Tiago Álvarez stepped out of the atrium cabin (as inner cabins on the Sultan with a view of the shopping mall were called) and greeted an elderly lady who was walking towards him from the spa area in a dressing gown. Delighted by the unexpected attention paid her by the young man, she gave him a beaming smile and coyly touched her candyfloss hair that had just been blow-dried.

Tiago didn’t have to turn around to know that the woman was looking back at him. The Argentinian was well aware of the effect he had on women of all ages. They loved his dark skin, his black, curly locks, which hairspray could barely tame, and his dreamy eyes that also betrayed a hint of melancholy helplessness.

Happily humming to himself (he was always pleased when people liked him), he headed to the front of the ship, in the direction of the Atlantic Bar. In the last third of the corridor he stopped by the door of an outer cabin, shaking his head.

Of the twenty-three years he’d been on this earth, he’d spent the last six on cruise ships almost without a break. Much had changed since his maiden voyage on the MS Puertos from Lisbon to Tenerife: the ships had become larger, the cabins more affordable and the food better. But the passengers had remained as stupid as ever.

How brainless must you be to use the ‘Please tidy my room’ sign? he thought, eyeing the green paper hanger dangling from the cabin doorknob.

Quite apart from the fact that it didn’t summon the chambermaids any sooner, it was also the perfect invitation for thieves: ‘Come on in; there’s nobody at home!’

He sighed at such stupidity and turned the sign around to the ‘Please do not disturb’ side. Then, having made sure no one was watching him, he put his key into the card slot and opened the door.

‘Thanks, Stacy,’ he whispered as he thought of the front office trainee who he’d done it with in the computer room at reception. She was tall, blond, loud, and not his type at all, but sex with the women who looked after the passengers was always the simplest way of facilitating his work. All staff at reception had a master key they could use for guests who’d mislaid their own or were interested in viewing a different category of cabin. While shagging, Tiago had swapped his key card with that of his ladyfriend. At some point the following morning Stacy had noticed that her universal key wasn’t working any more. Assuming that the magnetic strip on her card was damaged, she’d issued herself with another one.

Child’s play if you knew how to do it. And had the right Romeo qualities.