LITMIR.BIZ

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is the German travel agent.

      ‘What are you doing in Iquitos?’ he says. ‘I told you not to come here. It is too hot, the hotels are too expensive, the town is dull, and it closes at weekends.’

      At first, Naomi and Timothy are too shocked to speak. At last Naomi says, ‘What are you doing in Peru?’

      ‘I’m on my honeymoon. This is Maggie.’

      These words, spoken so innocently, are bullets that fly straight to Naomi’s heart. She is astounded to find that this is so, utterly unprepared for her sudden yearning for Timothy’s body beside her in a sagging bed.

      ‘You?’ he asks.

      ‘The same. This is Simon.’

      Introductions and explanations follow. Timothy’s eyes are making a desperate appeal to Naomi, and she realises what it is. Don’t mention our three nights together, especially the second one.

      ‘So, this is a happy coincidence,’ says the German travel agent.

      ‘Happy, yes,’ lies Naomi. ‘Coincidence? Not entirely. We were both in a play about Peru at school. I think something of its magic touched us.’

      The minibus turns off the road onto a wide track that leads down towards the river. It pulls up by a locked gate. The driver hoots several times, then gets out and bangs on the gate.

      ‘Why are you going to the first jungle lodge?’ asks the travel agent, almost angrily. ‘I told you this was not interesting.’

      ‘We only have time for one, and we did want to see the Amazon,’ says Naomi lamely.

      At last an elderly unshaven man, with a touch of the salt about him, shambles up and unlocks the gate.

      The passengers proceed down a flight of steep wooden steps to a small pontoon alongside which lies a long, narrow, thatched boat. It seats about a hundred. They are the only five customers.

      ‘Tourism has died here this year. It is because of the Falklands War. People are frightened. The Falklands are thousands of miles away. European people are idiots,’ says the German travel agent.

      The boat eases slowly out into the stream, and chugs off on its two-and-a-half-hour journey to the jungle lodge. Everybody wants to admire the scenery. Nobody wants to talk. There is going to be plenty of time for talking at the lodge.

      Naomi links arms with Simon. She hopes he is unaware that she is doing this for Timothy and Maggie to see.

      Outside the town they pass a great confusion of ships, shipbuilders’ yards, half-finished boats, abandoned boats, rubbish dumps, timber yards, and rusty cargo vessels.

      Three tankers, the Tupa, the Rio June and the Alamo, are moored at a large petroleum installation. They’re all registered at Manaus.

      Naomi gives a little sigh.

      ‘Something wrong?’ asks Simon.

      ‘Not at all.’ If only he was better at understanding her thought processes. ‘The registrations on ships excite me. All the way from Manaus. Suddenly the Amazon all makes sense. I mean, wouldn’t you be excited if you saw a ship registered at Valparaiso?’

      Simon smiles and oh my God it’s the smile of someone attempting to pacify a child. How will they get through their night in the lodge with Timothy so close? This is devastating. Only a week ago, Simon was Mr Perfection. Julian had told her that he had wandering eyes, that he loved his own body, hence all that keep fit. Always quick to see the worst in anyone, Julian. He’ll have a very successful career as a lawyer.

      They meet thatched boats coming upstream, heavily laden, mainly with bananas. People in canoes are hauling in their nets. And all the while there is the rainforest on both banks, punctuated by small villages of thatched houses on stilts. One village looks very much like another. One house looks very much like another. One stilt looks very much like another.

      ‘I told you,’ says the travel agent. ‘It is a very boring river.’

      ‘And how very brown it is. How very, very brown,’ says Naomi in a Noel Coward voice.

      There is a question she has to ask of the German.

      ‘You say Iquitos is boring. You say the Amazon’s boring. You say the first jungle lodge is boring. Why are you here?’

      He snorts like a horse approaching a jump which frightens it.

      ‘For research for my clients. My clients demand these places. They are cowards.’

      They see two large kingfishers. How beautiful they are. Simon, give him credit, loves birds. She points to them, and he smiles and squeezes her arm. Maybe things will still be all right. She certainly doesn’t want Julian to be proved right. It’s his hobby.

      ‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs.

      Yes. Beautiful. But Maggie is so ugly. How can Timothy possibly fancy somebody so ugly?

      A lady with a bright pink parasol rides in a canoe towards the green grass and well-tended fields of yet another thatched village. She carries more of an aura of Henley than of the jungle.

      Ugly is putting it far too strongly. She has to admit that. The nose is a little too wide, but not horrendously so. The lips, though on the thick side, are reasonably shapely. Some people probably find bushy eyebrows attractive.

      Maggie’s skin, though white and lifeless, is not much marked. Except for the mole on the right cheek, of course. But the mole is really quite small and it’s only when the sun strikes it that you can see the two thin hairs that are attached to it. Naomi turns now, and sees them in the sunshine. No, to her regret, they aren’t horrendous.

      She is appalled by her feelings. What sort of woman is she?

      A big diving bird with a white head and a long, forked tail is hunting for food. Vultures and large hawks wheel slowly overhead. They see a small tern with a black head, birds like sand martins, birds like sooty chubby swallows.

      Simon shakes his head. ‘If only we’d brought a bird book.’

      ‘Never mind. They’re lovely.’

      They kiss. It becomes quite a long kiss. Their tongues are two snakes mating.

      Naomi turns round, hoping that Timothy and Maggie will have seen, but they are busy looking out over the water and Maggie is making notes. Only the travel agent has noticed, and he looks very wistful.

      ‘Maggie?’ asks Naomi, feeling strange to be actually talking to her and addressing her by name.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Can you identify any of these birds?’

      ‘Sorry? What birds?’

      How could a taxidermist fall for a girl who didn’t like birds? Maybe taxidermists only like dead birds. Naomi is comforted by this thought.

      No, Simon is great. What does it matter if he isn’t interested in the registrations of ships? They will watch birds together, jog together, do yoga together, do Pilates together, ride bicycles together, use rowing machines together, make babies together. Life will be good.

      Babies? Where did that thought come from? How would that square up with her career?

      They swing round to nose upstream to a little landing stage. They step out into a Turkish bath, and walk slowly to the thatched lodge.

      The five of them go for lunch in the large, thatched dining room, which seats a hundred. They had assumed that they would be joining other visitors, but they are the only five.

      ‘I suppose…er…maybe the four of us should share a table,’ suggests Timothy.

      ‘It would be awfully British not to,’ says Naomi.

      ‘I think we have to, really,’ says Maggie.

      What a charming way of putting things she

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