‘But you got?6,000,000 of it?’

‘Yes,’ he said, missing the urgency in her voice. ‘Beat the bloody lot of them.’

He frowned at her lack of reaction.

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he complained, petulant in his drunkenness. ‘No one else got anything like that much. There’s already been a cable of congratulation from London, signed by Willoughby himself. Even promised a bonus on top of the commission…’

‘If it’s important for you, then I’m pleased,’ she said, turning away from the balcony and the view of the floodlit ship, shifting slowly at anchor.

He followed her into the room.

‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘I find it completely impossible to understand you.’

She stood in the middle of the room, a slim, almost frail figure, the hair which she constantly used for dramatic effect cascading to her waist because she knew he liked it worn that way and it was inherent in her to please the man she was with.

She walked to him, smiling for the first time, cupping his head and pulling his face to hers.

‘I love you, Robert,’ she said. ‘Really love you.’

He held her at arm’s length, looking at her.

‘Why tell me that?’ he asked.

‘Because I wanted you to know.’

The noise of the explosion woke Nelson and the girl four nights later, as it woke nearly everyone on the island and the Kowloon waterfront. By the time Nelson got to the balcony, the flames were already spurting from the stem and as he watched there was a noise like a belch and the blaze gushed through the main funnels of the Pride of America.

A gradual glow in the stern was the first indication that there was fire there too, then one of the plates split and huge orange gouts burst out, like a giant exhaust.

‘Oh my God,’ said Nelson softly. He was very sober.

Beside him, the girl remained silent.