He’d heard her now, she knew that from the single moment of hesitation in his stride, but he kept on going anyway. She swore quietly, a stream of profanities, before realising it was making it even more difficult to run. She clamped her mouth closed, put her head down and thundered after him.

‘Patrick.’ She caught at his sleeve, panting, sweat running freely down her face, despite the harsh wind that whipped up around them.

He looked down at her, eyes penetrating, and she shivered. This man was so very different to all the others she had encountered. William, Tommy, Mark; a hint of bare flesh and a promise of what was to come and they were putty in her hands. Not this one. Not First Officer Patrick Duane.

‘I-I got a text,’ she wheezed, pulling her phone out of her pocket and waving it at him. ‘I got a text from Mark.’

He regarded her steadily, much like he had in her cabin the other night. But then his eyes had been distrustful, knowing, triumphant. Now, they seemed resigned.

‘Ah, Mark. Yes, I also got a text from him.’

She had ripped off a glove, holding it in her teeth as she stabbed at the phone buttons to bring up Mark’s text message. At Patrick’s words, she paused and looked up at him.

‘Did you? What did he say to you?’

He jerked his head towards her phone, a silent instruction to show him the text. She obeyed, holding it up for him to see.

He read it once and nodded. ‘I suppose I’ll have to wait until he deigns to tell me when he’s coming back to work,’ he said.

Anna shrugged and kept her eyes on his. ‘I’m sorry for any misunderstanding,’ she said.

He didn’t press her to elaborate, and for that, she was thankful. He had thought she was lying, back there in the Arctic Suite, and he had tricked her with a false name for Mark’s wife. But now it seemed Mark had made contact, and Patrick seemed more irritated that he was a crew member short.

His exasperation had overridden his scepticism.

Anna smiled and lifted her hand in a wave as she walked slowly back the way she had come.

‘It’s barely even light yet,’ said Paula as she stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window in the restaurant. She turned to Tommy. ‘What time is it?’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Nearly nine.’

She faced the window again. Outside, the waves crashed against the hull of the boat and spat up a spray of frothy white water. Beyond the glass, the sky was a strange greyish brown. Daytime had arrived, the frights of the night were gone, but here in this bizarre land it still seemed like twilight.