One thing was clear – Emerald didn’t need to take a dip, as she was swimming through a pool of her own drool. ‘It’s so weird when the tables are turned and I’m the one begging and he’s not interested,’ she clarified, her eyes fixed on male flesh. ‘My vag has become the Greta Garbo of sexual organs. No sightings. She never comes out . . . Tell me the truth, how often do you girls have sex?’

‘You mean per day? On a bad day, three times. On a good day? Only once,’ Amber divulged. ‘Ruby?’

‘Well, Harry and I make love about twice a week. But for the past six months, he’s insisted on turning off the lights or closing his eyes. And I was suddenly not allowed to talk, either. Now I know why,’ I said, sadly. ‘I mean, obviously, in his head, he was having sex with her, whoever she is – and clearly she was getting many more orgasms than I was!’

A chill descended despite the warm, tropical sun beating down onto the deck. Emerald turned a greener shade than her namesake. It was the first case I’d ever seen of pre-coital depression. Amber also noticed the drop in temperature and tried to placate us.

‘Okay, Alessandro may be letting you down in the sex department, but at least he’s domesticated. I spend my whole life picking up Scott’s underwear, which is a total turn-off.’

‘Darling, my husband irons his underwear. It’s the only stiff thing about him. I know what I’d bloody well prefer!’

‘Ooze charisma, boys!’ the entertainment officer encouraged. ‘There are top designers here talent-spotting. Now give me laser-beam eyes. I’m talking Blue Steel!’

The contestants complied. I thought their facial expressions more closely resembled patients trying to pass kidney stones than an attempt to arouse sexual desire, but Emerald was besotted. ‘I feel like a woman with a fork in a world of soup. Lovely, yummy sexual soup,’ she sighed.

‘You’re such a sensuous woman,’ I comforted my oldest sister. ‘Maybe there’s some other reason Alessandro’s not interested. Has he got brewer’s droop? Maybe he’s a secret alcoholic – or, as they say in Adelaide, “likes wine tastings”?’

‘No. Only the odd beer. Plus, I’ve checked his online browsing history. No dogs or dominatrices. It’s just me he doesn’t want,’ Emerald admitted, forlornly.

‘Oh, god, count yourself lucky. Scott’s got genital myopia – he has a hard time seeing past his penis,’ Amber said. ‘Sometimes I don’t think he knows who or what is on the end of it. I could be a room-temperature apple pie, or a piece of rolled liver.’

‘But Scott’s hot. Why don’t you fancy him?’ Emerald said, almost crossly.