Gloria was planning her holiday. Of course she consulted Andy, but she didn't take much notice of what he said and, to be honest, neither did he. They had been abroad twice before, once to the Costa Brava and once to Majorca, but, while Andy was happy with virtually anywhere - they had had quite a jolly week in the drizzle in Frinton-on-Sea the previous year - Gloria felt there was something lacking. Thus, it was a bland Tuesday morning in December when she asked Eugene, 'What's that Island like? The one where you met William?' She pronounced the name as if the 'll' were a 'w' and the 'a' a 'u' - Wiwyum.

'Beautiful. It's got everything - beaches, mountains, a sensible town, disco-bars, little Greek tavernas - all in a small space. I think we're going in May.' He looked at her anxiously. 'Oh, sorry,' he said. 'If that's all right with you. We can't both be away at the same time.'

She laughed. 'Don't be daft! You're the boss. Anyway, Andy's firm don't understand holidays except in July and August. Is it in the brochures? You make it sound like you're the only English people there.'

'Oh, yes. It's in the brochures. It gets pretty crowded. Except up on The Mountain. Even up there you can't really get away from tourists.'

The telephone rang, and Gloria went to answer it.

Old John hadn't been off The Island for several years. Like Petros, he had spent occasional days in nearby places, but he hadn't really been away. Jeanne and Petros came to see him the day after they returned from their adventure, as has been told, so it was a week or so later when the matter arose. John said, 'I think I ought to get away for a few days.' Petros, still resounding with the wonder of the trip abroad, agreed with him. The old man went on, 'The trouble is Yotta. I can't leave her, but I don't really think I can take her with me. Hotels are funny about dogs, even little ones.' Yotta got wind of the gist of the conversation and put her front paws on the old man's knee.

Jeanne got up to refill her and John's glasses and steal one of his cigarettes. As usual, she had 'forgotten' to get any. 'That's not a problem,' she said. 'We'll look after her, won't we Pet?'

Petros raised his eyebrows. 'Of course. No problem.' In truth, he was very fond of the little dog and loved to play with her. It was Jeanne who wouldn't have a dog because dogs are too much responsibility. Anyway, a couple of weeks later, Jeanne and Petros called in the evening to take Yotta to the little taverna 'upstairs' where they lived so that John could drive to the airport early the next morning and get on the shuttle-flight to Athens.

John had accepted Jeanne's recommendation of Hotel Galatopoulos and was also immediately struck with the reception area's resemblance to a ship. Like Petros and Jeanne, he saw the sights of Athens, though, it must be said, didn't spend much time shopping. Still, he did a fair bit of eating and drinking, much of the latter in the hotel bar, and soon became very friendly with Naftaki. When he came down to his usual breakfast of several cups of tea on his last morning, the enormous host was sat at a table, reading a newspaper. He got up to get the old man's first cup of tea and said, 'I don't know how you can drink that muck. Why don't you take a couple of cups of decent coffee?'

'I never drink coffee. It doesn't suit my stomach and it gives me a headache.' He picked up the newspaper and wrinkled his brow.

Naftaki brought the tea. 'What's up?'

John pointed to a picture at the foot of the front page. 'I know this man.'

'So? He's a jeweller. A Dutchman. It says.'

'I know what it says. I just didn't know he was a jeweller and I didn't know he was missing.'

'So?'

'If I know where he is, shouldn't I tell somebody?'

Naftaki shrugged. 'If I were you, I'd mind my own business. Have you finished that tea?' and he got up to bring another cup.

John was insistent. 'But he lives on The Island. He stayed in a house near mine for quite a while. As far as I know, he moved to the other end.'

'As far as you know.'

'But those friends of mine who stayed here saw him. In Athens.'

'That was then. Now is now. I tell you, mind your own business. Do you have to leave tonight?'

'I do really. I worry about my little dog.'

'What are you going to do with your day?'

'I don't know. Eat a decent lunch somewhere. They don't feed you on the plane and shan't feel like cooking when I get home.'

'Have you tried the Chinese place round the corner? It's very good. Bit expensive.'

And that is what the old man did. Only when he was waiting at the airport did it occur to him wonder why Naftaki had been so concerned that he should mind his own business, but he dismissed the thought.

Incidentally, you may be wondering at the sudden improvement in Naftaki's English. In fact, there wasn't one. The conversation we have just recorded took place in Greek!

Though John didn't know it, the shuttle-aeroplane he was about to board had arrived with an interesting passenger. Gerry was alone. She didn't go the house in Pireas, but went into the city to find an hotel and, of course, it was Hotel Galatopoulos that she found. This event was not coincidental, however, for she, and Egbert, had often stayed there before. Naftaki greeted her and said, 'There was an old man from your Island here. You only just missed him. He saw Egbert's picture in the paper. Who said Egbert was missing?'

'He did. Egbert did. You'll see. I need a drink.'

Gloria's holiday arrangements were progressing swimmingly. Although it wasn't yet Christmas, she had made up her (and Andy's) mind. They would definitely go to Greece, but there would be no last-minute messing about. Oh, no! As soon as the brochures came out, she was in the travel agent's shop. That evening, she found what she was looking for, to whit, two weeks in an hotel in the seaside village we have already mentioned.

Eugene said, 'Very nice, but very expensive.'

'Don't care. Won't work out that much more than a week in Frinton. Blimey, we spent a fortune just keeping out of the rain. Bet it's bloody hot in August.'

'That's why we're going in May.'

'Have you booked?'

'Not yet. With a bit of luck, we'll get a cheap 'flight-only'. Then we can either stay with my friend or he'll find us an apartment.'

'Self-catering? Don't fancy it. Place I fancy's half-board.'

