After they had finished the extremely strong Greek coffee Dora decided she would leave the others to their Florence Nightingale mission and head for the beach cafe, where she could have a cappuccino. ‘Your cake was delicious, by the way.’

Cassandra softened. ‘I get up at six to make sure the baking is fresh.’

‘It certainly tastes like it,’ Dora smiled.

‘Then you must take some with you!’ Cassandra disappeared briefly, returning with a huge slice of cake wrapped in a paper napkin.

Dora mentally calculated the calories, but couldn’t resist. ‘Thank you. Efharisto.’

‘Parakolo,’ beamed Cassandra. ‘As I said, it is very good!’

Dora waved the others off and went to find some suitable footwear for clambering down the steep path to the cafe, with or without goat companions. The trouble was, Dora didn’t believe in trainers. The young ones in her office often walked to work in them. A sudden wave of panic at the thought of her office made her stop for a moment and stare fixedly out to sea.

She wasn’t going to think about the horrible thing that had happened. No doubt everyone in the PR world was chatting and tweeting about it, but she wouldn’t even go there. She had left her phone firmly in the drawer in her bedroom. It had been like tearing her heart out of her chest, but it had to be done.

She’d just have to buy some suitable shoes from one of the small shops that lined the harbour. After trying two different places that sold only hideous plastic shoes to protect against sea urchins or jewel-bedecked sandals, she hit upon the idea of the supermarket, which turned out to have a supply of inoffensive plimsolls stacked between the enormous red tomatoes and the plaster statues of the Sacred Heart. Dora selected a pair in white that made her think of gym lessons at school, which she’d hated so much that she’d pleaded a permanent period.

Back at the hotel, she picked up a tourist map from the reception desk. Kyri was so small that it looked as if you could cross it in a couple of hours if you were an enthusiastic walker, which Dora wasn’t. She studied the map. Takis had taken one look at her unsuitable shoes and recommended a bus from outside the hotel. With the new plimsolls she could probably walk quite easily, but decided to take his advice anyway.

The bus was full of old ladies with laden shopping baskets who all made room for her, offering impenetrable greetings.