‘We should go back for her,’ shouted Theresa. ‘Her son is on the missing yacht.’

But Marcel clearly did not hear her plea, for the boat’s speed increased. They pulled out of the sheltered harbour, heading towards the dark horizon.

Roger stood up. He took mini steps towards the wheelhouse, until he was standing just behind Marcel.

Theresa was still seated right beside the outboard motor, so couldn’t hear their conversation. But Roger was gesticulating wildly towards the shore, while Marcel shook his head.

Roger shrugged and walked towards Theresa. He was pulling a grimace. They were not turning back for Cynthia.

Then Marcel stopped the engine.

Roger smiled and made a thumbs-up at Theresa.

Marcel ran towards Roger and grappled him from behind.

Theresa was so startled she had no idea what was happening.

The two men struggled, causing the boat to rock perilously. Roger lost his footing and put out his hand to steady himself. At that moment Marcel gave him a sharp shove, toppling him over the side.

Roger splashed into the black water.

Theresa looked to Roger, then back up to Marcel, who made a gesture of wiping his hands and moved calmly back to the helm.

Theresa was horrified. She looked around for something to throw after Roger – a lifebuoy or something, anything that he could grab on to, until they could fish him out. There was nothing.

‘Help! Help!’

Roger was bobbing up and down, gasping for breath.

‘I can’t swim.’

Theresa pulled off her own life jacket and tossed it into the sea. As it hit the water, it immediately inflated.

‘Roger! Grab that,’ she cried, hanging on to the side of the boat and leaning out.

‘Marcel,’ she called forward, ‘do you have a boathook or something to help pull Roger aboard?’

But Marcel kept his back to her.

He started up the engine again.

‘Watch out! Marcel!’ Theresa was anxious lest Roger get caught up in the current and pulled under, or, worse, cut up by the rotor blades. ‘Marcel! Turn off! Marcel! Coupez! Arrêtez!’

But Marcel simply thrust forward the lever and the boat raced into the darkness.

Theresa looked back, tracing the pale wake, trying to see where Roger was.

If only he could swim.

The nearest point of the quayside was a mere twenty metres away.

She got to her feet and, hunched over to grip the sides, edged forward towards the wheelhouse.

‘Marcel?’ She stood as soon as she reached the canopy. ‘Why did you do that? Marcel?’

Marcel continued to look straight ahead.

Then he turned and glanced at Theresa.

He twisted around to look back towards the shore, which was now simply a necklace of tiny lights.

‘Marcel! You can’t just throw people overboard.’

Marcel cut the engine for the second time.

Good, thought Theresa. Now he’s going to turn back and rescue poor Roger.

‘Why can’t I?’ He looked Theresa in the eye. ‘Roger was not invited.’