The powerful little fishing boat fixed a line and tugged our vessel to a natural harbour on Kea, just over a mile away. However, due to the strong current and overladen boat, it took us two hours to cover the short distance to safety.
We soon learned the fishermen were father and son. They helped everyone onto the quayside. Stretchers were brought for Corporal Perkins and Josephine, who had regained consciousness and refused to be treated like an invalid. Manno reached out and took my hands – his big brown eyes comforting, yet at the same time, mischievous. Under his gaze I felt safe, yet flustered. The moment I stood on firm ground a stab of pain rose from my ankle. Everything swayed and my knees buckled. Manno swept me up against his wide chest and then set me down on an old trunk that stood against the harbour wall.
‘I’ll come back for you, koukla,’ he said. ‘Sit here.’
Relieved that he spoke English, I watched him take command of shaken men and distraught women with his steady, reassuring manner.
I had not experienced shock before. One moment I felt in control, capable of helping others – the next, my head was in my hands and I wept bitterly. Someone touched my shoulder.
‘Stiff upper lip, Miss Smith. We have to set an example,’ Matron Merriberry said.
‘Sorry, Matron.’ I sniffed hard and wiped my eyes.
‘Stay out here until your propriety’s restored, then come inside. The mayor of the island is on his way. We’re having a meeting in half an hour and I want to see you setting an example.’ Her voice softened. ‘It’s been a shocking day, but remember to thank the Lord we weren’t in that first lifeboat. If you hadn’t taken so long, we might not be here now – isn’t that a fact? What held you up?’
‘It was my sister’s book, Matron. I’d forgotten it and couldn’t bear to leave it behind. They said collect your valuables, you see, and that is the most valuable thing I own. In an odd way, I do believe Sissy saved our lives with her picture in that book.’
Matron rushed away as if she herself couldn’t stand the thought.
*
I kept thinking about the dolphin and its incredible strength. Why had it done such a thing to save me? But even before that, there was a chain of exceptional events that led to me escaping death.
If Mrs Pankhurst hadn’t made Sissy such a feminist, she would not have longed to work. She would not have been in the munitions factory when the photographer came around, or have had her photograph in that book. If I had not gone back for it, Matron and I might not be alive now, because we would have been in the first lifeboat. Perhaps this was all an act of God? Was there a greater reason behind my survival? This thought – that I might be part of a greater plan – was even more terrifying. Of all the people on that ship, I was the one that deserved to die. If I hadn’t lied about my age I wouldn’t have been on the ship. If I hadn’t disobeyed orders – hadn’t opened the portholes – the Britannic would have gone the extra mile and made it to port. Perhaps dying was too easy. Was I destined to live out my atonement on earth? With this in mind, I dreaded to think what punishment lay in store for me.
At that moment, I swore to God that, for the rest of my life, I’d sacrifice whatever was most valuable to me to compensate for my wrongdoing, in the hope that nobody else would get hurt.
Manno came to my side again. He placed a finger under my chin and lifted it. ‘Are you well now?’
‘I’m sorry.’ I turned away and took a deep breath, appreciating the value of air. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I mean . . . it’s all so incredible. It was the dolphin. Why did it save me like that? In all my life, I’ve never heard of such a thing.’ I searched his face for the answer, but how would he know? ‘The priest said it was a miracle.’
‘Be calm, I will take care of you. You are safe with me, koukla, no worries,’ he said, patting my hand. ‘What do you mean? What dolphin?’
I stuttered the events of the past hour. Confused and exhausted, not sure what I actually said and what was simply a vision in my head. I pressed my belly, the tight ache confirming my rescue, confirming the dolphin and the reality of the moment.
‘Ah, you met Delphi.’ He peered into my face again, then turned and stared over the sea. ‘Stay here, I will come back to you.’ Then he said, ‘You are so beautiful the flowers on my island will wilt in your presence.’ Thrown off balance by this nonsense, I felt a spark of anger at his frivolity in the circumstances, then I found myself defeated and gawping after him. He left to help the other survivors, occasionally glancing my way. He threw a smile, setting my face aflame. I blushed again, caught watching him, my heart fluttering every time our eyes met. What was this damned foolishness? I cursed him, cursed myself, cursed my belly that became more swollen and painful by the minute. My day was already too eventful.
