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On the third day, Turner rented a small yacht. It was large enough for sunbathing, but small enough to leave the port without a crew. They shipped out into the bay, far from other vessels. This time Lilian did not wear her hat, and the wind gently lifted her shimmering golden hair. She was laughing, enjoying the speed, the astonishingly deep blue waves of the ocean, the seagulls circling above the bay, the sight of the shore, the gentleness of Turner, and—at least a little—her own beauty.
Most of the time Turner managed not to think about his Lilian being a copy, and that her life would end in two weeks. He cleared his mind and enjoyed the time they spent together. They swam in the ocean, had lunch on the ship, made love in the cabin, on the deck, and in the water.
The stern of the y
