To cap it all, he’d come galloping to her rescue like the hero of a melodrama, which was simply too much. But, what the heck? She was on holiday.

He returned her gaze, briefly but appreciatively, taking in her slender figure and dark-red hair. Without conceit, but also without false modesty, she knew she was attractive; the expression in his eyes was one she’d often seen before, although it was a while since she’d responded to it.

‘I’ll refund you that tip, of course,’ she said.

A woman had appeared behind them in the corridor. She was in her sixties, white-haired, slender and elegant.

‘Are you hurt, my dear?’ she asked. ‘That was a nasty fall you had.’

‘No, I’m fine, just a bit shaken.’

‘Dante, bring her to our compartment.’

‘OK, Aunt Hope. You take her, I’ll bring the bags.’

The woman took Ferne gently by the arm and led her along the corridor to a compartment where a man, also in his sixties, was standing in the doorway watching their approach. He stood back to let them in and ushered Ferne to a seat.

‘From the way you speak, I think you are English,’ the woman said with a charming smile.

‘Yes, my name is Ferne Edmunds.’

‘I too am English. At least, I was long ago. Now I am Signora Hope Rinucci. This is my husband, Toni-and this young man is our nephew, Dante Rinucci.’

Dante was just entering with the bags, which he shoved under the seats, and then he sat down, rubbing his upper arm.

‘Are you hurt?’ Hope asked anxiously.

He grimaced. ‘Pushing my arm through that narrow space has probably left me with bruises for life.’ Then a grin broke over his face. ‘It’s all right, I’m only joking. Stop fussing. It’s our friend here who needs care. Those platforms are hard.’

‘That’s true,’ Ferne said ruefully, rubbing her knees through her trousers.