‘They can’t want us to go further than this,’ she shouted. ‘They have got to have captured their shot. I’m turning back.’

She wasn’t sure whether or not Eggy had heard her. The noise from the wind seemed to swallow her speech.

The RIB was now tossing from side to side, water sploshing over the transom.

She had to get the engine back on and start moving. Then the boat would be once more under her own control rather than drifting at the whim of the sea. She tried to get a purchase on the saddle, but, with her long, tight skirt, now that the leatherette was covered in spray, it was impossible to hold on.

‘Sod this!’ Sally bent down, gripped the bottom of her dress and tore it up the seam to her waist. ‘They’ll have to make a repair for the other shot when we get back to shore.’

‘If we ever make it back to shore,’ Eggy whimpered.

Sally managed to climb astride the wet saddle, and face the console.

She turned the key to start the engine.

It spluttered.

‘Not now, not now,’ she murmured to the controls. ‘Come on. Come on.’

She turned again.

The engine engaged for a brief moment then cut out.

‘Come on, old thing! COME ON! For God’s sake.’

Once more she turned the key.

This time a mere gurgle, followed by nothing.

Sally took hold of the radio receiver. Now she knew she had to call at least a pan-pan signal, indicating to the local coastguard that their boat had a mechanical failure.

She prayed that the radio was real and not a dummy stuck on by the props department.

Sally looked to the east. The rocks were getting nearer. Simply on the power of the tide the boat was racing towards them at great speed.

She switched on the radio and pressed the Urgency Alert button. She waited for the decreed fifteen seconds, pressed the transmission button and shouted into the microphone. ‘Pan-pan, PAN-PAN, PAN-PAN.’ She left a pause. She had no name for the vessel, nor an exact position. ‘Bay of Èze. Engine failure. Require a tow. Two persons on board. Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan. Over.’

As she slid the radio mic back into its holster, she realised that the nearest coastguard station was in Nice and, unless a ship happened to be already on a nearby call, they would be waiting out here a good half hour before anyone could reach them.

She looked at her watch. She had forgotten that Wardrobe had taken her own watch and replaced it with an idiotic, female-sized minuscule evening thing, with a clock face which was impossible to read without a microscope.

She guessed it must be about nine o’clock.

She had another go at starting up the engine. When nothing happened she shouted a hail of curses up to the sky.