“Of course they are.” Eve steps forward to kiss both her cheeks.

“Where are they?”

“Just over there.” Eve points through the trees. “In the pool.”

“On their own?”

“It’s okay, Gracie.” Martin pats her arm. “Melly’s with them. You’ll have to let go a little now you’re here.”

Grace pulls her arm away.

“Martin tells me you want to be a writer one day, like him.” Eve smiles. “We must find you a table.”

Grace doesn’t allow herself to look at Martin. Her writing ambitions are private, he knew that. She won’t tell him any of the details, she’s changed her mind. It’s not Eve’s fault, she’s trying to be kind.

“Shall we move on?” Paul asks pleasantly. “I’m longing to see my daughter.”

Eric leads the way through the undergrowth. The small bushes snag on Grace’s jeans; freeing herself, her head collides with a plate hanging from a tree. It falls to the ground, smashing into pieces.

“Okay?” Eric turns back.

“Of course.” Grace begins to pick up the fragments. “Sorry.”

“There’s plenty more, don’t worry.” Eve gestures to other plates suspended in little groups, each painted with a black circle, a dark dot in the center. Grace hadn’t noticed them before but now she sees there are dozens of them, swinging by strings threaded through small holes that have been carefully drilled in the glass. “Greek superstitions,” Eve says, smiling at Martin as if at some private joke. Grace’s head begins to throb. The heat is more intense than she’d imagined, hotter even than Zimbabwe; it must be the moisture in the air. She puts the shattered fragments on the wall.

They emerge onto the stone paving around a long, narrow pool surrounded by pine trees. Blades of shadow lie across the greenish water, swallows swoop to the moving cloud of insects hovering over the surface. The children are in a circle at the far end, the water up to their chests, chanting as they take turns to push a ball under the water. They wait until it bobs up, wait again, then after a few moments push it under once more. None of them have noticed the adults’ arrival; they seem engrossed in the game. She counts them, you should always count children in the water: her two, their brown skin gleaming, Izzy’s bright blond hair, Poppy’s red braids—

“Ah, there you are.” Melissa’s voice comes from the deep shade of a pine tree; she stands up from her deck chair and puts her book down. Her pink caftan casts an upward glow to her pale face.

“How wonderful.” She comes up to them, adjusting her sun hat. Paul leans forward to kiss her cheek, then he narrows his eyes at the children in the pool, searching for his daughter, smiling as he catches sight of her.

“I’m so glad you’re here, not a moment too soon.” Melissa smiles at Grace. “We missed her, didn’t we, Martin?”

“We absolutely did.” Martin looks toward the pool. “Though the kids have been fine.”