Martin took Debra Hammond by the hand and guided her to a seat in a little psarotaverna that looked out over the sea. The delicious smells of frying fish tempted their palate while the salty tang of the sea air and a gentle evening breeze combined with the softness of the night to delight every one of their five senses. Little lamps glowed on the tables and the pleasing sound of a bouzouki, playing that old chestnut 'Never on Sunday', added allure and romance to the atmosphere. In the distance they could hear the sea as it lapped up and caressed the shore, delicately touching it then moving back again, a delightful, incessant surging to and fro. They both relaxed in one another's company.