Vanessa and Her Sister (16 page)

When the boat docked, we landed among the ancients. Our brothers, suntanned, white-toothed, and sweaty, whooped from the shore. Thoby has become even more expansive in this country. Dismissive of Baedeker and his kind, he relies solely on local advice. He believes in it like a religion. He speaks to
everyone:
milkmen, postmen, taverna owners, bankers, bakers, waiters, farmers, fishermen, toymakers, tailors, bus drivers, and the police. And being Thoby, he is instantly invited in for coffee, ouzo, olives, and cheese. He is returned to us flushed, happy, noisy, and full of ideas. “We must visit
this
temple, on
this
mountain, on
this
day. We must eat
this
cheese from
this
goat on
this
farm. We must drink
this
wine from
this
region at
this
price.” And so we do. This family. We sail and swim in
this
sea under
this
sun, together. Even with an extra Violet, I feel the balanced symmetry of four.

In Athens we checked in to the awful Athena Hotel and had to change immediately. There was a rat in Virginia’s bathtub, and Adrian’s window had no glass. We moved to the Palace Hotel—fusty but clean. Curvy gilded chairs, ornate beds, and tall open windows—I like it here.

I shared with Virginia and we looked out over the Acropolis. Thoby and Adrian looked over the square and were disappointed. But we did not stay long and quickly moved on to the ruins of Mycenae; Eleusis, the birthplace of Aeschylus; Epidauros and the beautiful crumbling amphitheatre; and sleepy Nauplia with its Italianate architecture.

And there, among the chalky ruins and the hot light, my appendix began to complain. And so we returned to Athens. Violet (who had a
slight indisposition from the oily food) and I stopped here, and the others went on to visit the Noels in Euboea.

Violet is surprisingly easy to be with and much different on her own than with Virginia. She tries less and laughs more. I like her much better than I expected, but that might also be a product of being away. Familiar people become much more endearing when one is away.

Later

The doctor was here and thinks whatever is troubling my midsection is being agitated by a nervous condition. “Do nervous conditions run in your family?” he asked in thickly rounded English. Don’t they just. I must relax, he says. He charged next to nothing and prescribed four large glasses of champagne a day.

Achmetaga, Euboea

9 October 1906

Dearest Dolphin
,

We have fallen onto a seahorse-shaped island in the Aegean Sea and I feel nestled in the bounty of Greek goddesses. I am sure we are surrounded by light-footed forest nymphs who will braid flowers through our hair and throw garlands round our necks should we fall asleep.

Today our host, Mr Frank Noel, took us picnicking on a grassy slope by a pine grove. He and Thoby discussed local birds for hours, and I lay reading Byron in the grass. When staying with the descendants of Byron, one cannot read Wordsworth, no matter how immortal one feels. How Byron loved this country. He died not far from here, in Missolonghi, but I do not think we will have time to visit there. I must rush back to you, my summer Dolphin, and have a stern discussion with your unruly tummy.

Your
       

Billy Goat

PS:
Do you know, they have his writing desk. Oh, the saucy things that saucy man must have written at that desk.

14 October 1906—Palace Hotel, Athens (hot!)

They return tomorrow, and I am determined to be well enough to go on to Constantinople. You can set one foot in Asia and one in Europe, and I am
not
going to miss it. I have been reading about the Church of Santa Sophia and the Bosphorus, and my dreams are lit by spice.

15 October 1906—Palace Hotel, Athens

They are back. Virginia presented me with three letters she wrote to me but did not have time to send, and Thoby gave me a small, square drawing of a lark. I love Thoby’s birds. Adrian lost his hat and got terribly sunburnt.

Wednesday 17 October 1906—Palace Hotel, Athens

It was a sparkling morning, and we were breakfasting on the hotel terrace. I came down but was already regretting moving. Virginia was not eating her breakfast. I was drinking my prescribed champagne with orange juice and was not in the right mood to get tangled up with Virginia. I left it to Thoby.

“But why don’t they,” she repeated.

“Virginia, of course they don’t speak ancient Greek. Stop embarrassing everyone,” Thoby said, sipping his coffee and reaching for the English newspapers.

