Page 108 of Summer in Greece

‘Your mother has taken a turn for the worse and all this excitement is doing her no good at all.’

There was another knock on the door.

‘Hello! London Tribune here. Dr Smith? Could we have a word with your daughter?’

Although Father directed his words at me, clearly, he was rationalising with himself. ‘The best way to put an end to this speculation and harassment would be to make a statement to the press.’

He turned back to the door, placed his foot six inches from the jamb, and opened it. There was a crowd, jostling, voices all at once. ‘Dr Smith!’ ‘A word, please, sir?’ ‘Is your daughter here?’

‘Gentlemen, please step back and I will come out to talk to you.’

Then I saw my father do something I’d never seen before; one of the most important lessons he ever gave me. He paused before acting. I saw his chest expand and shoulders rise as he took in a long, deep breath. After a moment, he closed his eyes and let it out slowly. Then he stepped around the door and closed it behind himself.

I hurried forward and pressed my ear against the centre panel. Father’s voice came through clearly.

‘Each of you may ask one question. If anyone harasses me, you will all have to leave. Yes, you at the back with the trilby, what would you like to ask?’

‘Sunday Herald. Was your daughter responsible for the sinking of the Britannic, sir?’

‘No, she was not. At this moment, it is unclear if it was a mine or a torpedo that put a hole in the ship’s belly.’

A different voice. ‘Brighton Times. Why did your daughter take so long to return to England, sir? Is it true she refused to come back?’

‘No, it is not true. My daughter and one other crew member contracted influenza on the island of Kea. They were put into quarantine for two weeks, thereby missing the original inquiry and passage returning to Britain. My daughter did not take her due leave, she went on to nurse our fine boys near the Dardanelles. I’m very proud of her, and so should you be.’

‘The Express. Does Gertie Smith remember seeing the open portholes, either from inside the ship, or from the lifeboat?’

‘My daughter has some amnesia covering the time before she was pulled out of the water. She almost drowned, and such a thing often causes loss of memory.’

‘News of the World. Is it true your daughter was rescued by a dolphin, sir?’

‘Yes, she was. There were several witnesses including the ship’s chaplain.’

‘People Newspaper. Who was the soldier that Miss Smith rescued, Doctor?’

‘I believe his name was Corporal Johnathan Perkins. She saved his life by bravely giving him some of her own blood. I wonder how many of you have demonstrated that sort of courage?’

Once Father had answered a question from each reporter, he ended the exchange. ‘Now, gentlemen, I’ll thank you all to leave, apart from The Express.’

I ventured over to the window and peeped through the drapes. The mob dispersed hurriedly, leaving on horseback, in motor vehicles, and one on a motorised bicycle. I could imagine the queue for the telephone in town. My father was talking earnestly with a heavily whiskered gentleman. After a moment, they shook hands and he also left.

Father knocked on the door and I quickly let him in. He leaned his back against it and I noticed how his hand trembled as he pushed it across his brow.

‘Sorry, Father. It wasn’t my intention to make so much trouble for you.’

‘Intention or not, we have to deal with it. I think we should play on the positive. Let’s get the young man you saved to come here and talk to the newspaper reporters with us. Where will I find him?’

‘I don’t exactly know, Father.’ Then I remembered Victoria Pimlet’s letter, didn’t she say she had seen him? Also, I considered perhaps Josephine, or even Merriberry would know his address. ‘I can probably find out.’ In the back of my mind was the nagging question, would he remember that it was I who opened the portholes?

When the mob had gone, I withdrew into the garden, embracing the breeze. I stood with my back pressed against the oak tree, feeling its strength, its support, and likening it to my strong-minded sister.

I stared out over the restless English Channel and remembered the sparkling, turquoise water of Kea. How I longed for my beautiful Manno again. He filled my dreams, and thoughts of our last meeting constantly interrupted my waking hours. He had asked me to be his wife, and now I feared I was carrying his child.

‘I believe as one soul leaves another arrives, Gertie. Take strength in that,’ my father had said after Sissy’s funeral. ‘For every death, there is a child born.’ He would not be so comforted if he knew that child might be growing inside his daughter’s belly.

I had not received a reply from my letters to Manno and although this still perturbed me a little, I felt confident he would write if he could. I returned to Mother’s bureau and penned another correspondence. I didn’t mention my fears in case I had misdiagnosed myself and it was simply my worrying that had upset my physiology. However, if I was wrong, having a child out of wedlock would destroy my father’s reputation. I’d have to go away before my condition became apparent. If the truth emerged about the Britannic’s portholes, I could be in prison for deliberately going against orders . . . mutiny, which held the death penalty. Perhaps I should go back to Greece, run away and never return. But Father would be devastated if he and my mother were the sole survivors of our family. If I gave him a grandson his delight would be immeasurable, a small compensation for the losses he had suffered.

Before any of that, I needed a husband, and quickly!