His eyes have softened. He feels sorry for me, I suddenly realize. Sorry for me. I can’t stand it.

“Well, good night,” I say shortly.

“Good night.” He matches my tone and leaves the room without a further word.

19

LOTTIE

It was meant to be! This is my all-star, gold-plated, total dream scenario. Ben and me on a boat again. Skimming across the Aegean waves. On our way to total bliss.

Thank God we’ve left the Amba. I know it’s luxurious and has five stars, but it’s not the real Ikonos. It’s not us. The moment we were dropped off for the day at the little bustling port, I felt something buried inside me come alive. This is what I remember of Ikonos. Old white houses with shutters, and shaded streets, and elderly women in black sitting on corners, and the dock for the ferry. The port was full of fishing boats and water taxis, and the overpowering smell of fish made my senses reel. I remember that smell. I remember all of it.

The sky is a bright morning blue and the sun is dazzling my eyelids, just as it always did. I’m lying back in the water taxi, the way I did when I was eighteen. My feet are in Ben’s lap and he’s idly fiddling with my toes and there’s only one thing on both our minds.

My skin has recovered perfectly from its allergic reaction, and Ben was keen on a quick shag this morning. But I talked him out of it. How could we consummate our marriage in a boring old hotel bed when instead there’s the chance to do it in the cove where we first did it, all those years ago? The romance of it makes me want to hug myself. Here we are after all these years! Going back to the guest house! Married! I wonder if Arthur will be there. I wonder if he’ll recognize us. I don’t think I look that different. I’m even wearing the same tiny tie-dye shorts I wore when I was eighteen … and praying desperately they don’t split.

Spray splashes my face as we bump across the waves, and I lick the delicious saltiness off my lips. I’m surveying the coastline as we pass and remembering all the little villages we explored back then, with their narrow cobbled alleyways and unexpected treasures, like that half-ruined marble statue of a horse we once came across in the middle of a deserted square. I look up to share this thought with Ben, but he’s engrossed in his iPad. I can hear rap coming from it and feel a flicker of irritation. Does he have to listen to that now?

“Do you think Arthur’s still there?” I try to attract his attention. “And that old cook?”

“Can’t be, surely.” Ben looks up briefly. “I wonder what happened to Sarah.”

Sarah again. Do I even know this girl?

The music seems to be getting louder, and now Ben’s rapping along. He really can’t rap. I mean, I’m being a dispassionate, loving wife here—and he’s crap.

“It’s lovely and peaceful out here, isn’t it?” I say with a meaningful edge to my voice, but he doesn’t take the hint. “Could we maybe not have the music on for a bit?”

“It’s DJ Cram, babe,” says Ben, and turns the volume up. Fuck yo brudder blares out across the beautiful sea, and I wince.

He’s a selfish git.

The thought lands in my brain with no warning and makes me panic slightly. No. I didn’t really mean “selfish.” Or “git.” It’s all good. All blissful.

I don’t mind rap music, anyway. And we can talk over the top of it.

“I can’t believe I’m going back to the place where it all changed,” I say, beginning a new tack. “That fire was, like, the turning point for my life.”

“Will you stop going on about that bloody fire?” says Ben irritably, and I stare back in hurt shock.

I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. Ben’s never been interested in the fire. He’d gone sponge-diving on the other side of the island for a couple of days when it happened, so he missed the whole thing and has always been chippy about that. Still, he doesn’t have to be so snappy. He knows how important it was to me.

“Hey!” he suddenly exclaims. He’s peering at his iPad and I can see he’s just got a text. We’re fairly near the coast, so there must be some random patch of signal.

“Who is it?”

Ben looks as though he’s bursting with pride and excitement. Has he won something? “Heard of someone called Yuri Zhernakov? He only wants a private meeting with me.”

“Yuri Zhernakov?” I gape at him. “How come?”

“He wants to buy the company.”

“Wow! And do you want to sell?”

“Why not?”

Already my mind is whirring. This would be amazing! Ben would get a lump of cash, we could buy an old farmhouse in France.…