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out of the kitchen window, she saw the car park of the restaurant through a screen of mimosa bushes.
    Jackie joined her. ‘That’s a very good fish restaurant. The manager, Umit Erener, is a friend of ours.’
    ‘I might try it.’
    Jackie’s eyes twinkled. ‘Does Mr Lacey always call you Mrs Raisin?’
    ‘Only in the company of strangers,’ said Agatha stiffly. All the time she was thinking, I shouldn’t have said I would stay. I’ll have driven him further into his shell. ‘He’s old-fashioned.’
    As she and James finally drove off, Agatha said, ‘I’ve selected that little single bedroom at the front of the house, you know, the one you have to walk through the bathroom to get to.’
    He swivelled his head angrily and glared at her. ‘You what?’
    ‘I – I said I thought I’d sleep in that little room at the front of –’
    ‘I thought that’s what you said, Agatha, but I can hardly believe my ears. I am renting this villa, not you, and yet you immediately take over and decide where you want to sleep!’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Agatha huffily. ‘I thought you would like the master bedroom.’
    ‘Just stop thinking for me, will you?’
    Agatha bit her lip. She had been about to say, forget it, she would stay at the hotel, but the whole reason she was there was to get him back.
    Why do you want such a cold pig? sneered a voice in her head.
    When he stopped outside the Dome, he said in a cold voice and staring straight ahead, ‘No doubt I shall see you tomorrow.’
    Agatha cracked. ‘Oh, stuff you and your stupid villa,’ she howled, tears starting to her eyes.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m still angry at being ripped off by Mustafa and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. See here, we’ll have dinner tonight. I’ll see you in the dining-room of your hotel at eight.’
    Agatha gave a watery sniff. ‘See you then.’
    The trouble was, she thought, when she stood out on her hotel balcony and watched the surge of the grey-black Mediterranean pounding on the rocks below, that being in a foreign country made her feel lost and vulnerable.
    But they would have dinner together. In the evening, the tables were set out in the open air on the terrace. She would reserve a table at the edge overlooking the sea. She would put on her best gown.
    She walked back in and studied her face in the glass. Oh, those treacherous lines around the eyes and round the mouth! She slapped on a face pack and settled down to wait for the evening ahead.
    By five to eight, she was ready to go downstairs to the dining-room. She felt she had never looked better. Her hair was brushed and shining, her face smooth under carefully applied foundation, lipstick and mascara. She was wearing a low-cut red chiffon gown and high-heeled black patent-leather shoes. She felt sure she had lost inches already with the sauna-like heat.
    Her mind wandered off into a dream. The blustery wind had stopped blowing. They would sit at that table she had reserved earlier, looking at each other across the candlelight. At the end of the meal, he would reach across the table and take her hand. An electric current would pass between them. Silently he would lead her up to her room and then . . . and then . . .
    She jerked out of her dream with an effort. It was now eight o’clock and James was always punctual.
    When she stood at the entrance to the dining-room, the noise hit her full in the face. It was Saturday night and a belly-dancer was performing. Everyone was clapping her and cheering and laughing.
    And then she saw James. He was not sitting at the table she had reserved for them but at a table in the centre of the dining-room – with Rose, Olivia, Harry, George, Angus and Trevor. They waved to her and she went reluctantly to join them.
    ‘We heard your fellah asking the metter dee for Mrs Raisin’s table,’ shouted Rose, ‘so we says, she’s a friend of ours. Come and join the party. Park your bum next to Trevor and we’ll have