‘Besides,’ their new visitor continued gleefully, ‘what a wonderful mystery! This hand of Aphrodite with the apple! Most exciting thing I’ve heard in years. Now, my dear, I want to hear the whole story.’

They made their way back through the crowded quayside, past babies in buggies, the eternal little boys with footballs, a few tourists stopping for an early evening drink in the cafes watching the day trippers return from their boat trips.

‘Then really, you’ll have to ask my friend Dora,’ Moira winked. ‘She was in on it from the start. She even smelled the goddess’s perfume!’

‘Did she indeed?’ He beamed at Dora. ‘Then you are extraordinarily honoured. Shall we sit down and share a libation?’

‘Hey,’ Moira protested, ‘don’t say you believe all this goddess nonsense? What happened to good old academic scepticism?’

‘Over-rated, dear Moira,’ he beamed. ‘But I would genuinely like to hear the story from the start.’

‘Are you staying at the hotel too?’ Moira asked him.

‘Certainly. It seems a charming place. I can hardly believe that as a lifelong scholar of classical Greece, I had never before visited this island. It is entirely delightful.’

‘But too well kept a secret, which is part of their problem here,’ Moira sighed. ‘So why don’t we all go and get changed, since we’ve been on a boat all day, and meet again in an hour for drinks and dinner and tell you all you want to know.’

‘Perfect,’ Professor Brinkley beamed. ‘I’ll spend the time looking in on the archaeological museum.’

‘I’m not sure there is one,’ Moira hesitated.

‘Nonsense. There’s always an archaeological museum. Even if it’s in somebody’s front room.’ He hurried off with the enthusiasm and energy of someone twenty years younger.

Dora, unable to resist dressing up for male company, however ancient, reappeared in a silver minidress more suited to someone half her age and ordered everyone a glass of raki.

‘Goodness,’ pronounced the professor, ‘how deliciously wicked! And you must all call me Karl. It’s unfortunate, but it is my name. My father was an enthusiastic communist. I would have preferred Odysseus, or even Hermes, but there you are. Now let me get you all clear. When I get interns at the museum, I always ask them to say a line about themselves and why they came to join us.’

They look at each other, stunned, as Takis brought the menus.

Professor Brinkley cast his eye over it and instantly replied that he would have the grilled halloumi, followed by sheftalia cooked on charcoal coals and a bottle of Mythos beer. ‘We have a very jolly Greek restaurant near the museum where I have lunch every day,’ he explained as the others hesitated and argued over their choices.

‘Right. Back to you girls.’