‘Yes, is going to Syros. Is near here. Tree? What tree?’ He glanced up at the heart-shaped mulberry leaves.

‘No, no, I’m tracing my roots.’ She stifled a giggle as his eyes travelled down to the base of the trunk. ‘My great-grandmother was an English woman, Gertie Smith. She was on a boat and stayed here for a while after it sunk.’

‘Ah, the Britannic?’

Surprised, Shelly nodded.

‘My grandfather say it hit a mine, or it was torpedoed by a German U-boat. There is still much talk. Was it a ship for the sick, or a secret carrier of guns and soldiers to help the forces near Gallipoli?’

He crossed himself, then his eyes lit up.

‘My cousin have the best dive school. If you like, I get you a good price, yes? You no have worries with Aries and his boys. The father of Aries helped the famous Jacques Cousteau, he found the ship, you know? He dived down to the Britannic many, many times. So, you want to dive?’

‘Yes, I want to dive,’ Shelly murmured, gazing out over the flat water, wondering just how far away the magnificent turtle was at that moment. She imagined it, buoyant in the blue Aegean, joyously rolling in ribbons of reflected light; frolicking, free of its eggs and weightless in the water. Could that crusty Caretta be cavorting over HMHS Britannic’s wreck? She peered past the lighthouse and tried to visualise how the hospital ship looked now, the oval shadow of her turtle sliding silently over the coral-encrusted hull.

*

Shelly approached the dive centre. A guy who looked as though he needed a good night’s sleep was loading diving gear into a trailer.

‘Anyone in there?’ she asked, nodding at the open door of a square, stone building. ‘I’m looking for Aries?’

‘Oh, Harry. He’s inside, but there’s no snorkelling trips today, madam,’ he said. ‘Harry’s just back from Athens.’

Shelly smiled. ‘Thanks.’ She headed into the shop. The thrum of a compressor filling dive tanks vibrated through the open doorway. A shaft of brilliant light pierced the room, illuminating a table cluttered with water and beer bottles and throwing everything else into deep shade. Two young men, both breathtakingly handsome, studied their iPhones at the table. The room smelled of damp clothes, sweat, and beer.

‘Hi, who do I speak to about a dive?’ she asked brightly.

They glanced at each other, then the older one said, ‘Sorry, there’s nothing available until next week. Where did you want to dive, love?’

‘The Britannic.’ She nodded over her shoulder towards the sea.

‘Ha! Sorry, no chance. To start with, you have to be a very experienced diver, love. We don’t just take anyone. Secondly, you need permissions.’ He stood, at least six-two, fit, early twenties. ‘Best to book an easier dive, or perhaps a snorkel trip.’

Condescending prick!

She dropped the smile and stared into his face.