'Oh, there you are, darling.’ Cecelia Highton-Smith had glanced up from where she was sitting by the pool, talking to their gardener Harold Greening and his wife Maggie, to see her daughter skipping towards them. ‘Where have you been? The others have been in for ages. You’ve only got a few minutes and then we have to get ready for dinner.’

‘Sorry, Mummy, I wanted to check that Mr and Mrs Headlington-Bear were all right and then I had to get my bathers on,’ Alice-Miranda called.

‘Did you see them, darling?’ Cecelia asked.

‘No, I think they must have already come up for drinks,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

Cecelia Highton-Smith glanced around the open deck. ‘I haven’t spied them yet, but they might be inside. I’ll go and have a look.’

Most of the guests had retreated to their suites to change for dinner. The sun blinked its last warm rays before slipping down behind the mountains. Alice-Miranda pulled her dress over her head. She closed her eyes, jumped into the pool and was embraced by the warm water.

‘Where have you been?’ Millie shouted. Alice-Miranda swam over to join her friends.

‘I just had to check on something,’ Alice-Miranda replied.

The children played a quick round of Marco Polo before Cecelia reappeared and said it was time to have showers and get ready for dinner.

‘Do we have to dress up tonight, Mummy?’ Alice-Miranda asked as she towelled herself off.

‘No, darling. We’re having a barbecue on the Royal Deck – you can keep the formal wear in the wardrobe until later in the week.’

‘So that’s what smells so delicious,’ Lucas said, sniffing the air appreciatively.

‘You know, I think being on a ship is the perfect holiday for kids,’ Millie observed. ‘The grown-ups don’t have to worry about us at all – we can’t get lost, or kidnapped, or anything.’

‘True,’ said Jacinta. ‘But bad luck if there’s someone on board you don’t want to see. You’re bound to meet up with them at some stage.’

Alice-Miranda and Millie exchanged knowing looks. They both wondered how Jacinta’s parents could be on the ship and still not have bothered to seek out their daughter. It simply wasn’t right.

‘Well, off you go. You’ll need to be back up on deck in half an hour for dinner,’ Cecelia commanded.

‘Will you be joining the other guests on deck for dinner this evening, sir?’ Henderson asked as he cleared the empty tray. Neville had devoured his ham sandwich and French fries and left nothing behind at all – quite a feat for a young boy. ‘It’s a barbecue and I’ve heard the new chef’s a real star. I hope there’ll be leftovers for the crew.’

Neville didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t in his nature to talk to strangers. It wasn’t in his nature to talk to anyone very much.

He vaguely shook his head.

‘Very well, sir. Would you like me to bring you a plate in an hour or so?’

He nodded and wished Henderson would stop yapping.

‘I think there’s going to be fireworks later tonight, too.’

Henderson wondered about Neville. Painfully shy wouldn’t go halfway to describing the poor lad. Certainly he was the polar opposite of his gossipy mother across the hallway. She never stopped talking and asking Henderson’s opinion on which dress looked best and how she should do her hair. You’d have thought the woman had never got dressed on her own before.

‘Do you play?’ Henderson looked at the trumpet case tucked in beside Neville on the couch. Its brown leather trim had seen more than a few bumps and knocks and there was a rather large smiley face sticker in the middle of the lid.

Neville nodded. He found it was the best way to answer most questions.

‘May I have a look, Master Neville?’ Henderson asked.

Neville shook his head. ‘No, it’s nothing special,’ he whispered.

‘Oh, well perhaps I’ll have the pleasure of hearing you practise,’ Henderson suggested.

‘I . . . I . . . only play for me. It’s private.’

‘Oh, okay, sir,’ Henderson frowned. Having played trombone for years in his own school band, Henderson thought that was very odd indeed. Play- ing a brass or woodwind instrument without others was a bit like being the defence, attack and goalie on the football team. You didn’t stand a hope, really, and in his experience it wasn’t much fun at all.