'I wouldn't bother. Plenty of places to eat.'

William had warmed to the idea of a Greek holiday. The boys had gone up to Milton Keynes for Christmas and had a very jolly time. (We must stop calling our heros 'boys' for neither of them was exactly wet behind the ears. Still, for the time being, it remains a reasonable appellation to avoid having to repeat names, and they weren't exactly long in the tooth, either.) William's mother, whom Eugene found very hard to call by her first-name, which, incidentally, is Marguerite, spent Christmas Day with them, and Eugene's sister Conny, her husband Alan, and little Katie drove up for lunch on Boxing Day. All very cosy!

As he closed the front-door behind them, Eugene said, 'Let's leave the washing-up. I want a cuddle and a drink.'

They sat on the sofa, not watching the television. Eugene said, 'Will you still love me when I'm sixty-four?'

William smiled. 'I plead the Fifth Amendment. I'm a bit worried about this last-minute flight idea. I'd rather get everything sorted. Didn't you say Gloria's already booked?'

'The holiday? Yes, but it's very expensive this early.'

'I don't see that that matters. Specially if we're getting free accommodation.'

'You don't mind staying upstairs? You didn't say.'

'I only just made up my mind. I know you want to, so why not. Anyway, finances are rather better than they were.' In truth, William was a bit fed up with work which had become too much executive and not enough tv and Eugene was beginning to feel that he and Gloria had about as much to do as they could cope with.

'So let's go into town tomorrow and get some brochures.'

William got up. 'Ah!' he said. 'Just a minute,' and he went to get his briefcase from the lobby.

'I thought you'd only just decided.'

'I have. But there's no harm in being prepared. Anyway, I need something to make my briefcase look heavy!'

'D'you know, I was a boy-scout for a while. I was so naive I didn't realise the scoutmaster fancied me!'

'He probably fancied everybody! Personally, I couldn't get on with all the dyb-dyb-dobbing.'

Egbert was driving a hired car when he met Gerry at The Island's airport. He had shaved his head completely, in fact, he had shaved his entire body, something he had sometimes been wont to do in the past. Gerry looked at him aghast. 'My God!' she said. 'You look like Buddha.'

The number thirteen is purported to be lucky for some, but is, on the whole, considered portentous. For many in England, and, probably, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, indeed anywhere else English is spoken, Friday the Thirteenth is an ominous day. Strangely, in Greece this not the case. In Greece, the day when you stay in bed is Tuesday the Thirteenth.

William and Eugene had opted to fly from Birmingham. They had spent the final preparatory weekend in Milton Keynes, because it's very easy to get a train thence to Birmingham International. No car-parking to worry about, and, since their flight left at midnight - check-in 9.30 p.m. - no unpleasant motorway drive in the evening. The time-difference between England and Greece meant they arrived at the not-too-unhappy hour of 5.30 a.m. Allowing for potential delays, old John wouldn't have to leave home before 5. Thus he set his alarm-clock for 4 - time for a cup of tea and to persuade Yotta out on to the balcony. Accordingly, he put the key in the ignition at 4.55.

Nothing happened. Not even a murmur. The old car simply wouldn't go. Too late even to try to get a taxi, he telephoned the airport, first to confirm that the flight from Birmingham was on time, which it apparently was. Then he rang a different airport number, one known only to Those Who Know, in order to speak to the Chief Representative of the travel company with which The Boys (It seems more respectful to capitalise the expression!) were travelling to ask her to accost them on arrival and tell them to phone him, and that they'd have to get a taxi. Finally, he rang Express Service, and went back to the house.

An hour later, the roadside magicians had been and got the car to start, but there had still been no phone-call from Eugene and William. He rang the 'different' number again, to hear that the aircraft was reputed to be about to touch down. Another hour later, his telephone rang. Eugene said, 'That was the flight from hell! Won't stop. I can see a couple of empty taxis. See you soon.'

John had been about to say, 'Stay there. I'll come and get you,' but Eugene had rung off before he could take breath. Thus, he made a fresh cup of tea, lit a cigarette, and sat at the desk to smoke and have his drink . Yotta scratched at the balcony window, so he got up to let her in and leave the window open, for it was by then pretty warm. He sat again in front of the computer and idly clicked the mouse on the 'time/date' icon.

09:24 - Tuesday, May the Thirteenth!.

The Boys arrived at the house a little before ten, which was when, you may remember, John should have been opening the little taverna. Realising that he might well be delayed, allowing for the vagrancies of charter flights, he had taken the precaution of putting up a notice to say he'd be there as soon as he could. He greeted Eugene with a hug and shook William's hand for, of course, they hadn't met before. William, far less inhibited, embraced the old man and kissed him on both cheeks. Eugene said, 'Hey! Steady on. You're booked!'

John said, 'Look, I'm very sorry. This was all supposed to happen three hours ago.' The little dog bounced about looking for attention. 'Don't mind Yotta. It's lovely to see you, but we've got to go to work. We'll be going up in the car. It's working now. The kettle's not long boiled. Help yourselves to anything you can find. I should think you'd want to have a sleep. You know where the bedroom is. Come up to the taverna when you feel like it, or give me a ring. The number's there. If you don't make it, I'll be back about 6. Make yourselves at home.'

They did sleep, as one is inclined to do after 'the flight from hell'. Eugene woke and saw that it was past mid-day. As he got up go to the loo, William stirred, and when he came back, William was sitting up. 'I wouldn't mind a shower,' he said.

'Help yourself. Bathroom's through there,' but he couldn't help telling the story, not for the first time, of how it was in that bathroom he had first truly come to terms with the fact that he was gay.

