White linen suits with gray felt hats. White parasols lined in green. We stand on deck with Violet and watch the English cliffs recede into mist. This trip is the realization of a dream. For weeks now I have been poring over Greek architecture and sculpture, visiting the ancient Greece section in the British Museum. We are going back to the cradle of civilization. We are to travel alone to Patras, where we will join Thoby and Adrian. I stare into the channels the boat cuts through the glassy water and try to clear my mind. I have rejected Clive’s proposal of marriage. Though I am certain it is the right decision, the words of his letter reel in my head, like the eddies that swirl against the boat or the sudden seasickness that comes over us as the coast disappears from view. It is not that I dislike Clive. On the contrary, his easy generosity, his ability to find pleasure in almost everything he encounters, have long been qualities I admire. I think of him sitting by the fireplace, his broad-ranging talk a balm compared to the straitjacket contributions of some of the others, and I remember the look in his eyes as he watched me sew. I shiver, though it is warm out on deck, and fasten my coat. I do not want marriage. I do not want to relinquish our newfound freedom. We are only just beginning our journey. I am not ready to turn back yet.

My thoughts undulate with the skyline. You wonder at my preoccupation. As we sail down the Adriatic, I paint the higgledy-piggledy clusters of houses I see clinging to the hillsides on the mainland, the pinks and orange of bougainvillea and hibiscus.

I know even as we approach the port that something is wrong. A great weariness takes hold of me as we come into dock, so that even the few steps from the cabin to the gangplank seem impossibly far. My limbs feel as if they have turned to water. My mind races, catching at snippets of conversation, fragments of memory, like a tuft buffeted by the wind. Images emerge from the seabed, drift for a moment, then vanish into the depths. Mother in her green dress flickers near the surface, then dissolves and reconfigures into your brooding jade eyes. I see Stella, Father. The forms that normally segregate people have become submerged in the seething waves.