Maurice woke alone in the boathouse, under itchy and gritty blankets in the cramped couch in the boathouse on Mr Durham’s estate, and was instantly saddened.

The younger man—Alec Scudder—was twenty-two and had deliberately missed the boat from Southampton to Buenos Aires the day before. He had told the older man, Maurice Hall, who was twenty-four, that he wanted to stay with him.

Maurice freshened up and shaved any remains of stubble on his tender chin. The morning fog still lay over the pond like a bride’s veil when he stepped out onto the deck in their underclothes to smoke and to get some fresh air. All was quiet but for the distant singing of sparrows, occasionally interrupted by a blackbird.

Alec was hunched over the dock, tossing crumbs to eager, chittering birds, thankful for the meal. He pounced up at the sight of Maurice, gleefully kissing his lover while they both remained in their undergarments.

Perhaps risky, Maurice tempted Alec to the edge of the dock. Although they were planning to catch a train out of London in the next morning, they still had time to mess around while on Mr Durham’s estate.

Maurice stripped, fully nude, while Scudder stayed in his shorts. Dipping himself into the water, he nearly squealed from the freezing temperature of the pond, chuckling at himself. Alec followed in— a rather weak swimmer he was.

Maurice outstretched his arms, lying on his back and softly paddling with gentle kicks of his feet, drifting through the pond with Alec on top of . “You’re not a good swimmer,” he laughed.

Maurice moved onto his back and held Alec as he slowly rowed them further onto the pond with his legs. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Hold on to me and you won’t drown.”

They had another day of peace, and this dreamlike reality, before they were due to make plans.