‘Evening, all,’ Karl greeted them as he and Dora emerged from the hotel.

‘Karl, is that some joke implying Kyri’s one-man police force is worse than Dixon of Dock Green?’ asked Nell.

‘No. Is he?’ Karl replied.

‘He’s lost Georgiades,’ Penny explained.

‘Good riddance, if you ask me. I wonder if he was actually committing a crime?’ Karl mused. ‘The world of antiquities is so murky.’

‘Quite a lot of countries would be guilty,’ Dora chipped in. ‘Our own, for a start, with the Elgin Marbles.’

‘Now don’t start that old chestnut.’ Karl shook his head.

‘We Greeks don’t think it is – how do you say it – an old chestnut,’ Nikos grinned. ‘We would still like them back.’

‘Quite right, too,’ stated Moira, who had just emerged from her room.

‘Moira!’ chided Karl indignantly. ‘How unpatriotic!’

‘Is it patriotic to go round stealing other people’s culture?’

‘But that was what the British did best!’ Karl reminded her with a grin.

A loud noise from above put an end to this conversation, one which Moira and Karl had clearly often had before.

‘A helicopter!’ exclaimed Dora as they all gazed upwards. ‘Kyri’s fame is spreading fast. Do you think it’s a billionaire coming to try and buy the island?’

Only Nikos noticed that Penny, standing next to him, had paled and looked almost as if she might faint. They’d joked about Colin making a dramatic entrance in a helicopter, but it had been just that, a joke. Now she suddenly wondered if it might indeed be him, arriving with immaculate timing to spoil their moment of triumph.

Moira, who had also joined them, had no interest in helicopters, and was studying the latest arrivals on the evening ferry instead. She was so taken with the sight of a huge woman with a tiny husband laden down with luggage, looking as if he might at any moment collapse under the weight, that she didn’t at first notice the inappropriately dressed businessman type who followed them. She soon got bored with the large lady and focused on the man instead. What caught her eye was his defining greyness. He wore a grey suit with a grey spotted tie; his neatly cut hair was grey and receding; he even wore grey glasses. There was something about him that reminded her of a worm, and Moira wondered idly whether, if you cut him in half, there would be two of him. Not a pleasant prospect, she decided.

There was also an air of just-confined irritability about the man, as if at any moment he might explode over the smallest inconvenience. She hoped he wasn’t staying at their hotel.

Her attention was diverted by the helicopter again. She assumed the occupants were going to the White Hotel, it being the only upmarket hostelry on the island. With luck the angry worm was going there too, though he certainly didn’t look hip.