“Why
wouldn’t
they speak their native tongue?” Virginia said obstinately.

“It is
not
their native tongue. It
was
, two thousand years ago, but not any more. Do you speak Anglo-Saxon?” Thoby said, disappearing behind his paper.

“If Sophocles or Aeschylus had written in Anglo-Saxon, then yes, I would be fluent,” Virginia pronounced, opening her guidebook.

Later (in the hotel drawing room—after ten pm)

“Nessa?” Thoby asked.

I waited.

“Do you miss him?”

There was no need to ask whom he meant.

I could not answer.
Yes
, but I do not want Virginia to know?
No
, I do not miss him enough to marry him?
Yes
, but please don’t ask me about it?

Seeing my confusion, Thoby squeezed my hand in sympathy. “Not yet. You do not have to think about it yet. Bell is patient. He is a huntsman. He understands the value of waiting. He loves you, Nessa. I think he would wait forever.”

My dear Mother
,

The new gallery was finally finished on Wednesday, and the opening reception was held tonight. We had an awful time getting it ready. In the end, I was mixing the paint colours for the decorator myself as he would not get on with it. I have become an expert in haranguing contractors and electricians and printers. But tonight’s gala was a success. The gallery looked beautiful. We borrowed a Cipollino table and placed it in the centre of the smaller room, and I scrounged up two lovely Rodin bronzes to sit majestically on top.

I feel increasingly entrenched in this country. I am no longer surprised by the wrong-sided traffic or the flat-vowelled bellowing, the wide avenues or the tightly gridded cities, but I never feel at peace. As soon as I have a letter from Helen, I count back to the day she sent it and breathe relief that she was all right on that day. But then my mind pitches forward and the brief respite is over. I count the days since, and the fretting begins again. I do not think I can keep this up much longer. I feel such a gathering pull towards home.

Your loving son
,

Roger
              

THE EAST

Sunday 21 October 1906—Tokatliyan Hotel, Constantinople!

W
hat an exotic family we are. I was too ill to walk to the boat and so was carried in a litter. Carried in a
litter
. It is nearly impossible to be graceful in a litter. It bounces and yanks, and your head bobbles and stomach drops. It would have been better to walk. The boat was gruesome. When one is afflicted with a stomach sickness, a boat is not the answer.

Later

Adrian has lost his luggage, naturally, and is wearing Thoby’s clothes, which look ridiculous on him. No one but Thoby can carry off Thoby’s clothes.

Tokatliyan Hotel Constantinople

21 October 1906

Dearest Nelly
,

I began this letter to you at six o’clock this morning when I stood on the deck of the steamer and saw the Orient for the first time. Wrapped in a fur-trimmed coat and feeling a bit Russian, I settled down to write you a long letter. I got as far as the date and stopped, as there it was: Constantinople, like a marzipan feast glimmering on the wave. Santa Sophia floated in the centre like a wedding cake; three golden spheres of impossibly ripe architecture. How can something so definite be made of such rounded stuff?

Closer and closer, and it did not disappoint. Do you know, I was not expecting the East. Never having left Europe, I feel like a freshwater fish who hadn’t realised there was an ocean. I did not understand that such a place was possible. There is a story waiting for me here. A story of magic and change.

Tomorrow morning we go to see the view of the city from Pera. We will look down from a tower called Galata upon a river city of misted gold.

By the way, I just read that Cortés, bloodthirsty, Aztec-murdering Cortés, was the first man to bring tomatoes to Europe. I thought you would want to know.

Missing you dearest
,

Virginia
                  

25 October 1906—Constantinople

The air feels different here. Gritty and tinted with a dusty light I do not yet understand. Today we visited the Church of Santa Sophia. What to do with such a building. A church and then a mosque and then a church. But she is still none of those things. She is entirely herself.

And now we will be four: three Stephens and a Violet. Thoby has to return to London early and will be taking the boat train tonight. I was hoping he would change his mind and stay, but he had promised to meet Lytton and Saxon in the Lake District, and it cannot be put off as the cottage is already paid up.