"I ALWAYS KNEW I liked Mr. Hargreaves!" Ivy cried, holding the apple as we sat in the library after dinner that evening. "What a marvelous gift! And you, Emily, seem quite in danger of falling in love with the gentleman."
"I shall make no attempt to deny the possibility."
"It seems ridiculous now that we ever thought he was the ringleader of the forgers."
"Given what we knew at the time, it was a perfectly reasonable hypothesis. His behavior made him appear quite suspicious."
"I am glad the whole business is over." She grinned wickedly. "But it was rather exciting. It is shocking, though, that Andrew and Arthur should have turned out to be so awful."
"'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.
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.