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It was a perfect day for sailing. There was enough of a breeze to lift the sail and for the boat to move at a lick through the water, but the sea was calm. Grace relished the taste of brine on her lips as the wind whipped around her.

‘Is this your boat?’

‘I built it myself with help from Demetrios. He is a patient teacher.’

The two of them made a good pair, Grace knowing what was needed and when, reading the wind as Christian used the tiller to manoeuvre the boat through the water, reading the waves and the wind as if he and the boat were one.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked him, as she rested on the side on the boat.

‘To Fengari Bay. You can’t reach it by land, only by boat. Hardly anyone knows it’s there, only islanders.’

It didn’t take them long to reach their destination, and Grace was pleased that the midday heat had passed, making the late afternoon more bearable. There was a small mooring, and Grace jumped off the side, catching the rope that Christian threw her, pulling the boat in and knotting the line around the dock ring to secure it.

While she waited for Christian to join her, she took in the horseshoe line of the bay. The cobalt sea meeting the chalk white sand was so inviting, she longed to take a dip but still felt a bit shy around Christian, so instead she pointed at the solitary boathouse tucked away in a secluded spot near the mooring. Unlike the boathouses and sheds in the harbour, the timbers weren’t weathered and ancient but bleached and new-looking. Clearly, a recent construction.

‘Who owns the boathouse?’

‘It belongs to Demetrios; he comes here when he wants to get away from it all. He says he can’t relax at home because the phone never stops ringing. This is where he taught me how to build a boat – we made the one I brought you here on.’

Grace turned and looked at the boat again. She hadn’t noticed before, but on the side was its name: The Selene.

‘Did you choose the name? Who is Selene?’

‘Selene is the goddess of the moon, she is revered in Ithos. Let me show you inside the boathouse. Demetrios won’t mind us being here, seeing as it is you.’

It was cool and dark inside. A canoe hung from the rafters, held in place by ropes, and there were fishing nets and lobster pots dangling from the walls. In one corner was a hammock and an old battered leather sofa; bookshelves filled with classic novels lined one of the walls. Grace picked one up: Dr Zhivago. She leafed through the scuffed pages, thinking that the book had been read many times already, then scanned the rest of the shelf: Alexander Dumas, a number of crime novels by Elmore Leonard. There was also a book of love poetry by Sappho. Christian appeared by her side.

‘Demetrios likes his classic poetry,’ she said, and opened a page that had been bookmarked, reading aloud from it:

Tonight I’ve watched the moon and then the Pleiades go down

The night is now half gone; youth goes

I am in bed alone.

‘How sad,’ Grace said. ‘Demetrios must be so lonely.’

Christian shrugged. ‘He is very private and doesn’t talk about himself much. My mother says he had his heart broken when he was a young man.’

‘And now he’s divorced and alone again.’ Grace placed the poetry book back on the shelf. In the middle of the boathouse a tarpaulin covered a large object held up on blocks.

‘What’s underneath?’

‘That is Demetrios’s magnus opus, his masterpiece!’

‘Is it a boat?’

‘Of course.’

‘Can I see it?’

Christian loosened the rope around the tarpaulin and together they pulled it back to reveal the boat beneath. It was about the size of a small speedboat. Made of wood, it featured a U-shaped cockpit with a wooden steering wheel and a hand-buffed mahogany consol. But it was devoid of a motor, or any controls; it still had the feeling of a work in progress.

Grace ran her hand along the outside, enjoying the feel of the smooth wood under her fingertips, eventually resting on the curved letters of the name of the boat, which had been hand-painted.

Beauty.

‘Demetrios has yet to finish it. He is often here alone working on it, but never seems to get any further along. I don’t think he wants to finish it.’