‘Yes. Yes, I did,’ says Tom. ‘I’m in – was in – an anti-tank unit. Shooting at German tanks,’ he adds, seeing the man’s brows corrugate.

‘Shooting at tanks? Ha ha!’ His large hands flutter very close to Tom’s face before seizing his cheeks and pinching, quite hard. ‘All right, Kapetanios. You stay here. Lots of English running away, but not you, eh? Shooting at tanks!’ He shoves Tom down into his chair. ‘You eat?’

‘I did,’ says Tom. ‘Miss Valavani has been looking after me.’

‘Ah, Miss Valavani. Very good, very good! Zozo!’ Niko bellows. Tom looks past him and sees Zoë over by the door, hands on hips in front of the other man. She seems to be scolding him, very loudly. Now that he sees the man properly, Tom recognises him at once: the man who flagged down his car yesterday. Was it yesterday? Now that he is clean of blood, Tom can see that he has a narrow face with high cheekbones and wide, hooded eyes. Even bruised, Apostoli – I can’t remember what the day is, but I remember that chap’s name, Tom thinks, amazed – is handsome. Now he is wincing as Zoë shakes him by the arms but he is wearing a well-cut dove-grey suit and a grey, wide-ribboned trilby and there is a certain, undeniable poise about him. He sees Tom, who raises his hand and grins ruefully.

‘My God! O Kapetanios!’ Apostoli raises both hands in joyful benediction. Zoë has him around the waist and is whispering urgently in his ear. Her face is tight but he says something and she relaxes. Ah, of course, thinks Tom. She’s with him. Apostoli starts towards him, dragging Zoë. ‘Kapetanios!’ he says again. ‘My Kapetanios!’

‘He’s a lieutenant,’ Zoë says in English, glancing at Tom. She adds something in Greek.

‘Ah! Anthipolochagós! Never mind,’ says Apostoli, grinning. Tom stands up and offers his hand. Apostoli takes it and grips it between both of his own. ‘I,’ he says, ‘dekaneas. Corporal. Long time ago. But kapetanios means something else.’ He hooks a thumb into his belt and sticks out his chest dramatically. ‘Kapetanios means brigand chief. Up in the mountains, fighting the Turks, the invaders. Lord Byron, yes? He was English kapetanios.’

‘Byron?’ says Tom. He decides to let it pass by. ‘I’m so glad you’re safe. But what about your brother, Miss … I mean …’

‘Pavlo is fine, thanks be to God,’ says Zoë. ‘He went to the hospital and they wrapped up his chest. Now he is at Apostoli’s house. Apostoli has a very kind wife who will come to regret having my brother in her care.’ She is smiling, more or less, but Tom can’t tell if she is joking. Apostoli has a wife, though, does he? That is … well, that is good news, somehow.