He sat on a raised dais, the panoramic view from the ship behind him, patiently waiting amid the chaos that precedes any such gathering. By his side, as always, sat his son. There was a remarkable physical resemblance between the two men. The father was a Buddha-plump, benign-looking man, the harsh klieg lights of the cameras glistening against his polished face and silk suit and occasionally, when he extended his almost constant smile, picking up the gold in his teeth. John Lu was slightly thinner and, unlike his father, wore spectacles. He had no gold in his teeth either, but that was difficult to establish because John Lu was a man who hardly ever smiled.

It was the younger man who stood first, holding out his hands for silence.

‘My name is John Lu,’ he said. ‘I would like you to welcome my father, who wishes to begin this conference with a statement.’

There was a surprising but isolated burst of applause from the Asian journalists present and Lu smiled in appreciation. He didn’t stand. He merely leant forward upon the table that had been set with microphones and radio equipment, tapped the mouthpiece to ensure he had selected the right amplifier and said, in an ordinary conversational tone, ‘Thank you all for coming.’

The microphone picked up the sibilant blur in his voice and there was an immediate response, the room quietening within seconds. Lu’s smile widened slightly at the reaction.

‘There has been, I know, much speculation about my reasons for purchasing this still magnificent liner…’

The man was very aware of the seating arrangements for the conference and turned fractionally towards the section he knew to be occupied by Americans.

‘I have always felt it a tragedy that a vessel like the Pride of America, still the holder of the Blue Riband for the fastest crossing of the Atlantic, should, because of a change in world travelling preference, be mothballed and left to lie almost forgotten, if not abandoned, off the coast of Virginia…’