*
The quayside thronged with Rubenesque women wearing long, dark skirts; embroidered aprons, and white petticoats. They bustled everyone into the harbour kafenio where honey-sweetened herb tea and homemade biscuits were handed out. Names were taken, papers looked at, and lists drawn up. The locals made a general fuss of their visitors, shouting, patting cheeks reassuringly, and nudging people into chairs that lined the room.
‘They seem very organised and not shaken at all by this,’ I said to my cabin mate, Josephine, who seemed fully recovered as she passed me a cup of the strange tasting tea.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ She lifted her chin towards the window. ‘The very same thing happened here last week. The SS Burdigala sank in almost the same spot.’
I made no sense of it and stood alone in the midst of my friends, fellow VADs, and orderlies. My uniform soon dried on the outside, yet garments that lay next to my body were damp and heavy, mouldering against my skin. How I longed to remove them, and how delicious it would be to swim in the pale, iridescent water of the bay – but my marvellous swimming costume had gone down with the Britannic.
Who could I speak to about what had happened? I wished for my father. The sudden urge to tell all rose inside me again. I should confess that my actions had caused who knew how many deaths. I searched for the priest but when I found him, the awful words wouldn’t come. I trembled and kept my mouth shut.
In the end, who would be receptive to my story, and would I be able to stand their disparaging air when they all knew the truth?
The room became stuffy as more people came inside for the meeting. After a loud clanging, a man in a crumpled suit spoke in Greek. He stared at me for a second and not understanding his words, I felt accused. Manno translated. ‘The mayor would like to welcome everyone to the town of Korissa on the island of Kea.’
A uniformed ship’s officer that I had not seen before addressed the room telling us of the current situation.
‘HMS Scourge and HMS Heroic, the two ships that came to assist, had no more deck space for us. They are taking our good fellows and countrymen, survivors that they picked up at sea, to Piraeus, which is the port for Athens. If you haven’t already put your name down on the register, please do it now; one hundred and fifty of us await collection here on the island. The ships have signalled our presence to the admiralty and we await transportation. There are several casualties and they are being treated in the school room at the back of this building, which has been transformed into a temporary hospital. Any questions?’
One of the men stuck up his hand. ‘What happened to the Britannic, sir?’
‘We don’t know yet, and I’d suggest you don’t speculate.’
Feeling trapped and restless in that crowded room, I drifted outside again and stared over mounds of yellow fishing net and lobster pots. Beyond the lighthouse, the two grey ships that had stopped where the Britannic went down were sailing away. I guessed they had finished collecting bodies and survivors. A chill ran through me. Could I really be hung for going against orders and causing all those deaths? I gripped the only lamppost, clutched my throat, and imagined the ground opening under my feet, falling, falling, waiting for that final, neck-snapping moment.
&nb
sp; I should have drowned while I had the chance.
CHAPTER 17
SHELLY
Greece, present day.
SHELLY WANDERED ALONG THE EMPTY beach uplifted and glad of the solitude. She came upon the site of the turtle nest, sat by the daubs of red nail polish and placed her hand flat on the sand. With her eyes closed, she imagined a hundred beating hearts below her palm and felt her chest expand with the glorious miracle of nature.
Stay safe, little turtles.
The rich blue sky faded to pale mauve, then streaks of red and wisps of pink; colours and patterns mirrored in the perfectly flat water, giving the illusion that the lighthouse promontory hovered above the sea’s surface. She reminded herself why she had come: Gran Gertie’s story of tragedy, and she supposed, triumph. There must have been triumph, because she remembered her great-grandmother as a happy, and more importantly, a contented person. If Gertie had planned to spend the rest of her life atoning for her sins . . . had she done that? What happened to ease her conscience? Now, Shelly regretted not listening to all the tapes before her arrival, but there hadn’t been time. How had Gertie restored balance to her life after such a catastrophe? Shelly wondered what price had she paid?
