‘I’m fine. More to the point, how are you? I thought we’d have heard from you. You haven’t run off with some hunky fisherman like in Shirley Valentine, have you?’

There was an infinitesimal pause from Penny. ‘Fishermen aren’t really up my street.’

‘Me neither. And the Greek guy was really Tom Conti anyway. So what have you been up to on this tiny island?’

‘Trying to help them put it on the tourist map a bit. How’s Dad? Is he getting on all right?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Mum.’ Wendy took up her usual argument. ‘You do far too much for him. If he had an account at Harrods deli counter he’d never even notice you’d gone!’

As it happened, for once Wendy was wrong. Colin had certainly noticed Penny’s absence. He had expected her to answer immediately when he called but she hadn’t done so. Not only had he run out of food and clean shirts, but everywhere he went people kept on asking him where Penny was, as if she were the interesting one instead of him.

He stood in front of the mirror in their dressing room, looking at himself. OK, his hair was grey and receding, but he was convinced he still had an air about him.

No one would suspect he had started life in Dagenham, a joke of a place. He had done well in life, and in his view Penny had made zero contribution. She’d never earned a penny since they’d been married, she had no style and she wasn’t even a very good cook. He could have done a lot better. She should be grateful enough not go buggering off to Greece with three women he hardly knew, even if they had been bosom buddies at college.

Colin wasn’t just feeling grumpy, he was beginning to feel angry. So angry that his major pleasure at the moment was working out the ways that he was going to make Penny feel it when she got back.

The meeting was scheduled for six o’clock the next evening in the village square, which in point of fact was simply a large indentation in the harbourside. Dora walked along to the office for one of the ferry companies and booked her ticket back to Athens. She still found it hard to accept that she would be going alone. She then climbed up the steep hill behind the village towards the beach bar and its private cove. This was one aspect of the holiday she was really going to miss. She’d come to regard it as her own private beach, which was very nice for her if not so good for the island’s tourism.