Although he thanked her in heavily-accented English, the young man continued in French, asking Athanasia if she would like him to sing something else. Always eager to converse in any of the many languages she knew, the pretty polyglot immediately switched to French. She was so fluent that she sounded like a native. “Oh, most definitely!” she enthused. “You are originally from France? How long have you been here in Whitby? Do you live with your family? Are you a famous …?”

Emilios squeezed her hand hard, as he often did when she asked too many personal questions. Athanasia looked up at him. Instead of a disapproving expression, he seemed to be contemplating something, glancing every now and then at the French singer.

With a mental shrug, she smiled at the man brightly. “Sorry for asking so many questions and for completely forgetting my manners. I’m Athanasia Katsaros and this is my brother Emilios. We moved here about a month ago from London. Emilios … ouch!” She winced as he squeezed her hand again. This time she wrenched it away, glared at him, and stepped out of his reach and toward the amazing singer.

He addressed her brother then, and grinned at him. Hopefully, Emilios would behave.