Toby, in the meantime, was proving to be a sadistic little tyrant. Alison had her suspicions that he might, actually, be a psychopath. The previous evening she had found him dissecting a live frog with his Swiss Army knife, his spotty face contorted with glee as the hapless creature writhed and gribbeted under his merciless hands. Alison had tried to save the frog, but it was too late. Closing her eyes, and holding her breath, she’d killed it as quickly as she could.

Both teenagers were unspeakably vile, too, to Maria, the villa’s middle-aged housekeeper, treating her as a serf, calling her ‘it’ and never saying ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Their petulance, sarcasm and sense of entitlement knew no bounds. Today was Maria’s extremely well-deserved day off, hence the washing-up issue.

‘I’m not washing up any bloody dishes,’ Alison said angrily. ‘If you think it’s too much work for Rosaline, then you can do them yourself.’

The following evening, she was sitting in a lively tavern on the waterfront with Philip and the brats. It was Rosaline’s night off, and she had sauntered out of the villa wearing white denim hot pants and a tight, faded indigo T-shirt, leaving Philip gazing wistfully in her fragrant wake.

‘I hate Greek food,’ moaned fat little Imogen. ‘Bloody moussaka, bloody fish, bloody salads.’

Don’t eat it then, thought Alison. Won’t do you any harm to stop stuffing your face for a bit.

‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,’ said Philip. This comment was directed at his grotesque daughter, rather than at Alison. ‘Shall we see if they can get you a steak and chips, instead?’

‘They probably won’t do it right. Oh, God, I’m sooo bored.’

‘Surely there are some bars you and Toby could go to, after dinner?’ Alison suggested, just wanting to be shot of the little horrors and wanting Philip to herself for a bit.

‘Oh, no, they’re full of greasy Greeks.’ Imogen wrinkled her podgy nose. ‘Why couldn’t we have gone to Ibiza, Daddy, or Saint-Tropez, or anywhere all my friends are? You know I don’t like to go to places full of council people.’

‘You can hardly call this a place full of council people,’ said Philip mildly. With no airport, and popular with the international sailing community, Paxos had a reputation as one of the more upmarket Greek islands.

‘Oh, shut up, Daddy. Old foreigners then. You don’t go on holiday to meet old foreigners. I wish I was hanging out with Clemency and Arabella on the Fulham Road.’

So do I, thought Alison vehemently. Or possibly in the Amazon, being pursued by hungry crocodiles.

Looking away from Imogen, she noticed that Toby was chucking stones at stray cats under the table, a demonic gleam in his almost lashless eyes. She was starting to think that hooking up with Philip had been the biggest mistake of her life. She had loved Andy – a thoroughly decent man, who, vitally, didn’t have repugnant offspring – for nearly thirteen years. She realized that she missed him. What was he doing right now? she wondered.