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that it was no more than an overdrawn legend which should now be entirely forgotten.
    For the remainder of the tour she drove automatically, stopping at the places of greatest interest along the way, and eventually she made a detour from Polis to a waterside taverna where they were served the fish of their choice from an enormous tank which the jovial proprietor whisked away to be cooked over a charcoal grill by his smiling wife.
    ‘This is what I like!’ Mrs Walsh declared, shedding her straw hat and enormous satchel on the table. ‘Eating native! It isn’t a bit of use going to the latest five-star hotel you can find and having a French menu thrust under your nose, no matter where you are.’
    Anna advised them about the wine.
    ‘You’ll eat with us, of course,’ Mrs Walsh insisted, ‘and tell us all about that spectacular couple you met at— where was it, now? The Temple of something-or-other. I have it written down somewhere, but you know the place I mean. We saw you speaking to them while we were photographing the ruins.’
    ‘He was a friend of my family at one time,’ Anna told her briefly, selecting red mullet from the platter offered to her by the proprietor. ‘It was—a long time ago.’
    ‘He’s so handsome!’ Mrs Walsh sighed. ‘And that elegant lady he was with? Don’t tell me she is his wife. They were too-too perfect together!’
    ‘They are not married,’ Anna returned almost sharply. ‘I don’t know how long they have known each other. They could have met anywhere. In England even.’
    ‘She’s not English, by the look of her,’ Hilary Walsh decided. ‘Scandinavian, I would say—or even German. That fair, Nordic type isn’t difficult to place.’
    ‘Nationality doesn’t come into it when she can look like that!’ one of the younger men decided. ‘She stopped me dead in my tracks when I saw her standing there among all these marble columns like some lost goddess looking for the way back to Olympus. And those eyes! Did you see them? Blue as the heavens above her, but dark too, as if life had dealt her a raw deal, one way or another.’
    ‘Your imagination will land you in trouble one of these days,’ his companion told him. ‘Why don’t you just order some wine and forget about Greek goddesses for a while—or even Scandinavian ones! I’m ravenous. I thought we were never going to eat!’
    The taverna had been an excellent idea, Anna realised, as the lavish Cypriot meal was set before them and their choice of wine was poured by the proprietor himself who was determined to please everybody. There was no formality as platter after platter was placed before them and they ate heartily, looking out through the open windows to the sea.
    When it was time to go they shook hands with their delighted host, promising to come again if they could.
    The return journey through the olive and citrus groves evidently made their day complete, but for Anna the strong fragrance of orange blossom wafting towards them from the wayside orchards only served to renew old memories which she was trying so hard to forget. She had sought to put them behind her for ever, but Andreas' return and their meeting on those high cliffs above the sea had renewed them all, bringing back the long, warm summers of their youth to mock her brave resolve. Their friendship had been a very precious thing, strong yet delicate, and he had severed it deliberately when he had gone away.
    The sun was setting when they finally reached the Villa Severus, the lights along the bay pricking out, one by one, to challenge the stars already appearing in the night sky. It was a relief to be home, but everyone seemed to have enjoyed themselves and she felt satisfied with the effort she had made to please them.
    Mrs Walsh was first through the swing doors.
    ‘We’ve got so much to tell your mother,’ she declared. ‘She really should have come with us.’
    Anna had left the mini-bus outside for Paris to put away for the night and she