Lapping of the water against the side of the boat, eyes closed, slender fingers skimming the cool surface, daydreaming, luscious daydreaming. Warm, sublime images moving across that private vista nestled behind the eyelids.
Screams, crashes, metal lugubriously moaning against metal, splintering timber, unidentifiable flying objects pell-mell in the lethal blackness and, somewhere distant, the band playing “Autumn”.
Now, quiet….. Cold, cutting cold, freezing even the saliva, and pain excruciating, sticky pain as she comes round, adrift, fingerless, daughterless, remembering……..
“Not even God can sink this ship”……
April 1962. Her Knightsbridge home cleared - long redundant Steinway piano removed.