They left Moira sleeping under the peaceful eye of the doctor’s wife and headed for the hotel, looking around them for the first time.

The town was indeed very small, arranged along the two extended arms of the harbour. Three or four narrow streets stretched up the hillside, lined with purple bougainvillaea. None of the buildings was above three storeys high. They had elegant curved entrances, first-floor balconies with iron railings and doors in the usual bright blue.

‘What an elegant little place,’ Penny admired.

‘Probably the Venetians,’ Nell commented. ‘They seemed to get everywhere round here.’

Cafes and small restaurants lined the waterfront, in front of which stretched a horseshoe-shaped fringe of beach lined with tamarisk trees. The beach seemed to be full of laughing children playing a game with bat and ball attached by stretchy string.

‘We used to call that Jocari when I was growing up,’ Penny laughed. ‘I was a bit of a Jocari queen.’

They stopped to watch, struck by the simple beauty and peace of the place. The weather was perfect. Even though it was midday the sun was kind and generous, no rays to blind and dazzle, so they were able to look round even without sunglasses.

Penny noticed a butterfly land on the nearest tree and to her amazement she could hear a bird singing. ‘Do you know,’ she pointed out to Nell, her voice ringing with pleasure, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bird sing on a beach before.’

‘Watch out!’ shouted a voice from the hotel balcony above. ‘She’s going to have an orgasm! Stand back.’

They didn’t need to look up and see who it was.

‘So what are the rooms like?’ Nell enquired.

‘Surprisingly good,’ was the reply. ‘Especially mine.’ This was at least said with a certain self-parody. ‘And that’s not the only thing.’

Nell shrugged and walked towards the hotel entrance. The lobby was light and airy, with a plain white-tiled floor, paintings of seascapes adorning the walls, and several model boats made of driftwood arranged on the window sill and reception desk.

Opposite the desk was a carved mahogany day bed with cushions in different shades of blue. Behind the desk stood the ancient lady who had come down to the quayside to meet them.

‘Kalimera,’ she greeted them. ‘My name is Cassandra.’ She reached out a gnarled hand the same deep-hued tint as the mahogany bed and squeezed Nell’s, then took two old-fashioned keys from the rack behind the desk. ‘Two rooms are on the harbour – your friend has one – and two at the back. Good things with both. Back is quieter, good for sleep. Front has sea view but near to men sitting in cafes, drinking too much and making stupid arguments about things they know nothing about!’