Chapter 31

           Ihadmybreakfastaloneagain.Itwasadayofwind,theskyasblueasever,butthebreezetoreboisterouslyoffthesea,typhooningthefrondsofthetwopalmsthatstoodlikesentinelsinfrontofthehouse.Furthersouth,offCapeMatapan,themeltemi,thetoughsummergalefromtheIonianislands,wasblowing.Iwentdowntothebeach.Theboatwasnotthere.Itconfirmedmyhalf-formedtheoryaboutthe"visitors"thattheywereonayachtinoneofthemanydesertedcovesroundthewestandsouthsidesoftheisland,oranchoredamongthegroupofdesertedisletssomefivemilestotheeast.IswamoutsomewaytoseeifConchiswasvisibleontheterrace.Butitwasempty.Ilayonmybackandfloatedforawhile,feelingthecoolchopofthewavesovermysunwarmedface,thinkingofLily.ThenIlookedtowardthebeach.Shewasstandingonit,abrilliantfigureonthesalt-grayshingle,withtheochreofthecliffandthegreenplantsbehindher.Ibegantoswimtowardstheshore,asfastasIcould.Shemovedafewstepsalongthestonesandthenstoppedandwatchedme.AtlastIstoodup,dripping,panting,andlookedather.Shewasabouttenyardsaway,inanexquisitelyprettyFirstWorldWarsummerdress.Itwasstripedmussel-blue,whiteandpink,andshecarriedafringedsunshadeofthesamecloth.Sheworetheseawindlikeajewel.Itcaughtherdress,mouldeditagainstherbody.Everysooftenshehadalittlestrugglewiththesunshade.

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