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Outside, it is cold. In the luminous water, barnacles, dizzy with love, cling to the ship’s side. Pliant anemones and swaying seaweed reach out to caress its perfect paintwork. Only the solitary sea-horses glide purposefully past, intent on their own business.

Yes, yes, we are all dizzy with love, but please, on with the story.

Well then. Soon there are to be landmarks and, before the end, multiple and significant acts of love. Already, fires are being lit on the last of the islands. A barbecue, perhaps.

And what of Amanda, that sensible girl?

She is working on her romance. See how diligently she types. She types to hide the movement of her heart. Her tell-tale heart which flutters, this evening, between despair and a wild, unreasoning hope.