Hers was single storey, roughly plastered, whitewashed, with a terracotta tiled roof. There was a bedroom, with a bathroom off it, a small sitting room with a kitchenette at one end, and a balcony overlooking the sea at the other. ‘I hope you will be comfortable,’ Milo said, watching her walk out on to the balcony and gaze over the dazzling blue sky, the even bluer sea, whipped into white caps by the meltemi, which had been blowing now for nearly twenty hours. The force of it was diminishing, but the trees still lashed to and fro and the sound of it had an eerie, disturbing whistle. ‘I’m sure I shall – it’s delightful. I shall enjoy eating out here, too.’ Her gaze was fixed on the sea, where she had yesterday thought she saw Alex. Had she imagined it? Or had he really been there? It wasn’t so impossible, after all. He was Greek. He had said he lived at Piraeus, where he had his boat-building business, but why shouldn’t he come over to the island for a holiday? He sailed, didn’t he?
