the bringing up of students would not be encouraged. Quin’s future, it seemed to her, lay more in some role like President of the Royal Society or head of an institute — it was surely a waste of time for such a man to spend time in teaching.

Next door, Lady Plackett heard the familiar bumps and thumps with satisfaction. Her daughter had made an excellent impression the night before and she herself, encouraged by the warmth of her welcome, had decided to stay for the duration of the field course so as to help in the preparations for Verena’s dance. As for Miss Somerville — whom she had heard spoken of as unsociable to a degree — her friendliness was now explained. If her nephew really was contemplating giving his home away, it would be very much in her interest to see him married, and to a girl who would not permit such folly.

At a quarter to eight precisely, Verena and Lady Plackett descended and were greeted with relief by their hostess. Neither of them wore fur coats or asked about central heating, and though Miss Somerville made a suitable enquiry about the night they had passed, she realized at once that it was superfluous.

‘Verena always sleeps well,’ said Lady Plackett, and Verena, with a calm smile, agreed.

Comely now arrived, and the old Labrador with a white muzzle, and they were permitted by Verena to wag their tails at least half a dozen times before being requested to ‘Sit!’ which they instantly did. Her credentials as a dog lover established, she moved over to the sideboard where she helped herself to bacon, sausages and scrambled eggs.

‘Verena never puts on weight,’ commented Lady Plackett fondly, and Miss Somerville saw that this might be so. ‘All the Croft-Ellises can eat as much as they wish without putting on an ounce.’

But as they progressed to toast and marmalade, it was natural to enquire about the Professor. ‘Has he breakfasted already?’ Verena asked.

‘Quin just has coffee over in his rooms. He’s gone to Bowmont Cove to fetch the dinghy.’

The Placketts exchanged glances. If Quin was going to keep himself to himself in the tower and creep off to the boathouse at dawn, it might be necessary for Verena to change her routine.

Since work on the first day was not due to begin until 9.30, the Placketts accepted an invitation to look round the rest of the house which, arriving late the previous afternoon, they had not yet explored. Politely admiring everything they saw, they had the added satisfaction of being able to make comparisons. In the library, Verena was able to point out that her Croft-Ellis uncle also owned a set of Bewick woodcuts which were, perhaps, a little more extensive, and in the morning room Lady Plackett was reminded of the petit-point stool covers which her grandmother had stitched when she first came to Rutland as a bride.

‘In no way better than these, dear Miss Somerville, though the Duchess asked if she could copy them.’

A tour of the grounds followed. Crossing the lawn and the bridge over the ha-ha, they passed the door of the walled garden and Miss Somerville asked if they would like to see it.