William said, 'Yes. It's a very special bathroom. I shall treat it with respect.'

About two, they were climbing the steep road to the taverna. Eugene said, 'So what do you think of old John?'

'Not much to go on yet, but I think like him.'

The old man was sitting on the balcony of the taverna, apparently asleep, Yotta at his feet. She yapped as they approached, and he stood up to greet them. 'I might as well not have bothered,' he said. 'I've sold three coffees, a frappe, two Cokes and an icecream all morning. Sod's Law! What can I get you?'

Eugene said, 'Let's have a couple of beers and then think about something to eat.'

'You can have a choice of beer this time. I've had a delivery.'

He came back with bottles and glasses and sat with them to offer cigarettes. When William, too, accepted one, he said, 'I don't know why, but I had the impression you didn't smoke.'

'I didn't till I met this one.'

Eugene said, 'He always says I led him as-h-tray. I thought I'd get that in before he did.'

'Have you thought about what you'd like to eat? Menu's on the table.'

Eugene didn't hesitate. 'What's the special?'

John smiled. 'Cassoulet,' he said. 'I remembered the beans this time.'

Still, they ate just what Eugene had eaten the last time he had sat on that balcony.

That evening, they did eat cassoulet, with salad, crusty bread and blue cheese. That, quite a lot of wine, and much chatter, took up the whole evening. At last John said he would have to go to bed, and asked them what they wanted to with the next day. 'I don't think I trust my car,' he said. 'I can phone for a hire-car if you like. They'll bring it up.'

'Isn't it a bit late?'

'I'll phone in the morning if you want one.'

William said, 'Personally I'd rather just stay up here. It looks like there're some nice walks.'

'You can go up on the roof if you want to top up your all-over tan. It's completely private and there are a couple of sunbeds. Anyway, I'm going to chuck you out. We can talk about it in the morning. I'll go to the loo and then I'll say goodnight.'

A little later in the bedroom, Eugene said, 'What d'you think of him now?'

'He's lovely.'

Naftaki made the first in this Chapter of Accidents, for he failed completely to recognise Egbert when he came into the hotel, in fact, he ignored him and continued to chat to some friends and guests - one class is not necessarily the same as the other. When he did at last come to the reception desk, he even asked his old friend for his passport. Egbert said, 'You don't recognise me, do you?'

'My God! Egbert? You look like Buddha!'

Egbert smiled. 'Good!' he said. 'That's how I'm supposed to look. Still, you could have come a bit quicker for a new arrival.'

'What's the idea?'

'I don't want to be recognised from the picture in the papers.'

'I don't understand. Gerry said you told the papers you'd disappeared.'

'That's right. I want to disappear. I'm going away.'

'Where?'

'You don't need to know.'

'Abroad?'

'Possibly.'

'What about your passport?'

'I only said possibly. Just let me have a room for tonight and a drink. I'll be away quite early in the morning. I'll pay you now.'

'Forget it. If you don't pay, you haven't been here, and that suits me.'

When he left the next morning, Egbert when to a photographer's and then to the flat not too far from Omonia where he had gone with Garbo.

None of which might seem to be a serious mistake, but then, things aren't always as they seem, are they?

The Boys did hire a car, which was, of itself, not a mistake, though it led to one. It was little later in the week and John arranged for it to be delivered at ten in the morning, which it duly was, though he didn't leave for work until he was sure it had been and he saw a second car take the delivery-driver away. He said, 'There you are. The keys'll be in the ignition.'

William raised his eyebrows. 'Really? Is that wise?'

'Who's going to steal a car here? It's a little Island. What could you do with it?'

'True, I suppose. At home, my car's locked, alarmed, practically wrapped in barbed-wire.'

John had left when Eugene said, 'So where are you going to take me?'

'Anywhere you like. Take a drive down to the other end. Find a beach somewhere. Have a bit of sun and a swim.'

Eugene looked anxious. 'Have you got swimming things?' he said. 'They aren't all nudist beaches, you know.'

'Of course I know! I have been here before. I didn't always go to the nudist beaches anyway.'

'Beaches? I thought there was only one.'

'No. There's another one at least. It isn't as good. Rocky. Anyway. I said. It doesn't matter.' William grinned. 'In fact, I got some of the best 'trade' I had here on a 'straight' beach.'

'Really? Where?'

'Let's go there. It's quite a way. There's a taverna near it, but there's nothing else. We could have lunch there. I haven't been in it, but I expect it's all right.'

'O.K. Sounds good to me,' and he went into the bedroom to gather their necessaries.

Error, Error, Error!

For the first few days Eugene was away, Gloria was very, very happy. She didn't mind being on her own, and her boss's absence gave her a chance to organise files and tidy up generally, indeed, she even went in on Saturday morning to see Mrs Thing, tell her how pleased they were with her cleaning, and give her a bit of a bonus. Mrs Thing was covered in confusion, blushed, almost cried, and gave Gloria a kiss, albeit only on the cheek, but still not a pleasant experience.

By the second week, she was becoming bored. She had done pretty well all she could, and had come down to sharpening rarely-used pencils and stacking packs of photocopy paper in different orders to obtain the best aesthetic effect. The telephone had rung quite often, though almost none of the calls was of much interest. Possibly, the most exciting were from Cindi in Milton Keynes (remember her?), also bored during her boss's absence, even though, in theory, she should have had plenty to do. But then, that was the difference between Gloria and Cindi.

Then there was a letter, hand-written and rather hard to read, from a man with a foreign name and an address in Highbury, enquiring about having his final accounts verified. Eugene had given her carte blanche as far as enlisting new clients was concerned, so she prepared to write to the man to say that, if he cared to FAX details of his business - by then, they had bought a machine - she would see that he received a quotation of the probable cost of the work. However, before she had had time to do the letter, the man telephoned to say that he would prefer to bring them in person which, the following morning, he did.

