Anna often referred to Worstead as “the wheezing windbag.” Even though she didn’t say it to his face, Lockhart thought it a little harsh. But she had a point—he constantly complained about the heat, the basic conditions at the site, the food, and especially his inability to seduce any of the Cretan girls.

“It’s all right for you,” he would say to Lockhart. “You’re not a tubby carrot-top like me.”

And then Lockhart would have to say:

“Oh come on, Andrew, I’m sure there are plenty of girls here who would like you.”

“I doubt it very much.”

“You should try a bit harder.”

“I do.”

“No you don’t—you spend too much time drinking with men.”

“But I like doing that. What’s wrong with that?”

And so on. Such conversations would invariably end with Lockhart saying that Worstead couldn’t just expect a girl to fall into his lap, and with Worstead saying that it was all right for Lockhart as he was good-looking and rich.

Worstead’s moan that August day was about the steepness of the route from the Arkadi monastery to Kasteli. Lockhart’s long-distance running and Anna’s long legs ensured that Worstead lagged behind as they made their way over Mount Tsones. Although he had lost some weight over the past few weeks, Worstead was finding the going tough.

“Couldn’t we have gone ’round this bloody mountain?” he shouted up at Lockhart.

“No way,” replied Lockhart, pausing to catch his breath. “That would have taken too long—I want to be in Kasteli before dark. Besides, there’ll be a great view from the top.”

“View or no view, I’m sodding knackered.”

“It’s not that bad, Andrew—you’ll make it.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack and then you’ll have to carry me.”

Anna laughed.

“You’re always about to have a heart attack,” she said. “You said you were going to have one when we went for a swim in that lake.”

“I’m not joking, I can feel it pounding away like fury.”

“You’re serious?” she asked.

“Of course I bloody am. You should have told me it was going to be like this.”

“Oh come off it.”

“No, you come off it. Can’t you go at my pace?”

“Perhaps if you sped up,” said Anna, “you’d get a bit fitter.”

“Oh thank you very much, Miss Perfect. What a pleasant ramble this is turning out to be.”

“Oh stop it you two,” Lockhart intervened. “This bickering’s getting just a little dull. All right, Andrew, we’ll go a bit slower, but I don’t want to be caught here after dark.”

Anna glowered at him.

“Why do we have to slow down for him?” she asked.

“I thought we wanted to go as a group.”

Anna’s eyes widened.

“I seem to remember that was your idea.”

“No—you said you didn’t mind. Remember?”

“I hardly had any choice.”

“Oh come on—what’s the problem?”

“That he’s here for a start. And that you’d rather listen to him than to me.”

Lockhart tilted his face skyward.