Despite the tingling dramas that made me narrow my eyes and squeeze my knees together, I was determined not to be swept away by the fickle and flimsy chords of my heart. I had a greater calling, and by God, I would fulfil it!

‘Write to me? My heart is breaking, is bleeding all over the port!’ Manno cried, then he snatched a red rose out of the flower-seller’s bucket and went down on one knee. ‘Swear you’ll come back to me, koukla!’

Aware that people had stopped whatever they were discussing in order to watch us, and one man appeared to be taking a little money from some of them, it occurred to me that the scoundrel might be taking bets! I could cheerfully have killed the mailman.

‘Manno. Get up! You’re making a spectacle!’

‘I will, but only when you promise to return. I should have given you a pigeon in Kea. Forgive me. Swear you will send me letters. Say you will come back to Syros.’

‘Perhaps; I’ll think about it, but who shall I write to?’

‘Me, of course.’

I smiled despite my embarrassment. ‘No, I mean how shall I address the letter, if by some faint chance I do decide to write to you?’

‘Ah, I understand. Manno Psaras, Syros, Cycladese Islands, Greece. Psaras – it means fisherman in Greek.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a small curled seashell on a ribbon which he slipped over my head. ‘Here; is for you. Every time you press it against your heart, I will be with you. I swear to the Gods of Olympus, I will think about you every day until we meet again, koukla mou.’ He lifted my hand, kissed my palm, then curled my fingers as if I were holding the kiss.

My breath wouldn’t come, such was my longing . . . I had a need for him. I was afraid of him in an odd sort of way, yet also fascinated . . . like a moth near a candle flame. There was danger and captivation in equal measure.

Overwhelmed, I forgot about our audience and stood there blinking like a kohl-eyed actress on the silver screen, unable to deal with his words or our parting. Perhaps I would never see him again. At that moment I wondered if my feelings for him were love. They were different from anything I experienced with our courteous and suave Corporal Perkins. There was no rational explanation for the increase of my heartrate, or my fluttery breath, or the way I felt my body tingle, and arch towards him. My body was drawn to him as a thirsty animal is drawn to water. Inside, I was burning, pure as fire, yet at the same time my feet were rooted to the spot and I was afraid.