When he came into the office, Gloria thought, 'My God! You look like Buddha,' but she remained composed, stood to proffer her hand, and said, 'Mr van Stamp?' She collected her best telephone voice. 'I'm Gloria Mudd, executive secretary. Please take a seat.'

Egbert sat down. 'fon Stomp,' he said, and he took a sheaf of papers from a briefcase. 'Can your company help me? I close shop. I think I have trouble with tax.' Although he truly spoke perfect English, he affected a strong accent.

Gloria thumbed the papers. 'If you can leave them with me,' she said, 'I can send you a quotation an a day or so. Do you have a FAX number?'

'I prefer to get myself. When will be?'

Gloria had a problem. The 'usual' quotation was automatic - percentage of turnover and so on - but this was somehow different. She almost said that the boss was away and it would have to wait until he came back, but she didn't. She gathered herself and said, 'The day after tomorrow. Can you wait while I make photocopies?'

'Is not necessary. I trust. Goodbye.' And he simply left.

Oh, dear! What a pity!

William and Eugene were lost. They had driven for quite a distance trying to find the little cove William had described, but it didn't appear to be anywhere. For the first few kilometers, the sea had been on the right, then it vanished for a while and re-arrived on the left. The road narrowed and climbed until the sea seemed to have gone altogether. At last, Eugene said, 'Let's stop and ask someone.'

'Like who?' William did stop the car, however, though only to light a cigarette.

Eugene said, 'I'll stretch my legs and see if there's anyone about,' and he got out. Not many minutes later, he came back. 'There's a house with a car outside just up the road. Let's go and see if they know.'

'They'll have to speak English or there won't be much point. Or Spanish.' Still, William started the engine. 'Lay on, MacDuff. Tell me where to go.'

'Lay on? I thought it was 'Lead on.''

'Most people do, but it isn't.'

Eugene directed him to turn left on to an unmade lane leading to the little house with the car outside. William drove past the house, and stopped at a wide place to turn their car round. A dog chained up by the door had barked momentarily as they passed and Eugene said, 'That looks like Garbo. You know. John's dog that vanished.'

'There must be loads of dogs like that. Looks like a dog to me.'

Just then, a woman had come from the house and said, 'Shut up, Garbo! Skase, re!' though The Boys were too far away to hear her.

A stranger came to the Galatopoulos Hotel, not unusual, when you come to think about it, considering the nature of hotels. He spoke, though didn't seem to Naftaki to be, Greek, and he didn't take a room, simply ordered coffee, and sat at a table to wait for it and leaf through papers in his briefcase. A girl brought his coffee, and he asked who the boss was. The girl called to Naftaki, who came over. 'Is there a problem,' he said.

'Not at all. I just wanted to meet the famous Naftaki.' He looked around the bar. 'They're right when they say this place looks like a ship.'

Naftaki said proudly, 'I was many years at sea. I want it to look like a ship.'

'I suppose you've been all over the world.'

'Pretty well. How did you hear about my hotel? You're not Greek, are you?'

The man shook his head. 'Friends of mine told me about it.' He took a photograph from among the papers. 'Perhaps you know them. I think they stay here quite often.' The photograph was of Gerry and Egbert, of course.

Naftaki said, 'Oh, yes. They're old customers.'

'Have you seen either of them recently. I'm trying to look them up.'

'Egbert was here a little while ago, but I haven't seen Gerry for ages. He doesn't look like that any more, though.'

Grave clanger!

Gerry was still outside the house stroking Garbo when The Boys came back. The dog wagged her tail but she didn't make a noise. William stopped the car beside her though he didn't turn the engine off, and Eugene wound down his window for, you must remember, he sat on the right-hand-side. He said, 'Do you speak English?'

'Yes. Of course. Can I help you?'

'We're a bit lost. This going to sound a bit vague, but we're trying to find a cove with just one taverna.'

'I know the place. You simply missed the turning. Go back the way you came and take the first on the left. Then just follow your nose. The road isn't very wonderful. Watch out for potholes.'

By the time they got to their destination, they needed some lunch, so they parked in the deep hollow outside the taverna and went in, then out again to sit on the terrace beyond. Eugene said, 'You're right. It's beautiful.' There was a little parking area by the cove itself, but there was only one car in it, though there were several by the taverna. 'There's a car down there, but I can't see any people.'

After lunch, William said, 'Why did you bring the rucksack?'

'I didn't realise there was anywhere else to park. Anyway, let's leave the car here and walk down. Work off lunch before a swim.'

And that is what they did.

They had a lovely afternoon, swimming and sunbathing, William soon naked because there were simply no other people. Eugene, still diffident about uncovering completely in public, so to speak, hung on to his swimming shorts. About five, he said, 'I suppose we'd better be getting back,' and they climbed back to the car. It wouldn't start.

When one drives a strange car, it's very easy to switch the wrong switch. When he had parked, instead of switching the air-conditioning off, William had switched the lights on! Luckily, the owner of the taverna came out when he heard the starter-motor struggle. He said, 'I don't have cables. I'm sorry. Is best I phone for you. I know place you hire from.' Still, it was three-quarters of an hour before someone came to get them started. Actually, it was the same chap from Express Service who had got John's car going the previous Tuesday morning.

Naftaki knew he'd made a mistake, but, being of a resigned nature, decided to live with it. The strange man was obviously not Greek, indeed he'd said he wasn't, so he was no threat to Naftaki or his business, and Egbert could look after himself. He'd said he was going 'away' and that could, after all, be anywhere.

