They thought she was drowned. When she coughed and struggled the men looked at each other in amazement and began to talk loudly in a language she didn’t understand. Minella opened her eyes to try and see what they looked like. They wore bright jerseys and round black caps like French fishermen, but they were not French, and she wished she could remember whether they had been near any land when the storm struck. Nothing was clear at all. ‘My name is Minella Farmer,’ she said, her voice no more than a choking sound. The boat tossed. Oars dug into waves which had lost much of their fury, but still rolled enough to make the going difficult. It was a miracle they had found her. The men shook their heads. ‘My name ... is ’ She wanted to tell them it again because it was the most important thing in the world, but this time she couldn’t remember it, and her soft brown eyes closed wearily. ‘Inglesa.' She caught the one word and sighed, deciding with relief that they must be Spanish.
