Close up, he was even more overpowering. Justine had to resist the temptation to stare like a dizzy schoolgirl.

He shouldn't be allowed, she decided. That tan, those white teeth, the strength she could sense in his hand, with its hint of even more strength leashed, the glint of the devil in his dark eyes – there ought to be a law against him.

But if there was a law, he would ignore it. She knew that already. He would ignore anything that didn't suit him.

At the moment it seemed to suit him to keep hold of her hand, although she was sitting upright now, and there was no need.

He sat down beside her.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "That was quite a tumble!"

"Not as bad as the one you took yesterday," she reminded him.

"But I landed safely in the water."

"Well, I landed safely on – cabbages? I'm sitting on cabbages?"

"And onions and potatoes and lettuces. This barge belongs to the Hotel Busoni, and I'm taking supplies to the kitchens."

"Well, I'm very glad you were passing just then, or it could have been really nasty. The water wouldn't have done my camera any good."

"Then I'm happy to have been of service," he said with an air of chivalry that sat oddly with his threadbare clothes.

He squeezed her hand gently between both of his.

"I hope I haven't squashed the vegetables," she said, reluctantly disengaging her hand and feeling around gingerly. "I don't want to get you into trouble."

"Please don't worry about me," he said gravely.

"You're sure your boss will be okay?"

"Let's say I can handle anything he's likely to throw at me."

"Hey, how do I get out? That ledge is way above me."

"Because this is low tide."

"You mean I'm trapped here?"

"Only until we reach the next flight of steps."

He pointed to where she could see steps cut into the stone, about ten yards ahead.