Egbert's 'shop' in London existed, as you have probably deduced, only on paper. It purported to be a jeweller's in Holloway Road, though the address that had appeared on the letter was, so to speak, a cover. Gloria had thus concluded and, although her function was to produce nothing more than a quotation, she stayed in the office well after hours that evening sifting through the receipts 'Mr van Stamp' had given her in his folder. When she got home at last, Andy was waiting, as usual not knowing what to talk to her mother about. Gloria's mother put her tea on the table. She said, 'Where've you been? Your tea's almost dried up.' Andy, equally as usual, said nothing.

John had been worried when The Boys hadn't turned up by seven. He phoned the car-hire shop to discover what had happened, and was relieved when they appeared not much later. He said, 'I'm glad you're all right. Mihalis told me you'd broken down, though he didn't say why.'

William sipped a Scotch. 'Flat battery,' he said. 'I left the lights on'. Very sorry to worry you.'

'No problem. When d'you want to eat? I've made stifado. That's Greek for stew!'

Eugene came from the bedroom where he had been to change his clothes. 'Soon as you like,' he said. 'I'm ravenous.' Yotta yapped lightly to agree with him, for she thought she was probably in for any leftovers and seriously hoped there would be some. As it happened, there were, but she was disappointed because John put the dish back into the cooling oven, intending to reserve its contents for a curry.

Egbert visited the several banks around Highbury and Islington and paid 'sensible' sums into each. By two in the afternoon, he was hungry, and went into a pub in Upper Street to eat bread, cheese, salad and pickles, a combination known poetically as 'Ploughman's Lunch', and drink a pint of English beer. The pub was pretty crowded with local 'executives', all male, in fact there wasn't a woman in the place which was probably why Egbert had chosen that particular pub. He finished his lunch and took his glass back to the bar to get another pint, by which time the bar had begun to empty so that, not much later, very few were left. He sat on a long, upholstered bench set against one wall, several little tables before it. A young man sitting a little away from him looked at him pointedly and Egbert looked back so that their eyes met. The young man took out a cigarette and moved closer to Egbert to ask if he had a light. Egbert said that he didn't smoke and their eyes met again. The young man spoke very quietly. 'Fifty quid for the afternoon,' he said.

Eugene finished his supper and wiped his mouth. 'That was teriffic,' he said.

'Drop more wine?' John picked up the bottle, filled Eugene's glass and went to do the same to William's.

William said, 'No more for me, thanks. I'm nodding off already. Must be the exertions of the day. I really feel like an early night.' He yawned.

'I think you're right. I feel like bed, too.' Eugene drained his glass.

John lit a cigarette. 'What are you going to do tomorrow?'

'Definitely not drive very far.' William looked at Eugene. 'Just the beach down the road?'

'Suits me. Yes. I'm off to bed.' He stood, perhaps a little unsteadily, and said goodnight.

William said, 'I won't be long. I'll just have a cigarette,' which he did.

The old man poured a little brandy and offered some to William. 'Oh, all right,' he said. 'Maybe I'll get a second wind.'

'You two seem very well-suited.'

'I get itchy sometimes. He doesn't. I'm his one-and-only.' William lit another cigarette.

'I thought so. You're smoking rather a lot.'

'I suppose it's because they're so cheap here. Can I have a drop more brandy?'

'Of course.' John poured a little, though none for himself.

They sat in silence for a little while until William finished his drink and cigarette and stood up. 'I suppose I'd better go to bed,' he said. 'Goodnight and thank-you,' and he kissed the old man on the forehead.

Gloria was worried. Although her brief was simply to prepare a cost estimate, she actually went through the documents 'Mr van Stamp' had left with her. The whole collection somehow smelled of fish. There were maybe a hundred loose receipts issued from the shop, all with printed headings, numbered, dated and signed, but none of them indicated exactly what had been sold. Similarly, there were unspecific assorted receipts issued by equally unspecific assorted firms, all but a few of them outside the United Kingdom. She decided she would do a balance so that, when 'Mr van Stamp' came, she could simply tell him how he stood, but that she couldn't personally certify the account which, of course, she couldn't, and that 'Mr van Stamp' would have to wait until 'Mr Swift' came back from his holiday.

While poor Gloria was toiling with his balance-sheet, 'Mr van Stamp' was engaged in his afternoon dalliance. The young man left him about six when Gloria was on the bus heading home to Bethnal Green. Egbert lay back on his bed feeling strangely happy and slept a little. He woke feeling hungry and, shall we say, itchy, though not in the physical sense. The events of the day had seriously stimulated his alimentary and sexual appetites. About nine, he got up, showered, dressed and went out hoping to find comfort for both.

He ate in a fast-food place, for he simply wanted to satisfy his hunger, and he wasn't interested in the aesthetics of food anyway. Then he returned to the pub he had used at lunchtime. It wasn't at all crowded but, again, the clientele was entirely masculine. He ordered a whisky with soda-water, and went to sit in more or less the same place he had at lunchtime, sip his drink, and view the scenery.

Frankly, it wasn't very exciting, mostly callow youths many of whom didn't look as they could manage sex of any sort, and a few traditional 'queens'. One of the 'queens' left with one of the more-promising youths and Egbert got up get another drink. Several whiskies later and only a little before closing-time, a man came in. He got himself a drink and came to sit not far away from Egbert. At times like that, Egbert wished he did smoke, finished his drink, and almost went to get some cigarettes. The man forestalled him. 'Buy you a drink?' he said.

'Thanks. I'll have a Scotch. I'm all right for soda.'

