Shelly thought for a moment. ‘I’m guessing mines would be held by a cable or chain to an anchor, yes.’ He nodded. ‘Even if the depth was two hundred metres, it would be a difficult and time-consuming operation for a German ship to lay a series of mines at that depth, unseen, in a busy channel. Anyway, there seems little point in such a risky operation for one or two mines.’

‘Good thinking, Shelly.’ Harry grinned.

‘Elementary, my dear Harry.’ Shelly laughed. ‘Your English is very good.’

‘British education. Bristol uni.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘Harry, if both sides were eager to brag about their destructions, well, we know why Germany wouldn’t want to say they torpedoed the Britannic – because it was a hospital ship – and there was an international agreement. But, why wouldn’t they want to say they torpedoed the Burdigala? Unless . . . it wasn’t the Germans?’

Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled quizzically.

‘No . . . you’re not saying . . . that someone was after the submarine and inadvertently torpedoed our own ship?’ She shook her head. ‘Twice? I don’t think so. Or . . .’ She sighed, sensing she was on to something, but didn’t know what. ‘I’ll give up on that for the moment. Are there any other mysteries connected to the wreck? Any First World War nurses walk the Kea beaches on the night of a full moon, for example?’

Harry laughed. ‘No, but there is the ship’s bell. The prize of all bounty divers. A huge thing, situated up the radio mast. Reached by a spiral staircase inside the mast. Would have sounded the distress signal. Every dive has a look for it, but no luck so far.It’s my quest, my passion, to find that bell. It’s all so fascinating, don’t you think?’

‘I won’t be able to sleep now, thanks very much!’ she admonished him playfully.

On the dark balcony, the night-flowering jasmine opened fully, surrounding them with small white stars. The scent increased, heady and intoxicating. Twinkling village lights illuminated the town’s cluster of red-tiled roofs and domed churches. Couples strolled along the cobbled streets below. When the breeze changed direction, she caught the aroma of barbecued lamb being turned on a spit, or warm honey, basil, or cinnamon. Far away, she could see the lights of great container ships and crude-oil tankers slipping through the Kea channel. She wondered if the taverna had existed when the Britannic went down, because the event would have been clearly visible from such a vantage point.

‘What are you thinking?’ Harry asked.

‘I’m trying to decide if this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.’

He smiled right into her eyes. ‘Don’t decide yet. The night is still young. What would you like to do next?’

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

GERTIE

Kea, 1916.