The River Ferry – Part 2: Slow Water

Dinner was fish soup in a tiny riverside inn, with a red cloth, a candle and a violinist who played in the corner for no one in particular. They talked until the candle burned low. They walked home along the river path under the old lamps, shoulders touching, with the Danube black and silver beside them.

At her gate they stopped. The mist had come in again, soft and cold.

"I have wanted to say something for a long time," said William.

"Then say it."

"I would like to kiss you. And if I have misjudged, I will take the ferry out at midnight and drown my embarrassment in the river."

"Please don't," said Ilona, smiling. "You'd have to swim back."

He laughed, and she kissed him, first. It was a gentle, unhurried kiss, the kiss of two people who knew what they wanted and what they had lost. His hand rested on her shoulder, careful. She reached up and touched his silver hair. Behind them the water murmured past in the dark.

"Come in," she said. "I have a very good kettle."

"Only the kettle?"

"The kettle. The stove. And, if you'd like, the bedroom."

"I would like very much to see the kettle," said William, gravely.

Her cottage was small and cosy, full of books and plants, with a wood stove glowing in the corner. They drank tea, then sat, then kissed again, the evening unrolling slowly like the river. In the bedroom, under a heavy patchwork quilt, they undressed with care and a lot of humour, comparing aches and the stubborn comedy of buttons, and their love-making was kind, unhurried and quietly joyful. The stove ticked. The mist pressed soft on the windows.

At dawn, she woke to the smell of strong tea and found him in the kitchen in his shirt, pouring two cups.

"The ferry leaves at eight," he said.

"Will you be late?"

"I will make the passengers wait." He smiled. "I do it for one very special person already."

Ilona took the cup and kissed him. "Then I'll be on it," she said. "A little late, as usual."

More mature romance stories: Autumn in Quebec · The Quilting Circle · The Silver Ballroom