The only mosquito on the island had had the discrimination to bite Marigold and she was making the most ridiculous fuss about it. If Nell couldn’t reassure her that it wouldn’t happen again, she’d started talking about moving to the hotel. And Nell couldn’t stand that.

‘What have you done?’ This was rather intriguing, as Moira was about as given to self-analysis as Donald Trump. In fact, the Donald was probably slightly more prone to diffidence than she was.

‘I’ve offered to cook a meal for thirty people.’

‘Why?’

‘The boat-trip man who brings all the tourists to the bar wanted to throw in an al fresco supper.’

‘And you agreed?’ Nell asked incredulously.

‘It was part bribe, part threat. He said if I couldn’t, there was a bar the other side of the island he might start taking them to instead.’

‘I see.’ Nell kept a straight face. ‘Do you have a signature dish? Something you could stretch a bit with bread and salad?’

Moira folded her arms unhappily across her chest. ‘Do I look like the kind of person who has a signature dish? I lived in a Cambridge college for thirty-five years. We had food laid on. OK, it was terrible, but at least it was there.’

‘What about Cassandra? Surely she’d help?’

‘Cassandra’s cross with me. She thinks the whole Treasure Island thing is too much of a risk. I keep telling her it’s just an experiment to lure some boat trips, but she’s still cross.’

‘Takis, then. He owns the bar, after all.’

‘He’s going to visit his son on Zanthos.’

‘Ah. How about a barbecue?’

‘Brilliant idea! Will you help me, Nell?’

Nell had, of course, worked out where the conversation was heading.

‘I mean, you wouldn’t want to waste that Prue Leith course. And you did wow the fishermen with your sumac.’

‘OK,’ Nell agreed. ‘On one condition. You keep an eye on Dora. I think she’s got a bee in her bonnet about finding this missing Venus.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Moira shrugged. ‘We’re in the birthplace of western civilization, and Dora is interested in finding a Greek statue instead of trying to get D-list celebrities into crappy magazines. I’d say that was progress.’

‘Yes,’ Nell replied dubiously. ‘But I have a bad feeling about it. Professor Brinkley said there can be big money in smuggling things out of Greece. I just hope she’s not taking risks.’

‘Life is about risks, otherwise you might as well be dead,’ Moira stated.

‘Well, get you, Ms Greek philosopher,’ Nell replied. ‘You’d better start keeping a notebook. The thoughts of Moira O’Reilly, retired classicist.’

‘Less of the retired, if you don’t mind. My mind is still extremely active.’

‘Not, unfortunately,’ Nell reminded her, ‘when it comes to thinking of recipes.’