‘What is she playing at?’ He shook his head, as if he were unable to believe his wife’s selfish actions.

Anna stroked his arm again and gave his bicep a squeeze. ‘I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,’ she murmured.

‘They asked me to bring these out.’ Dermot appeared, carrying an armful of flasks, sachets of milk and sugar spilling from the pockets of his parka. ‘The officer is coming down soon.’ At Tommy’s sudden look, he pushed on hurriedly. ‘I don’t think he’s got any news, though.’

Patrick was coming.

Anna rolled her eyes behind Dermot’s back. She leaned in past him and addressed Tommy: ‘I’m going to put on something warmer. I’ll be right back, though,’ she said.

He nodded, but didn’t look at her, instead taking the tea that Dermot had poured for him. As the tall figure of Patrick Duane appeared on the bridge, Anna melted away.

Inside, she hurried into the elevator and impatiently stabbed at the button to her floor.

She didn’t need to put on anything warmer, though she did need to fix her face and hair. She pulled off her hat and peered into the mirrored wall. Her skin was pale and dry, and her nose was so cold, it was red at the tip. She scowled at her reflection and lowered her chin, inhaling deeply.

She could smell herself, sweat that made her clothes cling to her skin. She wrinkled her nose and wiped her sleeve across her face. She was still sweating now, despite being out on the freezing deck.

It was the adrenaline, she thought, as well as the physical exertion. But the hard work was done now.

She swayed slightly as the lift doors opened and she moved down the hallway to her suite. At her door, she leaned on the wall as she pulled her key card out of her pocket. Thank goodness she was finished with the grind and the slog.

As she opened the door and stepped into the darkness, her world tilted again. She put a hand to her brow. Maybe she needed to eat an actual meal tonight. And perhaps she would; after all, she had worked hard today. She had earned it. A chicken salad, and it wouldn’t be cheating; it would be like a prize or a reward.

Not yet, though. First, she had to make herself presentable.

She walked over to the bar and poured herself a half-measure of gin. Not too much, just enough to warm her. She sipped at it as she scrutinised herself in the mirror above the bar. She didn’t like her reflection tonight, she decided. Being outside in the storm had ravaged her face. Still, she thought, as she raised her glass in a silent toast, she looked better than Paula did right now, of that she was sure.