The man was hardly a youth, probably in his thirties but quite good-looking and clearly not unfit. He returned with two large whiskies and said, very openly, 'I heard you're pretty good. Your place or mine?

Gloria spent the next day in agony. 'Mr van Stamp' didn't come and didn't come. She went out for lunch, but she couldn't settle to it and was back in the office with coffee and a beigel within ten minutes. The afternoon crept on. Still 'Mr van Stamp' didn't come. Just before five, she was getting ready to go home when the telephone rang. Egbert said, 'I'm sorry I didn't come today. I didn't get much sleep last night.' We know why, though, of course, Gloria didn't! 'Is it all right if I come tomorrow morning? About eleven?'

'That'll be fine. Thanks for ringing.' Gloria put the phone down, shut the office and walked to the bus-stop marvelling at the miraculous improvement in 'Mr van Stamp's' English!

John was sitting at his desk reviewing what he had been writing when William came back into the room. 'Couldn't sleep,' he said. 'Eugene's spark out.'

The old man revolved his chair. 'Want another brandy?' he said.

William nodded and sat on the sofa. He wore only expensive, fitted boxer-shorts. John poured two brandies and said, 'I've always wanted some of those knickers but you can't get them here. I've tried. Bit late now. I'd never get into them.'

'They're very stretchy.' William wriggled out of the shorts. 'Here. Try them on. If they're any good, you can have them.' He tossed them to the old man and stretched so that his body, among other things, was rigid.

John said, 'Is this a pass?'

'I told you. I get itchy. Anyway, I really fancy you.'

The old man shook his head. 'Not tonight,' he said. 'Put your shorts on and have another drink. Then go back to bed. Think about the consequences.'

Eugene walked inside the little taverna in the middle of the afternoon. John was in the kitchen arranging food for four hearty walkers who were sitting on the balcony. 'Hello,' he said. 'Want a beer? Go and sit outside and I'll bring it to you.'

'I'd like a large brandy and I don't want to sit outside.'

The old man had set the food on a tray. 'I'll just deliver this,' he said, 'And I'll be with you.' He came back, poured the brandy and sat at Eugene's table. 'Where's William?' he said.

'Still on the beach.'

'I didn't think you could drive.'

'Didn't. Taxi. Couldn't stand it any longer.' He drained the brandy. 'Can I have another one?'

'I suppose so. Couldn't stand what any longer?'

'Him. Tarting. He's been parading up and down all day. I don't know how many men he's had.' Tears came into his eyes.

John brought the brandy bottle and a handful of paper napkins. 'Listen,' he said. 'It doesn't mean anything.'

'It does to me.' The tears welled up again. 'I thought we were . . .'

'You are. I'm sure of it.' Some people came. 'Have you got any cigarettes?' Eugene shook his head. 'Mine are behind the counter. I must go and serve this lot. Have a fag, don't gulp the brandy, and think about it. We'll talk later.'

'What d'you mean, 'Think about it'? What is there to think about?'

'I must go. I won't be long. I expect they only want drinks.'

At the end of the afternoon, Eugene hadn't had as much brandy as he would have liked because John had left a bottle only a third full when he had become busy. Thus, he wasn't too unsteady as they walked down the hill, and he tackled the rocky path without much trouble. The hired car was parked behind the old man's car, as had become usual.

William was sitting on the balcony. He wore soft, baggy shorts and stood up to greet them. John said, 'Come inside.' He put his arms round both of them and hugged them gently. 'Eugene's upset,' he said.

Eugene broke away and sat on an upright chair. William said, 'I suppose I know. I came back from a walk and he'd gone. I left straight away.' He turned to Eugene. 'By the time I got to the Square, you were getting into a taxi. I came home straight away but you weren't here. I knew where you'd gone, so I stayed here. What's the matter, love?'

Eugene wept. John sat in his swivelling chair. 'Sit down, William. Eugene didn't understand.'

'Didn't understand what?' William looked at his lover. 'Please don't cry, love.'

Eugene sniffed. 'Stop calling me 'love'. You don't love me.'

'I do. Of course I do. What did I do?'

'You know perfectly well what you did. Those men.'

'I thought you understood. I thought you were doing the same thing.'

John said, 'Listen. I think you're both, well, guilty. You both took something for granted. You each expected the other to know what he couldn't. I'm sure you love each other but Eugene didn't know the way things are with most gay men, and, William, you took it for granted that he did.' He focussed on Eugene. 'You see,' he said, 'Most gay men have to take sex when they can get it and usually do. It's got nothing to do with love or not-love. It's the most unfair part of the whole business. Now let's all have another drink and something to eat..

Jeanne's trauma was, perhaps, rather less traumatic, in fact, Petros thought it was funny. It concerned, of all creatures, Yotta. It was Summer, when most people, at least those not too succeptible to the attentions of mosquitos, keep as many windows and doors open as possible. Even when The Boys were there, John was usually asleep before midnight. Petros and Jeanne rarely came home before the witching hour, and Yotta had got into the habit of being there to meet them. Jeanne blamed Petros who, as we have said, loved to play with the little dog. However, it was she to whom Yotta had become attached.

The dog simply wouldn't leave her alone but, since the couple often left for the restaurant in the village before seven in the morning when John was still asleep, Yotta was at his feet when he woke. Jeanne determined to Do Something About It so, one evening, while the restaurant was still quiet, she borrowed Petros' motorbike and rode up The Mountain. Unfortunately, or, perhaps, fortunately, it was the very evening of Eugene and William's trauma.

She climbed the rocky path, tapped at the kitchen door, and went in, to be met by three gloomy faces sitting round the dining table with much uneaten food in front of them. She said, 'Please, John, can you do something about Yotta? She's driving me mad. She's there when we get home and she keeps me awake because she won't settle.' The little dog closed her eyes and pretended to know nothing. She was, after all, from the Mountain where people, if not dogs, always know nothing.

