There is a quiet snort, Poppy or Izzy, ignored by Martin.

“Once upon a time there was a dog named Cerberus—or Spot for short—who had three heads. One ate breakfast, the second lunch, the third gobbled down supper.”

Sorrel giggles. Grace smiles; this is Martin at his best, telling stories, being funny, being kind. This is how he is with their kids, how he was when she met him.

“He belonged to Hades, a big old guy with a long ginger beard. Hades lived in a special place called the underworld.”

“That’s where people go when they die, right?” Izzy puts a tanned elbow on the table.

Martin nods and continues. “One day, Hades took Spot up to the world for a walk in the sunshine, where they met a pretty girl, picking flowers. She began playing with Spot, and they were having such a lovely time that Hades decided to take her back to his home.”

“Oh, why?” Izzy asks.

“For Spot to play with, of course.” Martin glances at her. “But then all the flowers in the garden began to die.”

Sorrel slips her thumb into her mouth, her eyes are very wide.

“It turned out okay, though,” Grace puts in. “Because—”

“Her mummy took her home!” Martin beams. “And the flowers started blooming again. The end.” He bows to Sorrel, she smiles, and Eve claps loudly.

Paul laughs. “It’s different from the version I remember. Didn’t he—?”

“Bedtime.” Eric scoops up Sorrel and heads for the stairs.

“Bedtime for us too.” Grace rises. “Come on, kids.” She kisses Martin. “Great adaptation,” she whispers. “Don’t be too long.”

Outside the moon is shining on the olive trees; there is a dense scatter of stars in the sky. The bushes rustle quietly as they brush past them. When a dark catlike shape bounds across the path Grace stops, shocked. It vanishes up a tree, the wide tail disappearing into the leaves.

“What was that?”

“A pine marten,” Charley whispers. “There are tons of them here, Izzy’s been watching them for days. She says the fathers eat their own babies.” She sounds disbelieving.

Blake is hitting the bushes with a branch from an olive tree; he looks absorbed.

“Careful, you might hurt something,” Grace tells him; he glances up, surprised, as if he hadn’t realized what he was doing.

She shepherds the children into the stone building and shuts the door. The bedrooms are whitewashed, each with a view of the garden, a shower, and a wide, soft bed. Martin comes in after an hour; he starts snoring as soon as he lies down. Grace lies awake, disappointed and relieved at the same time. The scent of sage and thyme drifts through the open shutters; from somewhere in the garden the glass plates clash together gently, making discordant music in the dark.