The hat might have hidden her hair, but it was likely to be short, just like Anna’s was. If the woman in the picture had long hair, surely there would be some strands hanging down, unless she’d pushed her full head of hair underneath the beret?

There was something else, something confusing. A kind of recognition or knowledge of this woman. Not that it was Anna, but someone else, someone or something that tugged at Paula’s memories.

Her mind went blank and she frowned as she clicked off the website. She checked her watch and saw that it was late. The lounge had been deserted since the sudden flurry of people racing for the deck. She shivered at the knowledge that she was totally alone down there.

Grabbing her key card, she hurried back towards the stairs.

It was after midnight, and Anna hauled herself to her feet and dressed. She felt like a sitting duck here, a criminal just waiting for the officer to come and arrest her.

In a few hours they would dock in Reykjavík. Was that what they were waiting for: for the passengers to disembark so there wouldn’t be a scene on the luxury liner when they handcuffed her?

She pulled her padded winter coat out of the wardrobe and slipped it on. Gloves, hat – not the pink beret, but a black knitted one – and carefully opened the door. The corridor was silent, the main lights out; just the soft white glow of the bulbs lined the hallway. As she strode towards the elevator, she heard the distinctive noise that signalled its arrival.

She flattened herself against the wall, looked left, right. Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Was it First Officer Patrick Duane, coming back for her, armed with evidence of her crime?

She pushed herself off the wall and stood straight as the elevator doors swished open and a man strolled out.

Tommy.

She smiled with relief. He looked at her, and his face lit up.

‘Hi,’ she said cautiously, in case Paula was in the lift.

‘Anna, where are you going at this time of night?’ he said.

He was slurring a little, but not too much. Just drunk enough, she thought.

‘Thought I’d take a walk, see if the Northern Lights are on display,’ she replied. ‘Unless you want to join me for a drink in my suite?’

His eyes darted to the closed door of the Expedition Suite, and she caught his thought. Paula was in there, sleeping or, more likely, unable to sleep, waiting for the return of her wandering husband.

‘Shall we go up on deck?’ she said softly.

He nodded, reached back and pressed the button for the lift. A scratching noise came from one of the nearby rooms. The sound of a safety chain being released.