‘Hello, signora,’ he replies. He detects my nerves. ‘Don’t worry, almost everyone here can speak English, to our English-speaking guests.’

That’s such a huge relief. I did notice, on the boat, that everything was said in a handful of languages, but English was first. I suppose that’s great for me, but I almost feel guilty, speaking a language that many people take the time to learn. All I have under my belt is an F in GCSE French. If you’d like me to describe my bedroom or order something from a bakery, I’m your girl, but if you’re after a real French conversation, well, my vocabulary is severely lacking in… je ne sais quoi.

‘How was your journey?’ he asks.

I just stare at him blankly. I must look as if I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, and cried all the way.

‘It was great,’ I lie politely. ‘Thank you. I have a booking under Lila Rose.’

He checks his computer.

‘Ah, the Tylers,’ he says happily. A second later it occurs to him that I’m standing here alone. ‘Is Mr Tyler with you?’

‘Mr Tyler got held up at home,’ I lie, because, first of all, this poor bloke doesn’t want to hear me banging on about my private life and, second of all, I’m suddenly worried I might get the boot for being single. ‘He’ll be joining me later.’

‘Not a problem, Mrs Tyler,’ the man replies. ‘If I could get a signature, per favore.’

‘My name is still Rose,’ I tell him politely, hoping he’ll get the hint.

‘I see,’ he replies. ‘Here in Italy, a woman keeps her maiden name when she gets married too.’

Oh, this poor bloke. I’m not going to spell it out for him – it would only make him feel bad. I just smile and nod.

‘You are staying in one of our luxury villas, yes?’

‘I am,’ I reply.

‘Bene,’ he says. ‘It’s all ready for you. Savino will assist you with your baggage and show you the way.’

‘Grazie,’ I say– one of the only two Italian words I have managed to absorb. The other, of course, being ciao.

A small, twenty-something Italian man appears almost out of nowhere. The two exchange words in Italian. I have no idea what they’re saying, but there seems to be some sort of misunderstanding.

‘Apologies, Savino is still learning,’ he tells me. ‘He will take you now.’

Savino is wearing a cream shirt with a gold name badge, but I don’t imagine I’ll learn much more about him.

‘English, only a little,’ he explains to me as he leads me outside to a golf cart.

‘That’s okay,’ I reply.

I don’t feel much like talking. Not just because I’m in a bad mood, but because there’s so much to take in here.

Valentine Island is even more beautiful than the photos, even at this time of night. Tiny lights illuminate the pathways that lead around the resort. One of the things that appealed to me the most was the claim that this place had everything. Multiple pools, beaches, trails, activities, sports, spas, shops, restaurants with cuisine from all over the world – and then there’s the accommodation. When I made our booking, I spent a lot of time looking at different options. There were lots of different rooms in the hotel, where we just came from, but then there were the villas that we’re passing now. I was leaning towards the villas, each of which contained three apartments, one on each floor. I liked the idea of having our own little living space, with a kitchen for cooking our own food (bought from the island supermarket – this place is a dream!) and a balcony for catching some private rays.