‘Here,’ she said, as they crawled along between two columns of Australian walking wounded. A blue painted door, a sign above it, TO KOPΔEΔIO. There was a hole in the cobbled street outside, and several men were sawing and hammering away at what looked like the remains of an old ship’s mast. Tom pulled up outside, went around and opened her door, then blocked the pavement while the girl climbed out. A couple of bandaged Australians catcalled, weakly.

‘Thank you, Mr Collyer.’ That perfect voice. He didn’t want to leave her there in the middle of this chaos. He didn’t want to leave her at all. But he noticed that she was more confident, suddenly; more at ease. She’ll be fine without you, he told himself. So he forced a grin and touched a forefinger to the peak of his cap.

‘Goodbye, ma’am. It’s been my pleasure.’

‘Goodbye.’ She stopped, and laid a hand very lightly on his arm. ‘Please, be safe.’

‘And you.’ He watched her go through the blue door. Then it shut behind her, and though the street was full of noise and people, he felt, for a moment, quite alone.

Tom eventually sees a British officer in the stern of one of the ferries, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of a deckchair in front of a small cafe table, tapping on a portable typewriter. He goes up the gangplank, and salutes the unshaven captain in stained tropical dress. Behind him, wounded men are lying across the walkway or sitting propped against the bulkhead, sleeping or talking quietly. There is a tang of disinfectant and tobacco in the air.

‘I’m looking for 4th NZ Brigade Petrol Company,’ says Tom. The captain squints at Tom with red-rimmed eyes.

‘Welcome to HMS Arethusa,’ he says wearily. ‘No Petrol Company here, I’m afraid.’

‘Really? You don’t happen to …’

‘Christ.’ The captain flops back in his chair and pushes his cap back on his head. His dirty khaki clothes and sunburnt skin look almost garish against the cheerful holiday stripes of the deckchair sling. ‘Nothing’s where it ought to be.’ He sighs and pushes himself upright again. ‘It’s all a bloody tangle.’

‘Yes, I know. My colonel detailed me to bring back as much petrol as I could to Rafina.’

‘We’ve got plenty of petrol. Oceans of it. But all the trucks have been put out of action.’

‘Why?’