Feeling suddenly ravenous, she ordered a Greek salad with warm pitta, plus olives and hummus and a large glass of red Demestica wine. She looked around her with enormous pleasure. She had accomplished her task, the sun was shining, the sea was its usual dazzling blue and the crowds around her seemed to have only one aim in coming here – a selfie of the famous blue-domed church with themselves in front of it – so the cafes were remarkably peaceful.

Although her bag was on the floor, she had taken the precaution of putting the long strap round her ankle for safety’s sake. Despite her extensive travels, there was some of her mother buried deep in Moira, who believed that all foreigners were actually thieves out to rob the innocent visitor.

She was happily sipping her red wine when she noticed in the corner of her vision a scooter wending its way along the harbour path. Not an unusual sight, as scooters were popular with tourists (who quite often fell off and had to be airlifted home on their insurance), but this one was going surprisingly slowly. Her Greek salad had just arrived when the scooter suddenly speeded up and headed in her direction.

With lightning precision it homed in and the passenger, unidentifiable due to his helmet with the visor down, leaned skilfully over and scooped up Moira’s bag, pulling her off her chair as he did.

The cafe owner rushed up to help her and enquire if she was all right. ‘Bastardos!’ she shouted, shaking her fist at the departing thieves. ‘It is usually only in the summer we are plagued with these vermin! I am so sorry, kyria, do you need a doctor?’

Moira got tentatively back to her feet, watching the scooter as it disappeared into the harbourside crowds. It could be just random bad luck. As the bar owner said, there were plenty of crimes like this in high season. Suddenly the sun, which had been temporarily obscured by a tiny cloud, broke out again and caught an inch of golden curl protruding beneath the shiny black of the helmet.

Moira smiled to herself as she sat back down at her table. Too bad for them her phone was on the table. And anyway, she’d sent the photos to Dora already. She sat and sipped her wine, but somehow had no appetite for the delicious-looking salad.

Dora was standing at her window overlooking the harbour with her phone in her hand, apparently watching the everyday life passing beneath, when Karl came into the room to see if she wanted to join him for a drink.