‘Tomorrow,’ she repeated, almost sounding as though she might feel a little bit sorry for me. ‘Trust me, Francesca, there are worse places to be stranded overnight. I’m not placing all the blame on you, I know what she’s like, but I’m in a difficult position right now and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make things even more trying.’

All at once, the adrenaline wore away, leaving me an empty, hollow shell. I sank down to the ground, squatting on the wooden jetty and trying not to cry. ‘How do I get to the hotel?’ I asked.

‘If you look up the hill, you should see a big white building, flying the Italian flag.’

‘I see it,’ I said, standing back up as what I hoped was seawater seeped through my jeans and soaked my backside. ‘It’s got sort of a dome on top.’

‘That’s the one. That’s where you’re going, they’ll take care of you.’

It was a lovely thought.

‘The hill is quite high,’ I said, popping the tab on one of Juliette’s precious cans and drinking deeply.

‘That’s why the hotel has such great views.’

‘Sort of looks more like a small mountain than a hill.’

‘And such a suntrap if you wanted to get a bit of winter sun.’

‘I’m going to have to walk there, aren’t I?’

‘Always good to get some exercise after a couple of days at sea,’ she replied. ‘I’ll be in touch when I have an update.’

The phone beeped twice in my ear to let me know the call was over.

I looked up at the hill and tried to imagine it was just like the hills at home – Sheffield was full of them.

‘Just imagine you’re on your way to Suzette’s for a coffee and a morning muffin,’ I told myself. ‘And try not to dwell on the fact you’ve failed at your job and been stranded on an island without so much as a spare pair of knickers.’

With a choked sob, I turned back around and limped along the jetty, one more time.

After what felt like hours but was really only thirty minutes, the steep, rough road gave way to a long, even driveway. I had arrived at the hotel. Melting from my hike, I staggered in off the street and smiled at the two attendants who flanked the double height, dark wood doors as they exchanged a quizzical look.

‘Hello,’ I said, a hobbling, filthy mess, clinging to my three now-empty cans of San Pellegrino. ‘I’m here for the Crystal Ball.’

Without words or questions, they ushered me inside one of the most beautiful buildings I’d ever had the privilege in which to sweat and, as the doors opened, I almost broke down and wept.