The Pagan Island by Violet Winspear

of the taverna I am relieved, and I look forward to making the acquaintance of down-to-earth Greeks.” “You will find my people unlike in many ways to your own people. Though Greece has been called the cradle of civilization, there remains in the blood of hot islanders the primitive emotions and customs which might alarm a sheltered young woman from England.” “You must always have lived on your island,” she said, “if you think English women so very sheltered. I assure you I’m not the nervous type.” “The independent type, eh?” A gleam of mocking amusement took fire in the depths of his eyes. “It must be galling to have to ask a favour of a man.” “I intend to pay you.” She tilted her chin, which had a dent in the gently squared base of it. “And I hope you intend to let me?” “You would dislike to be in my debt, eh?” He strolled away from her and her eyes widened with a delight that would not be denied as he began to load crates on to a blue-painted caique which was moored sternwise to the quay. Despite the master of the caique being a bit of a boor, she was glad she had lost the steamer. To arrive at Petra in a real Greek vessel was somehow fitting, and she would ignore the man and absorb all she could of her surroundings. The quayside itself was colourful, with the ruins of an old fortress half-way in the water, the half-submerged stones looking like lopped and savage heads. A black-hooded crow crouched on one of the stones, and a tangle of fishing nets held the glint of fish sc