She went into her room and opened up the windows and shutters and stepped out onto the balcony. Out over the sea in the direction of Turkey, a long flash of lightning stabbed down over the heaving sea, and thunder rumbled. A damp fresh breeze struck her cheek. She leaned on the railing of the balcony and watched the approach of the storm, standing there until the first large warm raindrops struck her cheek before retreating into her room. All night long the thunder crashed and rolled as she tossed and turned in bed. But at least, she thought, before she finally fell into a last fitful bout of sleep, the morning would probably be clear and fresh and that would raise her spirits.

But the morning was grey and damp and sticky, with lowering clouds lying over a stormy sea. She ate her breakfast, looking cautiously around from time to time in case Olivia, husband and friend came in, but there was no sign of them.

James called for her promptly at ten o’clock. He was wearing a short-sleeved blue cotton shirt which matched his eyes, eyes which surveyed Agatha, neat in tailored white blouse and linen skirt, with a guarded look.

They drove out along the road over the mountains to Nicosia. “There is a story that the Saudis paid for this to be a dual carriageway,” said James, breaking a long silence. “When a Saudi official came to open the dual carriageway and he only saw this two-lane highway, he was outraged. ‘Where’s the other half?’ he kept demanding.”

“And what had happened to the other half?” asked Agatha.

“Probably went straight into someone’s pocket and ended up as a high-rise or a hotel.”

They crested a hill and there, down on the plain, lay Nicosia, Lefkoça to the Turks, bathed in a yellow gleam of sunlight which pierced the low, threatening clouds.

“It looks like one of the Cities of the Plain,” said Agatha.