A passion for birding would account for his presence on board. However, it did occur to me that it’s easier to bone up on Egyptian ornithology than Egyptology or – as I knew to my sorrow – Islamic art. A clever man could learn enough about it in a few weeks to convince nonexperts that he was one.

When questions were invited, I asked a lot. They were all stupid questions, the only kind I was capable of asking about that subject. He answered glibly and with assurance – if that proved anything. Unfortunately he decided my interest was so intense and my ignorance so abysmal that I deserved special coaching, and I didn’t manage to shake him off until after lunch, by which time I knew more about the nesting habits of wigeons than I wanted to know – and I still wasn’t sure whether he was on the level or not.

The sound of music struck my ears when I got off the elevator. Someone was playing the piano, and playing quite well. It was a stormy, violent piece of music – Chopin’s ‘Revolutionary Etude.’

He had his back to me and the music covered the sound of my footsteps. I couldn’t resist. I moved close and spoke.

‘How nice. You’re playing our song.’

His hands came down on the keyboard with a crash and he bent his head. I couldn’t see his face, but his ear was bright crimson. After a moment he said under his breath, ‘Don’t do that!’

‘Where’s your dear little wife?’ I inquired.

He looked directly at me. His face was still flushed and his expression was so savage I stepped back. ‘Drop it, Vicky. Leave me alone.’

There were a number of other people in the saloon, including an elderly German couple from Hamburg, Suzi Umphenour, and Sweet and Bright, their heads bent over a chessboard.

Recovering, I said softly, ‘You don’t have to be so rude. Or do you?’

Several heads turned in our direction. John’s hands went back to the keyboard, covering his next words with a series of emphatic but rather ragged arpeggios. ‘Apparently I must. Subtle hints are wasted on you. Excuse me.’

He stopped playing and rose. I took the hint. As I walked away I heard a spatter of applause and the Frau from Hamburg called out in English, ‘Beautiful! Will you be performing for us at the cabaret?’

John answered in German. ‘Valen Dank, gnädige Frau, aber nein.’ In the same language, pitched so I could hear, he added, ‘I try never to perform in public’

The phone woke me at the unholy hour of 6 a.m. next morning. It was my wake-up call. I grunted an acknowledgment into the phone and reached out a languid hand for the button that would summon my room steward. I was going to miss this kind of service when I got home and was wakened at about the same hour by Clara sitting on my face and Caesar licking any part of me he could reach. Neither of them would bring me coffee.