"'So fairly form'd, and only to deceive.' Lord Palmer has suffered greatly," I said.

"I am glad to see that he is not being cut by society."

"His own character is spotless. He deserves all our sympathy."

Ivy nodded in agreement and leaned close to me. "Is Davis really bringing port to us, Emily? I don't know that I shall have the nerve to drink it in front of Robert." She glanced at her husband, who sat across the room from us contentedly reading the newspaper.

"There's no one here but the three of us, Ivy. What better occasion to get him used to the idea?"

"He is a very conservative man," she whispered.

"There may be hope for him yet," I replied. "Perhaps someday we can get Colin to sponsor him at the Reform Club."

"That, my dear, is going too far, even for you," Ivy said, smiling.

Davis came in with a decanter of port and three glasses, which he placed on a table. I asked him to pour for us, and Ivy reluctantly accepted the glass he handed to her, glancing at her husband, who sighed loudly and turned his attention to me.

"Emily, darling, I cannot tolerate this. If you are going to continue with your attempt to corrupt my wife, I am afraid I must insist that you advise her correctly. It's very bad form to have your butler serve port. The decanter should start with the host and be passed around the table to the left, each gentleman...er, person pouring for whoever is seated on his right. In this case, because we are in the library instead of the dining room, the rules may be relaxed somewhat, I suppose, but the basic form stands. Always pass to the left. When your glass is empty, never ask directly for more. Instead inquire if the person nearest the decanter knows the bishop of Norwich. Any educated chap will know what you mean and pass you the decanter."

"Robert, I knew from the moment I first met you that you were a man of much possibility," I said, laughing.

"Do not think, Ivy, that I shall stand for this in any but the most private situations. However, I look forward to having you join me for port when we dine at home." He tried to appear severe as he said this but did not succeed. Nonetheless, I couldn't help but wonder if it would be possible to find an English gentleman who would allow his wife to do what she truly wanted.


3 DECEMBER 1888

EAST AFRICA


Am excessively tired-think I have caught some blasted fever-but must record the day's conquest. I have my elephant-never before has a man felt such exultation. What a story this will be to tell K. Am rather hoping she has one of her own to share with me upon my arrival home. News of a future heir would be most welcome.

More tomorrow.

36

The holidays passed quickly and with remarkably little incident. Soon after the first of the year, I departed for my Cycladic villa, stopping in Paris to collect Cécile, Caesar, Brutus, and an enormous pile of Cécile's trunks. Meg, who had actually been disappointed not to have the chance to go to Cairo, looked forward to our journey with great enthusiasm. My plan to turn her into a traveler had worked; evidently she found Amelia Edwards perfectly inspiring. By the time our boat docked at Santorini, she and Cécile's maid, Odette, had become fast friends, and later I heard Meg tell one of the Greek housemaids that she thought Paris was a lovely city.

The villa completely surpassed my expectations. It sat near the village of Imerovigli on top of a tall cliff overlooking the caldera and the remains of the volcano that had sunk the center of the island in ancient times. Inside, the house, with its bright, white rooms, wide arches, and huge windows, was unlike any building I had seen. As I had suspected, Philip chose to display his collection of impressionist paintings here; the simple surroundings set them off perfectly. The furniture in the house combined an odd assortment of traditional Greek pieces with a number of ill-fitting English ones that I quickly banished from my sight. The villagers gladly took them off my hands, happy with the novelty of the chintz settee, skirted tables, and other assorted monstrosities. My bedroom on the second floor opened onto a balcony with a view of the caldera. On warm nights I left the bright blue doors open so that I could feel the air and watch the stars as I fell asleep.

As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,

O'er heaven's pure azure spreads her sacred light,

When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,

And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene,

Around her throne the vivid planets roll,

And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole,

O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,

And tip with silver every mountain's head:

Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,

A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:

The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,

Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.

Weeks flew by as we quickly adapted to Greek culture. Unlike Philip, I did not hire an English cook. Instead we found ourselves surprised and delighted by the cuisine prepared by Mrs. Katevatis, who the villagers in Imerovigli had assured us was the finest cook on the island. Kreatopitakia, seasoned meat tucked into a flaky pastry, became a favorite food, and we were enthusiastic supporters of several of the local vineyards. Cécile threw herself with abandon into the Eastern habit of napping every afternoon, and neither of us particularly missed the cosmopolitan society to which we had been accustomed. We did not, however, entirely abandon our Western European ways; I still took port after dinner, and Cécile had champagne shipped to her by the case from France. Although we tried, neither of us liked retsina, the resinated Greek wine.

While continuing my study of the ancient language, I decided also to learn to speak modern Greek in order to better communicate with our servants and neighbors. Mrs. Katevatis's fifteen-year-old son, Adelphos, spoke excellent English and was soon persuaded to tutor me. I picked up the language quickly and before long was able to respond in her own language to Mrs. Katevatis's cry of "Kali orexi!" Good appetite!

Unfortunately, finding someone to school me in ancient Greek was not as easy, so I had to tackle the subject on my own, which proved to be no small effort. Margaret planned to join us later in the spring; until then the notes in her lecture books would help me immensely. My interest in Homer had not faded, but I began to expand my readings in translation to include Plato and, when I was in a light mood, Aristophanes. I don't know when I have laughed so hard as while reading The Clouds.

For entertainment we invited large groups of our neighbors from the village to dine with us. Never before had I mingled with such a varied group of friends. Cécile's dearest compatriot was a young man called Aristo Papadakos, a skillful woodworker. After she described to him her miniature Versailles, he carved for her a tiny Parthenon and presented it to her. From that day on, they set about re-creating Athens in its golden age, complete with small figures of Pericles, Socrates, and Plato.

I spent much of my time alone, sketching or reading. In the afternoon I liked to walk along the cliff toward Fira, the largest city on Santorini. Often I would stop at the summit of a rocky outcrop with a book and enjoy perfect solitude while seemingly everyone else on the island napped. The weather that spring was extraordinary, bringing day after day of sunshine following a rainy February.

Perched on a rock one fine day in March, I sighed with satisfaction as I looked at the caldera before me and wondered what lay in ruin beneath its waters. I had been reading Plato's Timaeus, a dialogue in which the great philosopher describes the destruction of the ancient civilization of Atlantis, often thought to have been located on Santorini. I had just decided that I must find someone to take me across to the volcano tomorrow when I heard a person approaching from the path behind me. I turned around and saw Colin smiling at me.

"It looks as if you have found paradise," he said.

"What a surprise!" I exclaimed, rising to meet him. "I should not have thought Santorini a convenient excursion from Berlin."

"I assure you it is not." He kissed my hand.

"Then I am most flattered that you made the trip." He was dressed more casually than I had ever seen him and looked extraordinarily handsome with his hair disheveled by the wind.

"You should be," he said. "You are reading Plato?"

"Yes."

"Timaeus?"

"I felt this the perfect location for it."

"I adore the way your mind works." He kissed my hand again. I touched his face and leaned forward to kiss him. After a short embrace, I pulled away and looked at him, relishing the warmth I found in his eyes.

"How are your studies coming?" he asked.

"Very well for the most part, although I have stalled a bit on my Greek-difficult to learn on one's own."

"Hmmm..." he agreed, softly kissing my neck.

"Now that you are here, you must help me. I'm so pleased to have someone who can answer my grammar questions. I'd begun to fear that I would be stuck reading in translation until Margaret arrives." He did not seem to be paying much attention to my plight, so I lifted his head. "You will help me, won't you?"