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suitcase in tow. He turned back to wave at me. He was crying a little too.
    Three weeks of dreary job and slightly tense late-night phone calls to Christos later and I was finally bound for Greece. Waiting in the airport lounge for my flight, I began to feel more at ease than I had done in weeks. I was dressed in low-rise, white linen trousers that hugged my bottom in a way Christos loved (he had urged me to buy them, after all), a green lace-trimmed top with a plunging neckline, and the shoes that Christos had brought me back from his recent trip to Athens. Around my neck was a knotted pearl and silver necklace that Christos had also given me. It nestled in my cleavage suggestively. As I waited for my flight to be called, I stroked it meditatively, as if it were a rosary.
    Then Christos rang. ‘We’re all ready for you, Nichi
mou
. I’ve washed the car, Mimi has made up your bed, and Tolkien has even had a bath in your honour.’ Mimi was the cleaning lady, Tolkien the family cat. ‘Are you ready for it, little Egg?’
    I was. I couldn’t wait to be back with Christos. There was no one like him, and no one better for me.

CHAPTER 5
    As the plane touched down in Greece, my heart heaved with relief. I liked to think that my parents named me Nicola because they somehow knew I was destined to spend time in the land of its origin. I had been taught that my name meant ‘leader of the people’, which, given my bossy nature, made a lot of sense. But the first time I met Christos’s father he called me ‘Niki – the goddess of victory!’ My real victory, I felt, was in having harpooned Christos. The same Christos that was now waiting for me at the airport.
    The double doors of the arrival gate parted and there he was, clad in khaki pants and a white patterned T-shirt, running a nervous hand through his black curls. His skin was now the colour of burnt toffee, shading his muscular body into sharper definition, the sleeves of his T-shirt straining against his deep, bronzed biceps. He flashed me a devoted smile from across the barriers. Christos
mou
.
    Christos couldn’t wait for me to file out after the other passengers and instead bounded towards me, lifted me up in his arms and swirled me about. In England, witnesses to such a nauseating romantic display would have scowled and tutted, but in Greece, people smiled and nodded in approval. There was something about Christos that could make clichéd romantic gestures seem as though he had invented them.
    Christos took my case in one hand and steered me protectively out of the arrivals lounge into the breath-binding heat. Greece was infernal in high summer, but meeting that temperature for the first time again made my skin prickle with delight.
    ‘Ah,
Thee mou
,
Thee mou
!’ Christos cursed. He sweated like an Englishman. ‘Why isn’t it raining like lovely, grim London?’
    ‘Because Egg needs a hot holiday!’
    ‘Egg’s going to get a hot holiday, don’t you worry!’ He smirked at the double entendre. ‘Now, Nichi
mou
, we have two options. Either we head towards home, calling at Giagia’s first to get fed, or we go to Paradisos beach. Which is it to be?’
    ‘Beach, please! I need to feel the sea!’
    Christos led me to the impractical vintage red Mercedes. I loved it so because its bench-like front seats meant I could sneakily unfasten my belt and slide across right next to Christos.
    We took first the motorway and then a coastal path. The beach was craggy, a sepia wilderness that felt as though it was in South Africa rather than Greece. It was nearly always deserted. I wondered if Christos had in mind the same thing I did.
    He pulled up under the shade of some olive trees. I was still in my travelling clothes. ‘Christos, will you open the boot? Can I get a little sundress and my bikini out of my suitcase please?’
    ‘No, no, you don’t need them, Nichi.’
    I turned to him. He gave a knowing smile from behind his sunglasses, teeth gleaming against his