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Shauna peered through the foliage and saw that the woman’s face was screwed up in anger as she and Isaac exchanged agitated whispers. What was all this about? Who was this woman and what was she doing here?

The little boy cannoned into one of the wrought-iron tables in the garden, sending a chair spinning into Shauna’s corner. She caught it easily before it rammed into her legs, then looked to make sure he was unhurt. Big brown eyes, shimmering with alarm, looked up into hers as his face began to crumple at the sound of the crash. She smiled down at him. ‘It’s O—’ For a moment, her legs threatened to buckle beneath her, and she had to grab the nearby pillar. ‘Dan,’ she breathed, confused and suddenly breathless, her heart racing with a charge of adrenaline. The floor shifted and she felt lightheaded and dizzy.

The boy’s bottom lip quivered as he stared up at her, hovering between tears and curiosity. She stared at him, shaking her head. Grief made ghosts of real people, she realized. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She’d barely slept in the last seventy-two hours.

‘No harm done,’ she reassured him, reaching out a hand to his shoulder to reinforce her words.

With a fierce shove her hand was pushed away.

‘Don’t you touch him.’

‘I wasn’t …’ Shauna reared back in surprise, her legs still shaky, her pulse racing. She felt as if she’d lost touch with reality.

‘Alex.’ The woman grabbed the child possessively and held him in front of her like a shield, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Shauna.

Shauna stared back, taking in the attractive features of the woman. There were dark shadows under her eyes which were almost black in colour, she was extremely beautiful.

Isaac came over. ‘Frankie, you need to … I can—’

‘Need to leave. Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Duck outta here with my tail between my legs. It ain’t gonna happen, old man. I need the bucks to raise my son. What’s due to him.’ Her voice rose, and Shauna could see a fierce pride behind her hostile demeanour.

Shauna frowned, her eyes drawn back to the boy and those oh-so-familiar eyes. He was the spitting image of Dan. A relative? The boy was only about three or four years old.

Shauna looked at the woman again and felt her heart sink to her feet as the penny dropped.

Over Isaac’s shoulder, people were gathering at the French windows, peering into the courtyard and whispering to one another. Shauna realized then that there was more than one way to break a heart as she felt hers crack in two. Betrayed by a husband on the same day as she buried him.

There was a look of triumph on the woman’s face, her face calm as a storm raged inside Shauna’s mind. There was no denying it, Shauna understood exactly who the boy was now.

PART THREE

Chapter 21

Ithos, June 2002

From his vantage point sitting at a table under the blue-and-white awning of Níko’s taverna, Demetrios watched the girl on the harbour wall as she packed and unpacked her backpack repeatedly. It was obvious that she had lost something important, and there was something about her predicament and the fact that she looked to be about the same age as his daughter made him want to come to her assistance. He resisted the impulse, telling himself it was no business of his and she might not welcome an offer of help from a middle-aged man. Though he was sure he didn’t look like a Lothario in his navy chinos, espadrilles and an open-neck linen shirt, he was conscious that his thick dark hair was streaked with little strands of grey. No, Ithos was known for its hospitality, he reasoned, and if this young woman was in need of help then the locals would come to her aid. Besides, he didn’t need any more complications today.

He returned to his newspaper and sipped at the strong, sweet Greek coffee. Despite the early hour, around him, Ithos harbour was a bustling scene. In the main square, traders were setting up their market stalls, arranging baskets piled high with fat tomatoes and olives, rows of purple aubergines and courgettes, ripe plums and nectarines.

Though he made every effort to focus on the news of the day, Demetrios’s eyes kept returning to the girl. Perhaps it was that she reminded him of his daughter, Ariana. She could almost be Greek, with her light tan and her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, but something told him she wasn’t. Most likely she was one of the European backpackers who came in on the tourist ferry; she had that unmistakable air of the curious stranger that set her apart from Greek visitors.

Ariana … He frowned. His quick-tempered, temperamental, excitable and exhausting daughter had arrived back home on the island like a hurricane, and now they were all swept up in her turbulence. She was like her mother in many ways …

He was shaken from this thought as he noticed the girl had moved from her spot and was now sitting down at the table next to his.

Blue-and-white checked tablecloths covered each table and the taverna was shaded by a vine-covered pergola. Teresa, the owner’s wife, approached the girl’s table and asked her in English, ‘What would you like?’

‘How much is a Coca-Cola?’ the girl replied, pulling out a meagre handful of coins from her pocket, counting them carefully.

‘Two euros.’

‘Oh …’ The girl looked crestfallen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Demetrios saw Teresa cock her head sympathetically.

‘That’s OK, there is enough.’ Teresa was in her early sixties, long grey hair braided in a thick plait hanging to her waist. Demetrios knew she was a hard-headed businesswoman who kept her extroverted and not always wise husband, Níko, in check, but she had a heart of gold. She gave the girl a kind smile, nodded her head and bustled off inside.

It seemed that this unexpected kindness shook the young woman’s composure. Tears began to splash down her cheeks and she swiped at them ineffectually, unable to stop a sob escaping her. Enough was enough, he decided, and moved across to sit next to her. When the girl looked up, he offered her a napkin, which she took and blew her nose with.