*
Could there be any record of Gertie having been in Kea? It was so long ago. Still, didn’t she remember Gertie saying the ship had some connection with the Titanic? Lost in her thoughts, she continued along the soft sand, crossed the narrow road, and sat at a pavement café.
According to the old postcards, the port had been little more than a kafenion, a general store, and a school when a half-drowned Gertie first arrived. Shelly spread the pictures across the table and studied them. They showed simple, square buildings with flat roofs, surrounded by houses that belonged, according to the shopkeeper, to fishermen, sponge divers, tradesmen and a shepherd.
Suddenly, Shelly realised she wasn’t alone. A waitress peered over her shoulder at the postcards. ‘You must go up the mountain tomorrow, far from the pirates, to see our beautiful city, madam,’ she said.
‘Pirates? City?’ Shelly blinked at her. The fish-shaped island of Kea was less than twelve miles across.
‘Christos will take you on the bus. There,’ she pointed across the road, towards a bend in the bay, near where her turtle’s eggs nestled half a metre below the sand. ‘Next to the taxis. Nine o’clock in the morning.’
Shelly peered at the harbour wall, wondered where the chest had stood, and planned to walk along there in the morning. She tried to imagine Manno. What did he look like? He had to be handsome and rugged, of course, because he was the lifesaving fisherman in young Gertie’s story. Did she fall in love with him? Shelly smiled to herself, recalling her own first love, the lifeguard, David, and remembering her overwhelming emotions.
‘Yiasas, Shelly Summer, we meet again!’ She jumped violently. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ Harry said.
Shelly placed a hand on her thumping heart. ‘I was daydreaming. Hello, Harry the diver, where’re you off to?’ His smile appeared wide and warm and she felt none of her earlier irritation. ‘Will you join me for a coffee?’ she asked, hoping to make amends for her abrasiveness.
He lifted one finger to the waitress, then sat opposite her. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘Wonderful, I’m about to find somewhere to eat, any recommendations?’
‘Meat, fish, or vegetarian?’
‘I’m easy.’
He smiled widely again and raised his eyebrows a little. ‘Well, that’s good to know, but what about the food?’
She tutted, rolled her eyes and turned her head away to hide a smile.
‘There’s an excellent fish taverna in the next bay, I can take you,’ he said.
What did he mean . . . he would take her for dinner, or he would give her a lift? Unsure of herself, she glanced into his eyes, then turned away quickly when she felt a blush rising. What the hell? She never blushed!
‘Thanks, but I’d like an early night after all the travelling. I’ve a lot planned for tomorrow. Is there anywhere special closer to home?’
‘Here is as good as anywhere.’
‘I don’t see anyone eating.’
‘Too early, we’re not a tourist island. The locals don’t eat until after nine thirty.’
‘I see. I’d like to ask you some questions about diving around Kea, if I may?’
With an amused look, he nodded, down and sideways, the Greek way. ‘Anything you want.’
‘Will you join me for dinner, or is there somebody cooking for you at home?’ she asked.
‘No, there’s no one at home. I like your photographs.’ He nodded at the postcards.
Was that a deliberate change of subject? ‘Ah, I’m trying to understand my great-grandmother’s time here.’
‘You take pictures too?’ he asked, keeping his eyes on the postcards. ‘I noticed you had a professional camera when we met.’
‘It’s only a hobby. I do several things, mostly I’m a vet. Do you take pictures?’
‘Just underwater, for the website. Though I haven’t taken any for a while.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘I wonder if you’d like to look at the Britannic museum tomorrow? Well, it’s not exactly a museum yet, just a few bits and pieces and a film.’
‘Tomorrow?’ She smiled. ‘That would be a nice birthday treat.’ Perhaps she was moving things along a little too quickly, but she only had a week.
‘It’s your birthday?’ he asked, of course he did, she knew he would. He peered into her eyes. There was a promise, a question, a secret, and laughter. ‘Then I must present you with something memorable, if you’ll allow me?’
