She spoke with a wry lack of self-pity that was attractive. Looking at her more closely, he saw that she wore no makeup, her hair was cut efficiently short, and she’d made no attempt to enhance her appearance.

‘And your name is-?’ he queried.

‘Petra. And you’re Achilles. No?’ The last word was a response to his scowl.

‘My name is Lysandros Demetriou. My mother wanted to call me Achilles, but my father thought she was being sentimental. In the end they compromised, and Achilles became my second name.’

‘But that man downstairs called you by it.’

‘It’s important to him that I’m Greek because this place is built on the idea of Greekness.’

To his delight she gave a cheeky giggle. ‘They’re all potty.’

They took stock of each other. He was as handsome as she’d first sensed, with clean cut features, deep set eyes and an air of pride that came with a lifetime of having his own way. But there was also a darkness and a brooding intensity that seemed strange in this background. Young men in Las Vegas hunted in packs, savouring every experience. This one hid away, treasuring his solitude as though the world was an enemy. And something had driven him to take the air in a place full of danger.

‘Demetriou Shipbuilding?’ she asked.

‘That’s the one.’

‘The most powerful firm in Greece.’ She said it as though reciting a lesson. ‘What they don’t want isn’t worth having. What they don’t acquire today they’ll acquire tomorrow. If anyone dares to refuse them, they wait in the shadows until the right moment to pounce.’

He grunted. ‘Something like that.’

‘Or maybe you’ll just turn the Furies onto them?’

She meant the three Greek goddesses of wrath and vengeance, with hair made of snakes and eyes that dripped blood, who hounded their victims without mercy.

‘Do you have to be melodramatic?’ he demanded.

‘In this “pretend” Greek place I can’t help it. Anyway, why aren’t you in Athens grinding your enemies to dust?’