‘It’s too much,’ she muttered before flinging open a concealed cupboard to reveal a full bar. Bottles and bottles of chilled champagne, every spirit known to man, and endless rows of crystal stemware hung from shelves that ran almost all the way up to the ceiling. ‘It’s so fake, can’t you feel it? This room was designed by a man to impress a woman.’

‘Well, someone should tell him it worked,’ I replied, tucking my hands safely under my armpits. ‘Although I daren’t touch anything.’

‘You can touch a drink because I’m opening a bottle.’ Juliette pulled a magnum of champagne out of the bar, grabbed two flutes, and closed the mirrored door with a swish of her hip. My entire body seized up as the crystal chimed inside. I didn’t use that much force to close the dishwasher – something about this room had really pissed her off.

‘I’m serious, I can’t eat in here,’ she declared. ‘Lenny, can we eat in my room? Or on the deck? Literally anywhere else on this boat.’

‘The weather’s forecast to turn rough, so I wouldn’t recommend the deck,’ he replied. ‘I can have a table set up in your room, shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.’

‘Fine.’ With an expert’s touch, she turned the cage that protected the champagne cork and tossed it to the floor. ‘What’s on the menu?’

Lenny smiled and took a half bow. ‘Chef has prepared some of his specialities in honour of the Crystal Ball, starting off with an amuse-bouche of—’

The cork popped out of the bottle, firing across the room and missing the chandelier by half a hair’s breadth. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until the cork rolled to a stop in front of my feet.

‘OK, sorry again, but no,’ Juliette said without missing a beat. ‘You’re going to list seventeen courses and their respective wine pairings when all I really want is some McCain oven chips and a Findus crispy pancake. This was all supposed to be in the notes. I don’t want any big fancy feasts.’

A fleeting look of panic crossed Lenny’s face. ‘I don’t think we have any of whatever they are, but I can ask Chef to—’

She sighed sadly, cutting him off. ‘No, I know you don’t, I’m not even sure they still exist. Fran, do Findus crispy pancakes still exist?’

‘I can find out,’ I replied, immediately tapping at my work phone. As someone raised in a ‘you get what you’re given’ household, the combination of Juliette’s frustrated demands and the look on Lenny’s face were enough to make me break out in a rash. Not to mention the fact I was far more interested in a seventeen-course menu with wine pairings than oven chips and a soggy-bottomed chicken and mushroom abomination.