‘If you made the muffins I ate this morning you’re very, very good at your job,’ he told her. ‘If you’re available as crew, a man’d be crazy not to take you on.’

‘Well, I’m not.’ He had her rattled and she’d snapped again. Why? He was a nice guy offering her a job. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But no.’

‘Do you have a passport?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘I’m sailing for Europe just as soon as I can find some company. It’s not safe to do a solo where I’m going.’

‘Round the Horn?’ Despite herself, she was interested.

‘Round the Horn,’ he agreed. ‘It’s fastest.’

That’d be right. The boaties in charge of the expensive yachts were usually at the call of owners. She’d met enough of them to know that. An owner fancied a sailing holiday in Australia? He’d pay a guy like this to bring his boat here and have it ready for him. Maybe he’d join the boat on the interesting bits, flying in and out at will. Now the owner would be back in Europe and it’d be up to the employed skipper-this guy?-to get the boat back there as soon as he could.

With crew. But not with her.

‘Well, good luck,’ she said, and started to walk away, but he wasn’t letting her leave. He walked with her.

‘It’s a serious offer.’

‘It’s a serious rejection.’

‘I don’t take rejection kindly.’

‘That’s too bad,’ she told him. ‘The days of carting your crew on board drugged to the eyeballs is over. Press gangs are illegal.’

‘They’d make my life easier,’ he said morosely.

‘You know I’m very sure they wouldn’t.’ His presence as he fell into step beside her was making her thoroughly disconcerted. ‘Having a press-ganged crew waking up with hangovers a day out to sea surely wouldn’t make for serene sailing.’

‘I don’t look for serenity,’ he said, and it was so much an echo of her day’s thoughts that she stopped dead.

But this was ridiculous. The idea was ridiculous. ‘Serenity’s important,’ she managed, forcing her feet into moving again. ‘So thank you, but I’ve said no. Is there anything else you want?’