John looked up at Jeanne. 'What?' he said.

'Yotta. She comes upstairs and waits for us. Then she has to be on my bed. She's driving me mad. Can you keep her tied up or something?'

'Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

Jeanne sensed the atmosphere which, frankly, could have been cut with a rolling-pin. 'What's going on?' she said.

'It's all right. Just a little problem. Don't worry about it. I'm sorry. I'll shut the doors when I go to bed.'

Jeanne searched William and Eugene's faces for clues, but they remained impassive. 'Thanks,' she said. 'I'll be seeing you,' and she left.

Eugene began to laugh. 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'But I can't imagine Yotta harrassing anyone!'

The essence of Gloria's trauma we already know. After all, she she had taken on an account which she felt to be, in a word, dodgy, and had spent a considerable amount of time dealing with it. While the receipts issued by 'Mr van Stamp' had all been in pounds Sterling, those issued by firms he had bought from were in all sorts of currencies, and she had had to make several telephone calls to get at least approximate Sterling values. When he arrived, punctually at eleven the next morning, she said, 'I can't certify these accounts. You'll have to wait for Mr Swift to come back from holiday. What I can tell you is that I've done a balance-sheet, and the balance of income over expenditure is something over a million pounds.'

Egbert gathered the documents. He reverted to his broken English. 'That will make,' he said. 'Thank you. How much I must pay?'

Gloria swallowed. 'Our ususal rate is two percent of turnover. Even at two percent of profit, that's two thousand pounds.' She hadn't intended to charge him that, just for doing a balance sheet.

Egbert took a wad of money from his briefcase. He counted out forty fifty-pound notes. 'Thank you,' he said again.

Gloria's throat dried. She croaked, 'I'll give you a receipt.'

John and William joined Eugene's laughter, albeit not so heartily. Still, Jeanne and, it must be noted, Yotta, had managed to cut the atmosphere. John said, 'I think I shall write a book called 'How Gay Men Manage'. Could be a best seller!'

William said, 'I never thought about it. It's just what I've always done.' He went to stand beside Eugene and take his hand. 'I'm very sorry, love. I really didn't know you didn't understand. It doesn't mean anything, honestly.'

'Honestly?'

'Honestly. I'll stop doing it. I'm just not used to love. I suppose I've never known it before.'

Eugene looked up at William, and the hurt and anger that had been in his face had melted completely. He said, 'Do you remember something you said, oh, a long time ago?' William wrinkled his brow. 'It was when we first got together seriously. You said you need air between the bricks of a relationship because, without air, the cement won't set. Maybe what you were doing was getting some air. I don't think I could do it though. I think I'd be too afraid of being rejected.'

John said, 'Air between the bricks of a relationship. I like that. I shouldn't be surprised if I use it!'

Egbert expected to spend only one more day in England. His plan was to take the train to Harwich, the ferry to the Hook of Holland, thence to get a taxi to his flat in the suburbs of The Hague and there to wait for his hair to grow. Then he intended to book a cheap package-tour to The Island and be home, he hoped, within a couple of weeks. He decided to have lunch in that same pub in Upper Street he had used so successfully before.

Chalked on the 'Today's Special!' blackboard outside the pub were the words 'Stake and Kiddy Pie, Chips, Peas and Gravey.' (The Chalker couldn't spell, especially 'Kidney', but Egbert understood!) He licked his lips, for he was a sucker for English 'junk' food, indeed, on The Island, one of his 'treats' was to go to one of the less-prestigious resorts and seek out such delicacies. He entered, intent on gluttony.

The pub was, as he had expected, packed. He fought his way to the bar to buy a pint, then to the servery to get his feast. Plastic knife and fork wrapped in paper napkin tucked into the top pocket of his jacket, food in one hand, and beer in the other, he found a seat at a table facing the long bench on which he had sat before. Sitting opposite reading a newspaper and drinking gin-and-tonic was his bedfellow of the other night. The man looked up and said, 'I thought I might see you again. When are you leaving?'

'Leaving?'

'Well, you obviously don't always live here.'

'I'm not sure. Quite soon, I think.'

'Not too soon, I hope. My informant was right about you. I didn't introduce myself. Lester Clark.'

Yes, that Lester. You see! We told you he'd turn up again. Don't forget, coincidence is the essence of popular fiction.

The resolution of Eugene's trauma, at least for the time being, occurred the following day on the beach. Eugene said, 'Why don't you go for a walk? Get some air.'

'I thought you didn't want me to.'

'No. I think you're right. Maybe we've been on top of each other too much.'

William smiled. 'I don't mind that!' he said.

'Go on. See what you can find.'

'All right. I shouldn't think I'd be long.'

While William was away, a tall, blonde man strolled past, then returned. Eugene looked squarely at him. Hey presto! End of trauma, at least for the time being.

Not much later, William came back. Eugene said, 'Any luck?'

'Not really.'

'I have. I've been playing with a Great Dane.'

Everyone else's traumas can wait.

While Lester had been completely up-front regarding his name, Egbert had only admitted to being called Wim van Stamp which, was, indeed, the name on his passport. He told Lester that he was a retired jeweller and that he lived on The Island. Lester commented that he seemed rather young to be retired. Egbert/Wim thanked him for the compliment and said that he was the wrong side of forty and had made his money, so he didn't see why he shouldn't retire. Lester described himself as being 'of independent means' and Wim/Egbert didn't pursue the matter.

We shall cease the 'Egbert/Wim/Wim/Egbert' business and revert simply to calling him 'Egbert'. You're probably confused enough already!

