‘Of course not. There are no customers for the bar anyway. I just like to see the olive grove there, where it has always been. And . . .’ He hesitated. ‘Let’s face it. I can’t stand the man. Now, let me buy you ladies a drink to thank you for covering up.’

‘Well,’ Nell said, chinking her glass against everyone else’s, ‘it sounds like we’re in for some drama at this meeting tomorrow.’

Her phone beeped in her handbag, and she reached down for it. Amazingly, Willow had actually sent her a video. She pressed the arrow, and her delightful granddaughter Naomi walked towards her on hesitant, chubby little legs. These must be her first steps! A feeling of longing as powerful as any she’d ever felt suddenly swamped her. How she wanted to hold Naomi in her arms.

‘Isn’t she gorgeous,’ chorused the others, gathering round to watch too.

Naomi turned, smiled directly into the camera, and began to wobble. A pair of thin, tanned arms with enough clanking silver chains to start a jeweller’s shop instantly picked her up. ‘Come to Marigold!’ boomed out from off camera.

‘Remind me who Marigold is?’ Moira asked. ‘Apart from rubber washing-up gloves.’

‘The Other Granny,’ whispered Penny. ‘Though she doesn’t like being called a grandmother, apparently. It’s too ageing. Nell’s got a bit of an obsession with her.’ Penny began to feel suddenly exhausted. ‘I need a shower before we eat. Shall we meet outside in an hour?’

Moira stood up decisively. ‘I’m going to get a map and work out where everything is on the island.’ She picked one up from the reception desk and strode into the pearly evening light.

The beach bar she wanted to turn into Treasure Island was along the coast to the left. It looked like you could walk there in about twenty minutes. It would be a lot quicker by boat, of course. The famous boathouses were on the north coast, facing the southern part of the Aegean. The caves she wanted to explore, where Olivier de Menton had hidden his booty, were at the far tip of the island next to the narrow channel to Ximonos, the tiny island which had probably once been part of Kyri. Beyond that was the luxurious White Hotel, which she’d read about in Condé Nast Traveller and whose prices she could never aspire to. It mainly catered to yachties dropping in for mojitos and to use the spa, or minor celebrities who thought they needed to escape their public.

As soon as Penny unlocked her room, she pounced on her phone. There was a message to call Wendy.

She sat on the bed and dialled the number.

‘Hello darling, how are you?’ Her daughter had a nice, ordinary husband and two nice ordinary children; Penny viewed both of these things as major triumphs.