‘And he’ll certainly blend into the background without being noticed,’ Nell added drily.

They charted Stelios’s progress across the square towards the row of small shops, which were the only places open at this time of the morning. He stayed inside so long that they began to lose interest and want to return to their beds.

‘What on earth is he doing?’ Dora had persisted longer than the others in her vigil at the window. ‘He’s taking so long he could be ordering enough bread to feed thirty.’

‘Maybe he’s going to throw a welcome cocktail party,’ suggested Nell naughtily.

‘I very much hope not, as he’s supposed to be asking questions discreetly.’

‘Discreetly!’ Nell persisted. ‘I doubt if he could even spell the word.’

‘I expect that’s exactly what he’s doing,’ Dora said firmly, wanting to support Karl’s choice, which on the surface did look rather peculiar to say the least.

As still Stelios showed no sign of appearing, they all departed back to their beds.

Stelios was, in fact, following his usual habit of talking to the little people. He bit into a hefty chunk of warm bread from the loaf he had just purchased from the baker.

‘Nostimo! Fantastic, my friend!’ He breathed in the warm scent of new-baked bread.

Andreas was at the back of the bakery loading dough into the roaring flames of his oven, sweat rolling down his back into his dirty vest. Clearly this wasn’t the moment for confidences. Stelios bought another loaf and decided to come back later.

Next door, the lady who ran the gift shop was beginning to open up.

‘Kalimera, kyria.’ He bowed extravagantly.

The owner was famous for her boot face, but there was something about this engaging bear of a man that got through her defences.

‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’ she enquired. ‘A sarong for a lady? A beautiful necklace?’

‘Alas, kyria, I have no lady in my life. I am as celibate as an Orthodox priest.’

‘Not celibate at all, then. Our priest has children all over the parish!’ she replied caustically. ‘Perhaps I can interest you in one of these?’ She pointed to some small marble statues of Greek gods and picked up a carving of Ares, the god of war. ‘The craftsmanship is extraordinary. Look at the expression on his face.’

‘Ah,’ Stelios smiled engagingly, ‘but I am a peaceful man. What about Ares’ sometime wife, Aphrodite? Do you have a statue of her?’

‘Looking for sex, are you? You won’t get much here. All the girls are virgins.’ She thought for a moment. ‘You might try those English ladies. The English are sex mad, everyone knows. Nearly as bad as the Swedes. And at their age they’d be grateful.’

Stelios decided to steer the conversation into less dangerous waters. ‘And what about the other Aphrodite? This statue I read about in the Athens paper?’