‘Christ. What … ?’ He frowns. ‘What on earth do you sing about, then?’

And to her surprise she finds herself laughing. ‘Hope, of course. What else?’

‘What else indeed?’ The Englishman’s face relaxes and for a moment, his eyes sparkle. He looks around again, brushing crumbs from the front of his shirt. ‘This place. Is it … ? I mean, do you own it?’

‘The Cordelio? No! What a mad idea, Lieutenant!’

‘Call me Tom. You can’t be a lieutenant without an army.’

‘OK. Tom. No, the Cordelio is Niko’s place. If you want to know if you can trust him, yes, you can. He’s a … what we call a mangas. I don’t know the English word, if there is one. Like … like George Raft. Scarface?’

‘He’s a gangster?’

‘Gangster?’ Zoë ponders this. ‘No, not exactly. Tough, yes? Of course. Dressing a little bit …’ She mimes putting on a snap-brim hat. ‘A little Italian, a little Smyrna. But a gangster wants power. A mangas doesn’t want power. He has no power, but he shows the rest of the world that he doesn’t care. You understand? His power is his sad heart.’ She puts her hand over her own heart. ‘I can’t explain it very well. Music. Sad, sad songs. Dressing in this way. Laughing at death. If you are not one of us refugees, if you have not come from Asia Minor, I don’t think you will be able to understand.’

‘Well … is it like the blues, do you think?’

‘Blues? Hmm. My brother – Pavlo – knows about this. I don’t know it. You must ask him. If …’ She feels her skin grow cold suddenly.

‘Your brother, who was sitting under the tree? He wasn’t badly hurt. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s probably on his way back right now.’

‘You think so?’

‘I do. I expect I’ll be gone by then, though.’ Zoë watches him take another sip of wine. His eyes meet hers over the rim of the glass and she feels a little calmer. ‘So this isn’t your place. You live here, though?’

‘No. But Niko keeps a room for me so I don’t have to walk home late at night.’ His eyebrows go up. ‘I can assure you …’

‘Please don’t,’ he says hurriedly. ‘You don’t need to assure me. Just ignore everything I say or do, Miss Valavani. I’m not usually this crass.’

‘Crass?’

‘Vulgar. Badly brought up.’

‘Ah, yes. By your mother. Niko looks after me because he was a friend of my mother. This place is like my other home.’

‘And your nanny?’

‘I am afraid you will never forget that. I am sorry, Lieutenant. Tom. It was rude of me.’

‘I am so completely in your debt at this point that you could have said anything and it wouldn’t matter. But I suppose I am a bit curious: was your mother English?’