He opened a door into a saloon as large and impressive as most drawing rooms, with windows almost all around. There were leather sofas and great bowls of flowers on the tables and a well-stocked bar in one corner. He motioned me to sit, then barked out orders to a crew member who hovered behind us. “You can open the champagne now and tell the chef we’ll be wanting something to eat soon. And none of that mamby-pamby French stuff either. Good hearty English food, tell him.”

I could hear the deep throb of the engine and the boat started to rise and fall as it cut through waves. Champagne was opened and a glass handed to me.

“Drink up,” Sir Toby said, draining his own glass. “Plenty more bottles where that came from.”

“It’s rather early yet,” I said cautiously.

“Nonsense. I know you bright young things—knocking back the booze at nightclubs, and a spot of snorting as well, what?”

“Not me,” I said. “I rarely drink or go to nightclubs. Too expensive and money’s tight these days.”

“Ah, so that’s the attraction, is it?” Sir Toby laughed. “I thought it had to be. I didn’t think you fancied me for my looks.”

Fancied him? Perhaps I had gushed a little too much the night before. “I really just admired your swimming pool and your yacht.”

He patted my knee. “That’s all right. I understand. It’s not easy trying to survive in the big world these days. You young models need what the Yanks call a sugar daddy. Well, I’m as sugary as they come.”

I stood up. “Oh, no, I really didn’t mean . . .”

“What’s the matter? Getting cold feet now we’re alone?” He laughed. “Too late for that, my dear. We’re out at sea and the only people within shouting distance are crew members trained by me to look the other way, no matter what.” And he grabbed my arm, pulling me down onto him. Then he tried to kiss me with big wet lips. I squirmed and wriggled. “Let go of me. You’ve got the wrong idea.” (Yes, I know a lady never says “got” but this was a stressful moment.)

“But I have a very good idea,” Sir Toby said. “I like ’em young and virginal and believe me, my dear, you’ll like what I can offer.” And his large, meaty hands were fumbling to remove my fisherman’s shirt.

“Stop it, please,” I said, grabbing one of his hands.

“A touch of modesty. I can understand that,” he said. “Well, we’ve a good selection of bedrooms. Young ladies often like the pink one. Lovely bouncy bed in there. Come on.” He grabbed my wrist and started to drag me across the saloon, then down a long wood-paneled corridor. My heart was beating so loudly that I was sure it must have echoed back from those walls.