‘We’re going to leave the conditioner on for around thirty minutes,’ said the stylist as she massaged Paula’s head.

‘Great idea, reverse some of the heat damage from that sauna,’ murmured Anna.

She sounded very close, and Paula opened her eyes, closing them again as the conditioner flicked across her eyelids.

She felt Anna’s hand then, on her shoulder, and she relaxed.

‘What are you getting done, Anna?’ she asked, wincing as the woman behind her tugged at her tangled hair.

‘Hmm, just a trim. I was thinking of highlights, but you know, I think I like it how it is at the moment,’ replied Anna.

The salon phone began to ring, and the stylist’s hands stilled in Paula’s hair. ‘Are you all right if I just get that?’ she asked.

Paula waved her away.

‘I hate that,’ she said in a low voice to Anna, ‘when salon stylists have to double up as receptionists.’ She paused and gave an awkward laugh. ‘Do I sound like a snob?’

‘No, it’s a particular bugbear of mine too,’ replied Anna. ‘I mean, we pay enough money for them to hire someone to answer the phone, right?’

‘Yes!’ Paula smiled and settled back against the basin. ‘Hey, do you want to get an early lunch when we’re done here?’

‘Ms Masi?’ A second hairdresser came into the salon, and with a bright smile she summoned Anna over. ‘I’m ready for you now.’

Thirty minutes later, Paula’s stomach rumbled noisily as the stylist unwrapped the clingfilm from around her head. She looked over at Anna, realising the other woman hadn’t answered her question about lunch. She opened her mouth to enquire again, but clamped it closed as she ran her eyes over Anna’s impossibly skinny body. She had barely touched her salad last night, what if she had an eating disorder? Would it be horribly insensitive to keep on inviting her to meals?

‘What are your plans for the rest of the day, Anna?’ she asked.

Anna shrugged. ‘I think we’re stopping for a couple of hours when we dock to pick up the men. I might get off, have a look around.’

Paula nodded. Clearly, Anna was planning to be there when the men boarded. Was she intending on picking one of them up? Julie’s warning rang in her mind again. Was she going to be there in the hope of bumping into Tommy in particular?

‘Merda!’

Paula didn’t understand the language, didn’t even know what nationality her stylist was, but she got the tone.

‘What?’ she asked. She looked up and around at the other woman.

The stylist’s face had drained of colour.

‘What?’ Paula asked again. She reached behind her, pulled her hair over her shoulder and peered down at it. ‘Oh my God,’ she muttered. Looking back up at the stylist, she held up the strands of hair. ‘What happened?’