‘Really, Harry, I came away this week because I didn’t want a fuss. It’s just a birthday, a day in which I spoil myself a little and remember my childhood.’ Despite the words, parts of her tingled slightly, and judging by his smile, her eyes gave her away. She couldn’t remember the last time she had flirted, or felt so hot. It was a good feeling. Exciting and silly and frivolous all at the same time. Although she was only playing with him, it made her heart race and her body sing with romance.
He laughed joyfully, and she wondered if he felt the same, that thrill, an unspoken question.
‘Sounds intriguing. I wonder what you have in mind?’ she said, narrowing her eyes slightly, sending the message, she was interested.
‘Somewhere special to eat; then we have a festival in the next bay, Vourkari, tomorrow night. It’s the name day of my very good friend, Ipomoni.’ She frowned. ‘Ee-pom-on-ee,’ he explained. ‘It means patience. It’s his name day so we all celebrate with him, all his family and friends, and all the other people named Ipomoni, all over Greece . . . Greeks all over the world, actually. It’s like everyone’s united in one big birthday party.’
‘I like the concept of everyone celebrating together.’ But was Harry inviting her to more than a festival? His eyes were treacle-toffee brown and just as warm. Suddenly, Shelly realised she would like to know him better.
They ate at the shore taverna, drank wine and watched the sunset. The lighthouse caught her attention. The light was on now, hazy in the dusk miasma. His hand touched hers while they were talking. She didn’t pull away but looked deep into his eyes.
‘I hope you’re having a good time,’ he said. ‘Tell me about your favourite dive.’
‘That’s a tough one.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, then recalled a moment of utter bliss, clear water, and shocking beauty. ‘The Red Sea, perhaps. Both the reef and the wrecks were exceptional.’
‘Never been, though I’ve always wanted to. Work gets in the way, you know?’
‘I know. The reefs are shallow enough to snorkel, and that’s what I prefer to do there. It’s the greatest wonderland.’ She narrowed her eyes, seeing the spectacular underwater seascape all over again. ‘Lots of sea horses, don’t you love them? It’s breathtaking, you must go.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I thin
k I must.’
*
The next morning, he met her for breakfast. ‘Happy birthday! I’ve managed to get the key for the Britannic museum,’ he said. ‘Or at least the beginnings of it, we hope. I thought you’d be interested to see what we’ve gathered so far. The work’s spasmodic, funded by small change left from the annual Tourist Development Grant for the Cyclades islands.’
‘It’s relying on tax-payers’ money?’
‘No, it comes from the European Union, but Kea’s bottom of the list. Santorini and Mykonos top, and almost every other Cyclades island lay in between.’ He shrugged. ‘We need a sponsor if we’re ever going to get it opened to the public.’
‘What about crowdfunding? Surely there are enough fanatical First World War navy aficionados that would be interested in chipping in a few bob. Have you thought about opening a web page? After all, it can’t need that much money once it’s set up – can it? A building, a couple of part-time staff in the season. I don’t know.’
‘Me neither. There’s an abandoned enamel factory just off the port road, it would be perfect for the museum. But what we really need is something from the wreck that people would come halfway around the world to see, or perhaps interact with.’ His eyes narrowed as he spoke and she could see he was passionate about it.
‘Most things can be seen online these days. You mean, like the ship’s wheel?’
‘Perfect, or the prize of finds . . . how about the ship’s bell, the big one that was over the crow’s nest?’
‘Wow, that would be something!’
He grinned, enjoying her enthusiasm. ‘But it’s all up in the air, as they say. The dive centre takes up every minute of my day. Never found the time to look up how we’d fund a museum. You can’t imagine the hours I work.’
‘Ha, really! I set up my own veterinary surgery, don’t forget.’ She smiled at him. ‘I know how difficult these things are. Never enough hours in the day, are there?’
He laughed. ‘You’ve got that right!’
‘You work so hard to maintain a dive school, but when was the last time you dived for pleasure?’
Summer in Greece Page 14
