And it was at that moment that, straight ahead, she saw the end of the white gin palace which bore the asinine name The Bitch Got The House.

The words were clearly visible on the prow.

The boat itself was on the rocks, slamming hard against them. The pointed white bow reared up out of the water, the aft end of the craft was submerged. The transom was obviously shattered.

Sally could just about make out two human shapes, perched at the top of the only part of the boat untouched by water. The kids were clinging to the shining silver rails of the foredeck, screaming for help.

Once more Sally grabbed the radio mic and made a call: ‘MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY.’

Theresa dropped the receiver.

Cyril took a step towards her.

‘Let me explain . . .’ He spoke slowly and in French. ‘I am here to save you . . .’

Theresa put up her hands, though what defence could they provide against a knife?

She could try to talk him down. But as her French was poor and his English even worse, she knew it would be too difficult.

Then she had a better idea. She pulled open a drawer, reached inside and pulled out the very knife which he had sent her.

She held it out before herself, gripping the handle with both hands. They stood still, facing one another like pistol carriers at a duel, looking one another in the eye, each holding steady.

Nobody moved.

‘What do you want, Cyril?’ Theresa’s heart was pounding so hard she feared it would burst. ‘Why are you here, holding a knife towards me?’

‘A bad man is hunting.’ Cyril glanced down at the knife in his hand. ‘I came to tell you.’

‘Cyril! Please put the knife down.’ Theresa slipped slowly around the edge of the counter and took a few steps back towards the front door. ‘Why are you pursuing me? What do you want?’

‘I am married.’ Cyril swung the knife down, dangling it at his side. He started speaking in a stumbling English. ‘My wife. I give you cake. My wife is drugged. But at Hotel Astra I have room of you . . . Lovely photos! Attention! I am love you.’

Theresa was near the front door, which she had left ajar for Roger and Cynthia to follow her in.

She took one more step back and was able to kick it wide open.

‘Theresa! Non! Non! Attendez! Attention!’

Edging backwards through the door, Theresa yelled out for Roger, then turned and fled into the street.

She physically bumped into William, strolling along with Carol.

She pointed back towards her flat.

‘Cyril,’ she gasped. ‘With a knife.’

‘Oh God!’ Carol grasped Theresa by the elbow and dragged her along at speed in the direction of the brasserie. ‘Let’s get you somewhere where there are lots of people around you.’ She turned to William and told him that Cyril had gone mad and taken to stalking Theresa.