A trickle of perspiration runs down my chest and I fan myself wearily with the book. We have been enduring a heatwave over the last few days, temperatures spiking so high that it’s impossible to escape the stifling, smothering feeling. The heat is something else: something heavy and pulsing, wrapped suffocatingly around us all and leaving oil-slick shimmers in the air. The villa is unusually quiet, with just Klaus, Ursula and Ben still here with Filomena, Hero and me. There have been no other visitors for days.

“I’m going to swim,” Klaus croaks from the chair he has pulled into the shade. “In a moment, when I can move, I’m going to swim.” He is wearing only bathing shorts, his head flung back, his arms limp by his sides. These days we all wear as little as possible and I’m a bit surprised by how quickly I’ve grown used to it.

Well, almost. I still think it’s rather daring that I lie out in my bathing suit, but that article of clothing is positively puritanical compared to the two-piece costume that Ursula wears. When I first saw it my eyes nearly popped out of my head and Ursula laughed, calling me the “little Victorian”.

“Swimming won’t help,” I groan. “The pool is warm. Everything is warm. I’ll never be cold again.”

“I need water,” Klaus says hoarsely.

“Yes,” Ursula says longingly, “in a tall glass with ice.”

“Ohhh,” I whimper.

“Go on, then.” Ursula kicks her leg half-heartedly in my direction. “You go.”

“I can’t move. You go.”

“Did someone call for drinks?” Ben appears, a tray in his hands.

“Is that … cold lemonade?” Ursula rallies slightly, lifting the sunglasses up from her eyes to squint at Ben. “Are you a vision? An angel?”

“Lucifer, possibly,” I say, smiling up at him.

“Do you want a drink or not?” Ben asks sweetly.

“Yes, please.” I take the glass he hands me, draining the lemonade inside in one long, thirsty draught. It is icy sweet and lip-tinglingly sour at the same time, and utterly delicious.

“Where have you been?” Ursula asks Ben. Revived by her drink she pulls herself into a sitting position, admiring the biscuity tan on her legs.

“Working,” Ben says, taking a sip and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. My eyes catch there on his lips for a moment. “Like the rest of you should be.”

“Not me,” I point out over Ursula and Klaus’s groans. “I’m on holiday. Or enforced exile, I suppose. Reflecting on my bad behaviour.”

“Well, I should think that’s plenty to keep you occupied.” Ben sits, lowering his feet over the edge into the pool. “It’s like bath water!” he exclaims.