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drive the minibus which they used to bring guests from the airport and to motor them round the island on sightseeing tours twice a week with Helen as their knowledgable guide. She realised that it would have to be someone who knew the history of the various archaeological sites they visited, someone with at least a part of Helen’s skill. It would be no use sending Paris, who really only knew about the beach-bar and the hotel.
    ‘I’ve decided to take the mini-bus myself,’ she told her mother the following morning. ‘We can’t very well afford to disappoint twelve people who are terribly keen to go and who have already paid their fare.’
    ‘You’ll enjoy every minute of it,’ Dorothy predicted. ‘You can do it as well as Helen can.’
    ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Anna laughed. ‘I’ve forgotten a lot of my classical mythology, for one thing, but I can certainly drive!’
    Now that she had decided to take the mini-bus herself she saw it as an excuse to refuse Andreas’ invitation to go with him to Paphos, a legitimate reason for turning down his request to walk back with him into the past, which would only prove traumatic and lead to further argument in the end.
    When she phoned the Crescent Beach she was put through to him immediately. ‘I’m sorry about the trip to Paphos, Andreas,’ she began, ‘but Helen Stylianu, our guide, is ill and I have to take her place on one of our tours. She is a most efficient guide and our guests look forward to the trips, so I can’t afford to disappoint them. I’m sure you will understand.’
    ‘Of course,' he said immediately if a little drily. ‘Business before pleasure, Anna. You might have known I would understand, although you don’t sound particularly deprived.’
    ‘Deprived? Oh—of the pleasure of your company, you mean! Well, I hadn’t thought of that, but I have apologised and perhaps you will find someone else to go to Paphos with you.’
    ‘No doubt.’ There was a lengthy pause, although the line remained open. ‘Perhaps another time,’ he said pleasantly before he rang off.
    There was no point in feeling aggrieved, she assured herself as she replaced her own receiver. He had accepted her excuse and that was that!'
    The idea of going away for a whole day’s motoring along the coast and into the mountains of the Troodos was certainly very pleasant, although she had acknowledged that her talents as a guide to the ancient temples of the gods and the vast areas of excavations which dotted the landscape could never match those of Helen Stylianu, who was a natural guide. She had no time to make notes, however, and she would just have to do the best she could and hope that people wouldn’t ask too many difficult questions.
    Deciding to arm herself with a bunch of reference leaflets, she was ready by half-past ten to pick up the small group which had gathered in the hall with cameras and extra film at the ready and woollen jackets in case it might be cold in the mountains. Mrs Walsh, a middle- aged divorcee, was dressed conspicuously in red ‘because it came out well in the pictures against all that colourless stone’, and the two Miss Crabtrees, from Cornwall, in England, were each armed with a heavy tome called Footprints Among The Ruins, which they would probably refer to along the way.
    The others, Anna discovered, were vaguely interested in mosaics, so she turned the mini-bus in the direction of Limassol, hoping to interest them in the scenery along the way. She loved her ancient island home, glorying in its history and its roots planted firmly in the past, and she would do her best for everybody.
    Mimosa and eucalyptus trees lined the bay and the Mediterranean sparkled in the brilliance of another perfect day.
    ‘I’ve been so looking forward to this,’ Mrs Walsh declared, sitting in the best seat beside her. ‘I’m sure you will do just as well as the official guide, although it isn’t your job.’
    ‘I’ll do my best,’ Anna assured her,