He put the phone down.

Sally wondered whether, last night when she was drunk, William had installed CCTV. How otherwise could he know she was still in bed?

She groaned and slumped through to the bathroom. She looked a sight. She pulled on some clothes, quickly brushed her teeth and washed her face, then went down to get the boat key and her safety kit.

The streets were busy this morning. Most of the people shoving up the hill, which she was trying to get down, were definitely Brits. Salmon-pink faces, wobbly arms, midriffs bulging out of their embarrassing T-shirts, bearing utterly unfunny slogans like ‘I’m With Stupid ’ and ‘Keep Calm Woman and Pour the Tea’.

Sally growled to herself as she pushed through the thrusting, chattering throng. She knew when crowds were this thick it meant that a cruise ship had come in along the coast. Hopefully some of them would take lunch at La Mosaïque.

At the bottom of the hill she found the quay also bustling with slow-moving tourists.

Tugging the collar of her waterproof jacket up, she scuttled along at the water’s edge. The last thing she needed now was one of them recognising her, and telling her how much older she looked than when she was on telly twenty years ago.

She shoved through the doors of La Mosaïque to find Carol, holding out a large cardboard box and tapping her watch. ‘The ship’s name is on the box. Presumably you know how to find an address which is just “somewhere out here on the water”?’

‘No more details?’

‘It’s a 52-footer,’ Carol read from her notes. ‘Which probably means more to you than me.’

Sally grabbed the box and peered at Carol’s felt-tip-marker writing. ‘“The Bitch Got The House”?’

‘Apparently that’s the name of their yacht.’

‘What kind of a name is that?’

Carol shrugged. ‘Ours not to question why . . .’

‘And they didn’t tell you anything other than the boat was on the water?’

Carol proffered Sally her notebook.

Laying down her safety kit, Sally flicked through the scrawled pages.

‘It’s a Sunseeker, 52 foot?’ Sally rolled her eyes. ‘Well, that narrows it down a bit. Did they even say they were off Bellevue-sur-Mer? They’re not at Villefranche, Èze or Cap-Ferrat, perhaps? The Côte d’Azur is a huge stretch of water.’

‘Stop fussing, woman.’ Carol thrust the box at Sally. ‘I’ll get hold of them again and then phone you with the details.’

Sally stood, waiting.

‘No, Sally. I mean you go, now. I will phone you with further info.’

Sally did not like the way Carol was talking at her as though she was simple.

‘Come on, Sally. Vamoose! We want to start this business with a good reputation.’

Suppressing her desire to reply, Sally turned on her heels and went out again into the open. She nimbly steered the picnic box through the pressing crowds, then took the steps down to the quay where her little fishing boat was moored.