Miserable, she slumped in her chair. When he was finally finished and passed the phone across the table to her, she shook her head.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, smiling bravely.

With an eye roll, he put the phone back in his pocket, then the waiter arrived and Paula had to feign enthusiasm for a cuisine she didn’t particularly enjoy.

It was a risk wearing the stolen waxed jacket, but it was the only weatherproof outerwear Anna had, and besides, it wasn’t like she was going to go out in public wearing it. She stood on her balcony, leaning far over while adrenaline pumped around her body, bringing a fresh wave of dizziness that she harnessed and held close.

Below her, the waves smashed the starboard side of the Ruby Spirit and reached up towards her, six-, seven-, eight-feet-tall sheets of ice-cold sea. Curling tentacles grappled and fought each other to get to her, and she watched, mesmerised by the danger, until she remembered why she was out there.

She hauled herself even further over the same rail that she had removed and pushed Mark through. Turning her head to the right, she gasped, a strangled choking sound, as the wind punched at her face. Tiny flakes of snow mingled with needle-sharp rain, rendering her blind.

She withdrew, clambering off the railing and reversing back inside the suite. She shrugged off the coat, leaving it on the floor, and peeled off her clothes, then pulled a fluffy robe around her shivering body. Picking up her phone, she huddled on the chair by the window, watching the sleet pelt down outside. She thought about giving up on the CCTV surveillance. Surely if they had coverage they would have been here questioning her already?

A knock at the door had her snapping upright in the chair, as though they had sensed her thoughts, as though they had caught up with her. She shrugged inside the robe until it hung loosely around her, then tiptoed to the door and squinted through the peephole at the man who stood outside.

He was older, this one, wearing the same uniform as Mark had: three stripes on his arm with an insignia of an albatross on the sleeve.

She pulled the door open.

He nodded to her and gave a strange half-salute. ‘Madam, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m First Officer Patrick Duane, and I wonder if I can have a moment of your time?’

She looked him up and down, compared him to the effeminate man who had spoken to her in the casino. This one was a whole different ball game, that much she could tell straight off. Power and authority spoke volumes.

She pulled the door open. ‘Come in,’ she invited.