Theresa couldn’t remember saying she was going back to London, except to look for Chloe.

‘There was that message on your answering machine. An office in Hampstead . . .’ He was up beside her now, face to face. ‘When the others say cruel things you are always the one to soften their words with your sweet loving heart.’

Theresa cursed the day she had ever tried to be the peacemaker.

‘Soon we can be together all the time. We can anywhere, together. You said once you were free of the restaurant you could spend lots of time with me. And so you can. For I will be free too and have money. You will have anything you desire.’

Theresa twisted her head around to make sure she was looking him in the eye as she said, ‘Marcel – I did not mean any of that personally. You have misunderstood me. I have no feelings for you. None. As for the restaurant . . . it was all just . . . the things people say and don’t really mean . . .’

‘You do mean them. And you love me. You know you do! You told me so many times. Je t’aime. Je t’adore. You’ve said it.’

‘Never! Never have I said those things.’ But even as the denial came out of her mouth, she wondered whether, when reaching for a compliment in her basic French, she might have accidentally said, ‘Je t’aime, je t’adore’ when she really meant Je l’aime, je l’adore. I love IT, I adore IT.

‘You give me signs, Theresa. All the time you give me signs. You left the book for me. All those lovely photos of yourself. You felt sexy with me.’ With some horror Theresa realised she must have made the elementary error of saying ‘Je suis chaud’ – ‘I feel sexy’ – when she meant ‘J’ai chaud’ – ‘I am hot’. Marcel was still speaking: ‘You are a lonely woman; I am a lonely man.’

As Theresa stretched forward, trying to push open the hatch, Marcel once again launched himself towards her, his hands fumbling clumsily at her breasts.

His face was close to hers now. He rolled on top of her.

She tried to escape his kiss but, as she rolled and tumbled through the mess of bedding, still aiming for the doorway, Marcel’s wet, cold lips slithered over her ear.

Simultaneously he caught hold of the edge of her blouse and yanked at it. She heard the fabric rip. Buttons flew off.

She attempted to cover up her flabby body and too-tight bra. But Marcel’s hands seemed to be everywhere, palpating at her flesh.

She kicked against the hull and tried to use the solid surface to lever herself forward, but with his dead weight on top of her it was impossible to get anywhere.

To make matters even worse, the little boat had started rocking violently from side to side.