She checked Willow’s feed and felt a pang of thwarted love at seeing her beautiful daughter, long fair hair falling about her lovely face with her big eyes and high cheekbones, softened by her characteristic sweet smile. Nell was a pretty woman herself, but Willow had almost model looks. She was creative, too, always with a new scheme or interest. ‘Hello, darling,’ Nell murmured to the picture. Maybe she should ring her and say hello properly.

But Willow was always in the middle of something – and usually in Marigold’s company.

Nell put her phone firmly back in her bag. Penny had slipped over to see Moira, and then they had planned a quick dinner before an early night. So much had already happened today. She surveyed her neat array of clothes and chose a simple linen dress. It was crumpled, but what the hell; if Takis could get away with permanently crumpled linen, so could she.

Dora was already downstairs, sitting outside the hotel at a harbourside table with a bottle of white wine. She had changed too, into a sleek gunmetal number that covered her up while somehow emphasizing her large breasts and gently swelling stomach in an extremely sexy manner. That was what you got for spending the kind of money Dora habitually shelled out on her wardrobe, Nell decided as she walked towards her.

Moments later, Penny came into view. ‘Hello girls – oh, you’ve both changed already.’

‘You were the one doing a good deed,’ Nell reassured. ‘How is the invalid?’

‘Much better. And she’s really hit it off with the doctor and his wife. She’s called Eleni, and she studied classics too, so they’re in seventh heaven deciding whether the Trojan War actually happened or was based on a series of different sieges altogether, chronicled by some chap called Eratosthenes – or was it Aristophanes? I’m not very hot on the classics.’

‘Sounds bliss,’ Dora grinned. ‘I so wish I was there to give my opinion. Anyway, you look fine.’ It had been on the tip of Dora’s tongue to say that all Penny’s clothes looked the same anyway, but a rare moment of tact prevented her. ‘Sit down and have a drink.’ She began pouring the wine, then suddenly slopped it onto the table.

The others glanced round to see what had provided the sudden distraction.

A tall, elegant newcomer with a long, aristocratic-looking face, high domed forehead, slightly drooping moustache and greying but otherwise copious hair had come out of the hotel and seated himself at the last table.

‘Do you think that’s the mayor?’ whispered Dora, hastily putting down the bottle.

‘Maybe.’ Nell tried to stare without appearing to stare.

Penny, not experienced in the art of subtlety, turned round to give him serious consideration. The man smiled as if this were only his due, and raised his eyebrow in acknowledgement. ‘Kalispera, ladies.’