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.