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‘I couldn’t resist. You’ll never believe this, but on the other side of that gate there’s a stairway cut into the rocks that leads down to the beach. It’s like our own private path.’

Delphine appeared carting a tray of drinks and a delicious-looking Greek meze of dolmades, olives, houmous and Greek salad.

All three of them realized they were hungry at the same time. Alex scrambled out of the pool, Shauna following suit, pausing to pull on a light silk kimono over her white swimming costume. Her skin was a golden colour, but she smoothed on some suncream to protect it from the heat of the sun.

‘Yes,’ Delphine said, having caught the end of their conversation, ‘the path is private and will take you to the beach, but it also connects with other paths, so you must be careful otherwise you will be taken off course along the line of the sea rather than down to it.’

‘Why don’t you let me take Alex to the beach for a few hours so you can get some rest?’ Roxy offered.

‘I’m not tired at all,’ Shauna replied, ‘but I should do a little work today, I’m supposed to be writing my memoirs.’

‘You haven’t taken the publisher’s advance yet.’

‘But I haven’t said no either. Maybe I should try …’

Roxy bit into a big fat juicy green olive. ‘You’re on holiday. I think that means you should spend your days eating meze and ice cream – and drinking wine, of course.’

‘That sounds like a great idea.’

‘Seriously,’ Roxy said, ‘you could do with a few hours’ head space.’ She looked at Shauna meaningfully.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Shauna frowned, knowing that Roxy was expecting her to have come up with a plan as to how she was going to deal with Demetrios. ‘Why don’t you and Alex go down and have an explore, and I’ll join you in a little while?’

‘It’s a deal. Make sure you use your time wisely.’

Shauna put her nose in the air imperiously. ‘As you have rightly pointed out, we are on holiday and I shall use my time as I please.’

‘Is this you talking, or is it Grace Kelly?’

Shauna laughed. ‘I’m not sure I know any more!’

Grace loved working at the taverna, but she also loved the one day she had off each week. She didn’t think it was mean for Teresa to only give her one day off; the season was short and everyone had to make the most of it before all the tourists and holidaymakers went back to where they had come from. Everyone at Níko’s worked hard, the owners most of all – they never seemed to have a day off.

Ever since she’d learned to snorkel on a family holiday as a child, Grace had been hooked. She and her father would always insist on going to destinations where they could get in a little underwater sightseeing. She particularly remembered diving from a boat in Malta, and being dazzled by the colourful reefs teeming with life.

Visitors left many things behind by accident at Níko’s taverna, and in the lost property cupboard there were any number of flippers, googles, sun hats and flip-flops. Níko didn’t mind her ‘borrowing’ some of the items, and today she had spent an hour swimming up and down, not too far from the shoreline, hoping to see one of the elusive sea turtles, or maybe a shy parrotfish or two. She hadn’t been lucky today and was now sitting on her beach towel watching the world go by.

The beach was busy by Ithos standards, but there were never throngs of tourists on the island. The day-trippers came to experience the picturesque Greek harbour and its narrow streets lined with shops selling traditional Greek craft: goods made from leather that was tanned locally and baskets that the local women sat weaving on their doorsteps.

She watched as a woman and a little boy played with a giant beach ball. The boy was a bundle of energy and she could see the woman was working hard to keep up. The multicoloured rubber ball was suddenly caught by a gentle gust of wind and came sailing over in her direction. Instinctively she jumped up and caught it. She’d been a netball champion at school and loved nothing better than a ball game. She threw it back to the boy and he came running towards her, tripped over his feet and went crashing down to the sand.

‘Oh, no!’ Grace gasped and ran forward. She was too late to catch him, but he didn’t seem to be hurt. Despite the fact he had a mouth full of sand, he was laughing his little head off.

The woman came running over. ‘Alex! Are you OK?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Grace. ‘I think that was my fault.’ She picked the boy up, saying, ‘I’m very sorry, Alex. My name is Grace, nice to meet you.’

‘Oh, he’s fine, aren’t you, Alex?’ the woman said, dusting the boy down. She was taller than Grace, with short spiky hair. There was something familiar about her, but Grace couldn’t put her finger on it.

‘This one is steel-plated,’ the woman said.

‘He’s certainly got lots of get-up-and-go.’

‘Tell me about it.’ The woman rolled her eyes. ‘But I volunteered for this, so no complaining allowed. I’m his almost-auntie.’

‘Almost-aunties are the best sort. Anyway, I love playing with a beach ball,’ Grace said. ‘If you like, I could take over for a while so you can read your book’ – she nodded over at the woman’s towel, on which lay a copy of The Life of Pi – ‘and I can enjoy making a fool of myself. It will make up for Alex falling over.’

‘Really?’