He even suggests I try to get an early flight back, and I realise he’s not going to give up. Why would he? I could kid myself that he loves me, but I know that is not the reason. He was living in a horrible little bedsit with a bathroom shared by about ten other people when we met, and now he lives in a decent house and has me to wait on him hand and foot. He’s not going to walk away from that life in a hurry, especially as until now I have always given in to his demands. For him it is – or has been – a stress-free existence.

I have been an idiot, and it is a hard thing to admit to myself. Ian and I met online. I know lots of people have forged successful relationships over the Internet, but when you meet someone through a dating site all you know about them is what they choose to tell you. They can say anything they like, and with no friends or colleagues in common to tell you anything different, you believe every word. At least, I did.

Will I ever be rid of him?

After a few minutes I take some deep breaths, and with renewed determination I jump up from the chair. I can’t let him ruin this holiday, and dinner started ten minutes ago.

Locking the cabin door behind me, I make my way along the wood-panelled corridor and push open the door to the dining room, hoping I can slip quietly into a seat. The sound of excited chatter hits me, and long before I reach the small empty table I have spotted in a corner I realise I am not going to be able to escape so easily.

A loud, jarring American voice hails me: ‘Hey, young lady! Don’t sit on your own. Come and join us – we have a spare place. Harry, move round here and give the girl a seat.’

I look towards the strident voice and see a plump woman with yellow-blonde backcombed hair and perfect make-up sitting at a table for eight. She is waving her arms at me, and Harry, a balding man in his mid-fifties with a florid face, dutifully jumps up and goes to the spare chair on the other side of the table. Short of being downright rude, I have no option but to take a seat. I smile tentatively at everyone as they introduce themselves.

The questions start to fly. ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Have you been on a trip like this before?’ ‘What brings you to Burma?’

I answer to the best of my ability, until the woman who told Harry to move asks, ‘Are you travelling alone?’

‘Yes,’ is all I can muster. I get a sympathetic smile from an older lady with beautiful long silver hair who is sitting further along the table.