“I only hear those damned gulls,” Emilios muttered.

“Watch your language, Emil,” his sister admonished.  “I have innocent ears.”

Emilios sighed.  Why had he allowed Athanasia to talk him into this?  It was far more trouble than it was worth.  Angelina had loathed picnics and he had not been on one since before he had met her.  He knew what his little sister was trying to do … to get his mind off of his late wife and finally move beyond his grief.  It was why she had accompanied him to Whitby and to her credit, she had kept at it despite his many protests.

“We’re getting closer.  Can’t you hear it?”

He paused and could faintly make out the sound of one voice singing quite beautifully in French.  As Athanasia sang too and was fluent in that language, he wasn’t surprised that she was interested. 

“Come on, Emil, let’s go find the singer!”  She grabbed his hand and started pulling him down the shoreline, the servants following at their heels.  It wasn’t long before they could see a young man sitting on the sand and looking out to sea while he sang.  There was something strangely familiar about him, but Emilios couldn’t quite figure it out.

Athanasia walked right up to him, smiling brightly.  “You sing very well,” she said in English.