Word spread that Shelly was the great-granddaughter of one of the surviving nurses from HMHS Britannic. Everyone treated her like a celebrity. The dive video was fascinating. She longed to go down and see the enormous wreck for herself, but the preparation made it impossible for the moment. Perhaps next time. However, Harry did have a surprise for her.

He took her for dinner at the highest point of the island, the village of Ioulis. ‘Ee-oo-lees!’ he said, pronouncing it for her. The small town was pedestrianised. Square houses with small windows and red-tiled roofs clustered over two hilltops, these were also sprinkled with belltowers and churches. ‘So pretty,’ she murmured as they wandered along narrow streets marked with little painted arrows on the cobbles to guide the visitors. The ground floor of some houses had been converted into shops and all manner of handcrafted gifts were on sale. She bought a beautiful silk scarf hand-painted with magnolia flowers and local birds for Eve, knowing she’d love it.

‘I paint this,’ the woman said while patting her chest.

‘You did it?’ Shelly was astonished. Harry took a photo of Shelly and the woman, Despina, with the scarf held up between them. Then Despina led them to a café across the road where her sister served them with coffee and a type of shortbread smothered in icing sugar.

After, they wandered down arched passageways lined with more interesting shops, and bought a jar of honey in one emporium simply to stop the owner almost force feeding them various bee products, including several tots of honey rum.

They turned their attention towards the churches and the view out across the Kea channel towards mainland Greece.

‘It’s all so pretty,’ Shelly exclaimed as they came out of the church of Agios Spyridon.

Harry beamed, proud of his island. They wandered down narrow streets with brightly painted shutters, under arches, and up and down steps.

‘I’d never have found all these special places by myself,’ Shelly said, pointing her camera at another bright pink door flanked by urns of fiery orange nasturtiums with leaves of shamrock green.

‘This is so perfect,’ Shelly muttered. ‘I’m drunk on the glorious colours.’

‘Ah, nothing to do with three tots of honey rum then?’ Harry joked.

As evening fell, he slipped his hand around her waist and ushered her through a doorway. She found herself in a charming taverna where the host led them to a small, jasmine entwined, balcony with a view down the mountain.

‘Smell that perfume.’ She gazed at the tiny, white flowers that dripped from the trellises around them. ‘Such dainty flowers, but the scent’s intoxicating, it’s so powerful!’

He plucked a sprig and placed it behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on her neck. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said.