But in the end, there would be no escaping Mrs Goodheart. The following afternoon, the rapidly filling pouches of my brain threatening to burst and spill out all the verb forms and adjectives I had ruthlessly crammed inside, Holmes and I took a turn around the deck. It was, I found, very pleasant indeed, with a degree more warmth in the winter sun. As we strolled arm in arm, dodging nannies pushing perambulators and the marching khaki-shorts brigade, I was doubly grateful that our haste had forced us to bypass the inevitably heaving Bay of Biscay and pick up the boat in the relative calm of the Mediterranean. Had we boarded in Southampton, I should only now be recovering from sea-sickness.

Then I heard a voice from a shaded corner, and the biliousness threatened to return.

“Mrs Russell, how good to see you. Won’t you introduce us to your husband?”

Two-thirds of the Goodheart family, mother and son. I opened my mouth to correct the American matriarch, but despite her opening volley, she did not wait for introductions, merely thrust her many-ringed hand at Holmes and said, “Mr Russell, glad you could join us. We were just talking about you, wondering if you were going to hide out in your cabin the entire trip.”

“Actually,” I began, but this time Holmes broke in, taking a brisk step forward to grasp the woman’s hand.

“Mrs Goodheart, is it?” he said. “And this must be your son. Afternoon, young man, I hope you’re enjoying your voyage?”

Amused, I let my correction die unborn: It seemed that Holmes was to be “Mr Russell” for a time.

Mrs Goodheart ordered her son to find another chair; to my surprise, Holmes did not object. Instead, he settled into the deck chair at her side as if a leisurely contemplation of the sea in the company of a bossy American spiritualist was just the thing for a Sunday afternoon. Bemused, I subsided into the vacant chair on Mrs Goodheart’s other side and waited to see what Holmes was up to.

“Where is Sunny?” I asked the mother.

“She said she was going to try her hand at shovel-board. I would have stayed to watch, but I found the sun rather warm for my delicate complexion. She’ll be here in a while, I’m sure. And you, Mrs Russell—have you found some shipboard entertainment?”

Stuffing my head with Hindi verb forms and hurling tea-spoons back and forth at my husband, I thought, but said merely, “I’m not much of one for games, Mrs Goodheart.”

“Sunny will change that,” she said, with a somewhat alarming confidence. “Thomas my dear, tell the Russells what you’ve been doing in Europe.”