‘An adventure?’ The girl sniffs. She takes her mother’s hand and, out of long habit, takes the big gold ring Mama always wears, the ring with the old ruby from India, and puts it gently between her teeth. This does feel like an adventure, all of a sudden, she thinks, catching the faint, lemony taste of the gold. She lifts her head and looks over the rail. They are sailing past big ships, all lit up in the night like ghostly ballrooms. There are lights high up in the distance, the little villages on the mountains that surround the bay. Suddenly there is a whirring of wings and a flock of cormorants shoots past the end of the bowsprit, black necks outstretched, wings beating frenziedly. Their eyes reflect the fire behind them, glowing like the gems in a garnet necklace she had watched Papa lay out for a customer the last time he had taken her to the shop, his business: G. Haggitiris et Cie, Goldsmiths. The most beautiful shop on Frank Street, where all the shops are beautiful. But now there will be a new shop, in Athens. ‘Do they have Xenopoulo in Athens?’ she asks Mama. Whenever Papa takes her to work with him, they always go to the department store, the most wonderful place she has ever been, and ride up and down on the escalators. Then they go to the Cafe Trieste, where she eats ice cream and listens to the singers. The singers, with their kohl-ringed eyes and languid movements and their sad, lovely songs. ‘Why are the songs so unhappy?’ she once asked Papa, and he laughed. ‘Well, my little empress, they are so very, very sad that they’ve gone all the way around again and become happy. Can’t you feel it, here?’ And he put his finger, very gently, over her heart.