She felt him stiffen, before his arms circled her even tighter.

‘It was a gate, not a gap in the railing,’ he said. ‘I’m going to speak to someone about it, make sure it’s shut and locked.’ He held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘I could have lost you.’ His own eyes were shining, and she was moved by the emotion that she so rarely saw from him.

‘I’m okay,’ she replied, because that was what she was supposed to say.

But she didn’t feel okay. Not at all.

Anna plucked a lemon from the basket on the table and placed the small vegetable knife next to it as she reached for the half-bottle of gin.

The sun was trying to push through, but hazy grey clouds almost smothered the weak orange rays that she could see on the horizon. She poured a healthy slug of gin and knocked it back. In the cabin next door, everything was quiet, and she wondered what the pair of them were doing in there.

As far as she could tell, no crime had been reported yet. And from what she’d managed to get out of Tommy’s friend Dermot, it seemed that none of them had actually witnessed what had happened. A drunk man had crashed into Paula was what they were assuming, even though Paula herself was adamant she had been attacked.

Anna clutched the glass so hard it was in danger of cracking. As she huddled in the chair, she swore quietly. It had been her chance, the best chance she was going to get, and she had failed.

Anna didn’t like failure. She was used to working hard to get what she wanted and she had become an expert at biding her time and not missing once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. Now Paula would be careful, on the lookout. She would cling to Tommy and his gaggle of mates as though they were bodyguards.

Anna drank again.

She had missed her chance.

A tap at the door, and she rose and walked across the room, tightening her robe. She hoped it wasn’t Dermot; it had been obvious when he walked her back to her cabin that he was angling for an invitation to come inside. For a moment she had debated with herself, but she knew enough about him to confirm that he wasn’t a suitable prospect for her plan. Too many relatives; an ex-wife, children too.

As she unlocked the door, hope flared briefly. Perhaps it was Paula, come to seek refuge with another woman, stifled by the men and their macho protectiveness.

She pulled the door open, a welcoming smile on her face.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you.’

Mark, her bedfellow of the night before, leaned against the door frame and grinned at her. ‘Sorry it’s so early. Can I come in?’ he asked.