They would often go and see Zoe together, and Mariana had fond memories of those visits: she remembered the day they moved Zoe into St Christopher’s College, and helped her unpack and settle in. It was one of the happiest times they spent together, feeling like the proud parents of their little surrogate daughter, whom they loved so much.

Zoe had seemed so small and vulnerable as they prepared to leave her that day, and as they said their goodbyes, Mariana saw Sebastian looking at Zoe with such fondness, such love, mingled with trepidation; as if he were gazing at his own child, which, in a way, he was. Once they left Zoe’s room, they couldn’t quite bring themselves to leave Cambridge, so they walked along the river together, arm in arm, like they used to when they were young. For they had both been students here – and Cambridge University, like the city itself, was intricately bound up in their romance.

It was where they met, when Mariana was just nineteen.

That meeting happened quite by chance. There was no reason for it – they were at different colleges at the university and doing different subjects: Sebastian was studying economics; Mariana was an English student. It frightened her how easily they might never have encountered each other. What then? What would her life have been like? Better – or worse?

Mariana was forever searching her memory these days – looking for the past, trying to see it clearly; trying to understand and contextualise the journey they had been on together. She would try to remember little things they did, re-create forgotten conversations in her mind, imagine what Sebastian might have said or done at each moment. But she was unsure how much of what she recalled was real; the more remembering she did, the more it seemed Sebastian was turning into myth. He was all spirit now – all story.

Mariana was eighteen years old when she moved to England. It was a country she had romanticised since childhood. Perhaps this was inevitable, given that her English mother had left so much of it behind in that house in Athens: bookcases and shelves in every room, a small library, crammed with English books – novels, plays, poetry – all mysteriously transported there before Mariana was born.

She fondly imagined her mother’s arrival in Athens – armed with trunks and suitcases full of books instead of clothes. And in her absence, the lonely girl would turn to her mother’s books for solace and companionship. During the long summer afternoons, Mariana grew to love the feel of a book in her hands, the smell of paper, the sensation of turning a page. She would sit on the rusty swing in the shade, bite into a crisp green apple, or an overripe peach, and lose herself in a story.

Through these stories, Mariana fell in love with a vision of England and Englishness – an England that had quite possibly never existed beyond the pages of these books: an England of warm summer rain, and wet greenery, and apple blossom; winding rivers and willow trees, and country pubs with roaring fires. The England of the Famous Five, and Peter Pan and Wendy; King Arthur and Camelot; Wuthering Heights and Jane Austen, Shakespeare – and Tennyson.

And it was here that Sebastian first entered Mariana’s story, when she was just a little girl. Like all good heroes, he made his presence felt long before his appearance. Mariana didn’t know what he looked like yet, this romantic hero in her head, but she was sure he was real.

He was out there – and one day, she’d find him.

And then, years later, when she first arrived in Cambridge as a student, it was so beautiful, so dreamlike, she felt as if she had stepped into a fairy tale – into an enchanted city from a poem by Tennyson. And Mariana felt sure she would find him here, in this magical place. She would find love.

But the sad reality, of course, was that Cambridge wasn’t a fairy tale; it was just a place, like any other. And the problem with Mariana’s flight of fancy – as she discovered years later in therapy – was that she had brought herself with her. At school, struggling to fit in, she had wandered the corridors during the break times, lonely and restless as a ghost – gravitating towards the library, where she felt comfortable, finding refuge. And now, as a student at St Christopher’s College, the same pattern repeated itself: Mariana spent most of her time in the library, making only a few friends with other similarly shy, bookish students. She received no interest from any of the boys in her year, and no one asked her out.

Perhaps she wasn’t attractive enough? She looked less like her mother than like her father, with his dark hair and striking dark eyes. Years later, Sebastian would often tell Mariana how beautiful she was, but the problem was she never really felt it, inside. And she suspected, if she was beautiful, it was solely because of Sebastian: basking in the warmth of his sunlight, she blossomed like a flower. But that came later – initially, as a teenager, Mariana had little confidence in her appearance, which wasn’t helped by the fact she had such bad eyesight, forcing her to wear ugly, thick glasses from the age of ten. At fifteen, she started wearing contact lenses, and wondered if that might make her look and feel differently about herself. She’d stand in front of the mirror, peering at her reflection – trying but failing to see herself clearly, and never quite happy with what she saw. Even at that age, Mariana was dimly aware that attractiveness had something to do with the internal world: an inner confidence that she lacked.

Nonetheless, like the fictional characters she adored, Mariana believed in love. Despite an inauspicious first two terms at university, she refused to give up hope.

Like Cinderella, she held out for the ball.

St Christopher’s College ball was held on the Backs – large stretches of grass leading down to the water’s edge. Marquees were erected, filled with food and drink, music and dancing. Mariana had arranged to meet some friends but couldn’t find them in the crowd. It had taken all her courage to come alone to the ball, and she was regretting it. She stood by the river, feeling horribly out of place among these beautiful girls in ball gowns and young men in evening dress – all of whom brimmed with boundless sophistication and confidence. Her own feelings, Mariana realised, her sadness and shyness, were totally incongruous with the merriment of her surroundings. Standing here on the sidelines – looking at life from the fringes – was clearly Mariana’s proper place; it had been a mistake for her ever to have imagined otherwise. She decided to give up, and return to her room.

And at that moment, she heard a loud splash.

She looked around. There were further splashes, and sounds of laughter and shouting. Nearby, on the river, some boys were messing about on rowing boats and punts – and one of the boys had lost his balance and toppled in.

Mariana watched the young man splashing around, and then surfacing in the river. He swam to the bank and pulled himself out, emerging like some strange mythical creature, a demigod born in water. He was only nineteen then, but he looked like a man, not a boy. He was tall, muscular, and soaking wet; his shirt and trousers were sticking to him, his blond hair plastered across his face, blinding him. He reached up, parted his hair, peered out – and saw Mariana.

It was a strange, timeless moment – that first moment they saw each other. Time seemed to slow down, flatten, and stretch. Mariana was transfixed, held in his gaze, unable to look away. It was an odd feeling, a bit like recognising someone – someone she had once known intimately, and couldn’t quite place where or when they had lost touch.

The young man ignored the jeering calls of his friends. And with a curious, widening smile, he made his way over to her.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Sebastian.’

And that was it.

‘It was written’ is the Greek expression. Meaning, quite simply, from that moment on, their destinies were sealed. Looking back, Mariana would often try to recall the details of that fateful first night – what they spoke about, how long they danced, when they had their first kiss. But try as she might, the specifics slipped through her fingers like grains of sand. She could only remember they were kissing as the sun came up – and from that moment on, they were inseparable.

They spent their first summer together in Cambridge – three months cocooned in each other’s arms, untroubled by the outside world. Time stood still in this timeless place; it was always sunny, and they spent their days making love, or having long drunken picnics on the Backs, or on the river, sailing under stone bridges and past willow trees and cows grazing in open fields. Sebastian would punt, standing on the back of the boat and plunging the pole down into the riverbed to propel them along, while Mariana, tingling with alcohol, trailed her fingers in the water, gazing at the swans gliding past. Although she didn’t know it at the time, she was already so deeply in love, there was no way out again.