Meanwhile, three days into her voyage of reawakening, the memory of on-going family humiliations fast fading, and blissfully unaware of the grizzly discovery by her suburban nemesis, Dorothy was on the verge of her own carnal discovery, the kind of which she could not remotely have imagined.
Taking the air on deck, hoping to quell the last persistent pangs of nausea which had dogged her since the cocktail incident, she felt the somewhat spooky sensation of being observed. And indeed at every turn, with increasing and alarming frequency, a woman she thought probably Greek (remarkably similar to her local fishmonger’s wife, she remembered) would appear in half view, eyes trained on Dorothy with an unsettling squint.
Unable to escape the stranger’s pursuit, and by now inexplicably unwilling to so so, she realised, Dorothy took a deep breath, passed one furtive hand near her hair, clutched her handbag tightly to her front, and started towards the mysterious interloper.
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