Lester, as has been said, was about thirty, two years or so older than William anyway. The morning after another jolly night, he said, 'I should really like to see your Island. I don't think I've been there, but there are so many Greek islands, I might be wrong.'

'Why not now? Today?'

'What?'

'We could probably get seats on the late flight to Athens and get the morning shuttle to The Island.'

Lester thought for a moment and said, 'Why not? Let's do it!'

'Of course I can't phone Gerry till two this afternoon. She won't be there.'

'Who's Gerry?'

'Good friend. We share a house.'

'You have a partner?'

'Certainly not! Gerry's a woman. I did say she won't be there. Still, it won't matter. She won't be put out if I turn up with someone, but I like to give her warning if I can. There's no phone at the house. If I'm away, she takes the dog for a walk to the nearest kafenio about mid-day and I can phone her there.'

'I'll go and pack a bag. Shall I come back here?'

'No. Meet me in the pub at two-thirty just in case there's a hitch. I'll see to the tickets.'

They left the flat in two taxis, Lester presumably to go home to pack, Egbert, carrying his briefcase, first to the office of Olympic Airways and then to Dothebooks Hall. He had no trouble reserving two seats to The Island via Athens for which he paid with cash, but Gloria was so horrified when she saw him, she almost fainted. 'Mr van Stamp!' She composed herself. 'How can I help you?'

He took the folder of receipts with the printed balance sheet from his briefcase. 'Please, these you keep careful?'

'Pardon?'

'You know. Here. Safe. I must go Holland. Goodbye.'

'I'll give you a receipt.'

'Not. I trust.'

'When will you be coming . . . ,' but he had shut the door behind him before she could finish her sentence - 'Back?'

Egbert was late arriving at the pub. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Traffic was awful coming from the City.'

'Is that where Olympic Airways is? I've never known. I always book through an agency. What d'you want to drink?'

'No, they're not in the City. I'll have a pint of bitter, please.'

Lester went to get the beer and brought a fresh gin-and-tonic for himself. 'So where are they, then?'

'Who?'

'Olympic Airways.'

'Oxford Circus. Funnily enough, it wasn't too bad getting from there to Cheapside. It was getting from there to here that was slow.'

'Did you get through to what's-her-name?'

'Gerry? Yes. She's looking forward to meeting you.'

Egbert would have been perfectly happy to eat in the same 'fast food' place he had used before, but Lester was rather more particular about artistry in food, and insisted on an Italian restaurant near Highbury Corner. Thus they left the flat in a taxi at six thirty and took their luggage with them so they could go directly on to the airport.

Lester said, 'I'll ask the waiter to get us a taxi.'

'Why? What's wrong with the UnderGround? It's easy and a lot quicker. Change at Green Park. No traffic-jams on the Tube!'

Heathrow Airport presents a serious problem to many travellers, particularly those who choose to get there by UnderGround and face a flight of at least three hours duration. The problem is the extreme difficulty in finding a smoking area. One cannot smoke on the Tube and one cannot smoke on the flight, so one might have thought the provision of easily-found smoking areas not unreasonable. Of course, the problem did not pertain for Lester and Egbert, neither of whom smoked. However, the vast majority of their fellow passengers on the Olympic flight were, naturally, Greek, and the vast majority of that vast majority were smokers for whom the problem pertained like mad!

Check-in went smoothly and the flight seemed to be called in no time. Duly, the company repaired through customs and passport control to the departure area and, not long after, to the relevant gate. Eleven o'clock came, time for the plane to leave. They were still at the gate. Minutes ticked by. No plane. Passengers became disgruntled, for no explanation was offered. About half-past eleven, two young women dressed in the uniforms of a British airline appeared and tried to communicate, hard though it is to do so above the voices of about a hundred unhappy Greeks. Then came the First Revolutionary Gesture.

Two elderly gentlemen went to the part of the area furthest from the departure point and lit cigarettes. An airport official came to tell them it was a 'no-smoking' area. They took no notice. More smokers arrived to light up, and the official went for reinforcements. A few minutes later, he returned with two colleagues, by which time some fifty somewhat happier Greeks were enveloped in a cloud of tobacco smoke. Sensing a possibly lynching, the officials backed off. Just after midnight, a man arrived with a loud hailer.

It is, I fear, unhappily typical of British facilities that they expect everyone to speak English. Many of the passengers on the fated flight did not. The man appealed for someone to translate for him. No-one moved. The man swallowed and turned pale. Egbert and Lester were, of course, well away from the improvised smoking area and weren't really listening, but Lester detected some of the gist of what the man was saying. 'I think he wants someone to speak in Greek for him,' he said. Egbert picked his way through the crowd.

'Can I help?' he said. The man looked extremely relieved, explained the situation, to whit, that there was a problem with the aircraft, and everyone would have to go back through customs and be taken to an hotel.

Thus, a hundred grumbling Greeks, three or four Britishers and a Dutchman trooped back to the public areas and out into the night. The two young women originally charged with the unenviable task of sorting out the mess were trying to explain that there was problem with obtaining buses, and that everyone would be taken in taxis, of which, of course, there were not enough. Egbert and Lester arrived at a rather scruffy hotel in Bayswater at one thirty in the morning to find that, not only did it have no bar, the coffee-machine had broked down. They were lucky enough to be offered a double room, though many people were required to take what rest they could in what amounted to dormitories. In fact, the place's only saving grace was that, as it was run by Cypriots, the staff did speak Greek. At eight the following morning, buses came to take everyone back to the airport. Luckily for Olympic Airways, the morning flight to Athens was far from full and all could be accommodated.