My room was gorgeous, with a huge bed in the middle of the suite, positioned so its resident could wake up and stare straight out of the sliding glass walls and into the ocean. That was if they didn’t feel like staring at themselves in the mirror mounted on the ceiling, which I truly didn’t. Every time I turned around, I was presented with another Instagrammable moment, and if Sarah hadn’t been quite so clear about her position on social media, my fifty-four followers would already be enjoying a rare burst of interiors and sea views. Skipping across the suite to the overstuffed sofa, I wondered why it was turned away from the windows until I found a tiny remote control that summoned a flat screen TV down from the glossy ceiling. After watching it glide up and down four, maybe five times, I replaced the remote exactly where I’d found it and ventured off to investigate the bathroom.

And oh my god, the bathroom.

The high-sided soaking tub was big enough to fit five people, and the shower wasn’t really a shower at all but a small studio apartment that flooded on purpose. As I sat down on one of two in-built marble benches inside the shower stall, fully dressed, it dawned on me that this room was not designed with the business traveller in mind. The Songbird was a wink and a nudge from top to bottom, seduction made manifest. I was sat in a shower in the world’s most expensive shag pad. This room, this entire yacht, was made for the kind of sex kitten who wore Agent Provocateur underwear on the reg and slept in nothing but Chanel No 5, not a woman who exclusively bought her knickers in packs of five and slept in their socks because their fiancé refused to turn the heating on until December.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, tapping a bitten-down nail against the custom rose-gold fixtures. ‘I feel like I’ve let you down.’

The shower was too polite to agree with me, but we both knew the truth.

Pulling open a door back in the bedroom, I saw someone had already unpacked my clothes while Lenny and I were touring the yacht, leaving me with nothing to do but remember why I was here in the first place.

Juliette.

I gave myself a good mental shake and walked back to the desk, spotting several items I had not brought with me, a black Moleskine notebook, a fresh box of black Pilot pens, a tiny black Swiss Army knife, a black leather wallet containing a slew of credit cards and stacks of Euros, plus a shiny new laptop. Beside them, was a large ring binder, with the words ‘The Bible’ debossed into the black leather in a cool, sans-serif font.