The two-line ad in the Sunday Times advertising Villa Parginos in Corfu conjured an image of long afternoons drinking wine on a marble patio shaded by a grape arbour, looking out over an impossibly blue Greek sea. Instead James Chatto and his wife Wendy got a little pink bungalow with linoleum, a buzzing fluorescent light and a patio separated from the village's main street by a wire fence. Yet Corfu delivered so much more than their wildest fantasy had suggested. There was the intoxicating warmth of the sun, walks along sage-bordered byways, and swimming naked off an idyllic beach. There were olive trees that dropped their fruit into nets, as well as fresh apricots, grilled sardines, marinated lamb and long evenings of storytelling at the local taverna. The couple arrived as young tourists, new to each other and in love, and were captivated by the way the islanders embraced them. It was their deep connection to Corfu and its people that later sustained them through the darkest tragedy, just as it had carried them into the most wonderful love.