The bedroom was pretty wonderful, Dora had to concede. She noticed Jo wanting to hate it, too. They both thought the built-in mahogany bed was elegant, with drawers underneath that slid, in Carole's words, 'like silk'.

‘To match the sheets, presumably,' murmured Jo, to Dora's private amusement.

‘Oh yes, all the bed linen is silk,' replied Carole, and then she frowned, aware that something she'd said had not been quite right.'Goodness,' said Jo.

‘And all the drawers are all lined with scented drawer liners.'

‘Wow,' said Jo, obviously struggling to keep up the enthusiasm.

‘And this' – the ta-ra was unspoken but obvious – 'is the en suite.’

Whatever she had been expecting, and today Dora's ideas of what you were likely to find on a barge had been hugely expanded, it wasn't a sunken bath on a raised plinth surrounded by tiles featuring naked gods and goddesses, not in turquoise blue, anyway.

She glanced at Jo, hoping their eyes wouldn't meet. Her mouth was open and then snapped shut. Then she opened it again. 'How often do you have to fill the tanks to have a bath here on a regular basis?' said Jo.

There was a moment of silence. 'We only fill the bath when we've got shoreside facilites. Otherwise, it's the shower. It's a power one, of course, and has multiple settings.’

Dora and Jo both gazed at it admiringly.

‘So do you go cruising with her much?' asked Jo. They had left the bathroom and were back in the saloon. For someone who had declared herself as chronically seasick, not to mention terrified, she was giving a good impression of a person eager to take the barge across the Channel and explore the canals of Europe.

Carole lost some of her confidence. 'Not really. At least, not since Marcus and I-’

The sound of someone arriving on deck caused Carole to give a meerkat-like start.

‘I'll just go and welcome the next group,' she said, and made her way swiftly up the stairs.

Dora had been expecting Jo to make their excuses and follow her up, but she had picked up a photograph and was staring at it. When she looked up, her eyes were full of laughter.

‘I think it's the same Marcus! Years older, of course, but I'm sure it's him! How funny!'

‘That's weird! How did you know him?'

‘I'm just trying to remember. He was a friend of a friend, I think, and joined our social group, just after Philip and I became a couple.’

`So what was he like when he was young – younger?' asked Dora.

‘To be honest, if I hadn't been so besotted with Philip, I might have been tempted to have a little fling. We had a long conversation once – I've no idea what it was about -and he looked at me in this really intense way that made me feel I was the only girl in the room.’

`So he was attractive even then?' Dora asked, looking over Jo's shoulder at the photograph.

‘Oh yes. I remember us girls thought he was devastating, in a sort of rugged way. Not handsome, like Philip was. But dangerous. He was rather sure of himself too, I recall. And he had a reputation as a playboy. A commitment-phobe, I suppose you'd call him now,' Jo said, putting the photo graph back down.

‘I could do with a commitment-phobe,' said Dora thoughtfully. 'A playboy would suit me just fine.’

Jo laughed. 'Carole must feel the same. And Marcus must be quite fit to keep up with her.' Her smile faded. 'I was just thinking, are any of those couples we used to know still couples? Michael was widowed but now has a younger girlfriend, Philip's got the Floosie, and Marcus has got Carole – although to be fair, he didn't have her then. But are all men programmed to want a new woman when their old one has passed childbearing age?’

‘Goodness, what a horrible thought!’

Jo smiled. 'Never mind, I think of Philip leaving me as a lucky escape now. Come on, Carole's got a new lot of visitors to show round, we'd better leave. Where else shall we go and snoop?’

They waved at Carole, who was busily explaining how the car lift worked to another couple, and headed off Hildegarde.

‘Do you fancy poking around that one on the end?' Dora asked.

‘It's a tug and I think they're mostly engine. I'm rather tired. Let's go back to Miranda and Bill's barge. They promised us cups of tea.’

They actually had a glass of Pimm's. 'Come and rest on your laurels,' said Miranda. 'It's been such hard work, hasn't it? Being nice to people – so exhausting. We'll sit on deck and repel boarders.'

‘Mm, lovely idea,' said Jo, flopping down beside her. 'Do you know when the voting happens, all that stuff?’

‘Voting!' said Dora. 'What's all that about?'

‘We vote for the barge we like best,' explained Miranda, 'which is sometimes connected to the person we like the best.'

‘But we don't know when it happens?'

‘No, I'm not sure,' said Miranda, pouring lemonade. 'Don't care, really. Oh, I know I should care, but I don't think it's hugely important. What did you think of Hildegarde? Amazing, isn't she?' She handed them both glasses and Dora took a seat next to Jo.

Dora closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. It was so nice being here, she thought, far away from recriminations, arrangements, cancellations and, most of all, guilt. She couldn't abandon the guilt completely, of course. John's heart was still broken, and she had broken it when she realised that while she loved him as a friend, she didn't want him as a husband. She couldn't even pinpoint when the change had happened, she just knew she had to stop the wedding before it was too late. She couldn't be completely at peace. Still, better now than after years of unhappy marriage, with children to think about. She pushed these uncomfortable thoughts to the back of her mind and concentrated on topping up her tan, or more accurately, getting one. Her mother had told her she must look pale to get married, and had kept her out of the sun and under a very high factor sunscreen. Another sort of guilt, this time a pleasurable one, superseded the other. She even felt guilty for not wanting to cry any more. But that, she was sure, was because she'd used up all her tears. She wasn't really shallow and callous, just worn out with weeping.

‘Are you asleep or just risking skin cancer?’

A male voice, familiar and jocular, woke her. She blinked up at Tom. 'I don't think you get skin cancer in ten minutes, not in England.’

He shook his head. 'Better not take the chance.’

‘Where did you spring from?' she asked.

‘Want a Pimm's, Tom?' asked Bill, who had appeared in the same mysterious way.

‘Great! Thanks,' said Tom. 'We were in the engine room. Bill's got a bit of a problem I was trying to help him with.'

‘I knew I was right not to look at it,' muttered Jo.

‘And did you get it fixed?' asked Miranda. She didn't seem greatly concerned, as if sitting around in the sun drinking Pimm's was more her thing than worrying about engines.

‘Mm, think so,' said Bill. 'Tom was very useful. Here you are, get that down you.’

Dora felt it would be rude to sleep now there were five of them and sat up, blinking in the sun, still bleary from her short nap.

‘So, what's on tonight?' asked Jo. 'If anything? I might opt for an early night, myself.'

‘Nonsense,' said Bill. 'There's a barbecue. Bring food and wine and we all cook together. Miranda brought half a cow from home, so be our guests. You too, Tom.'

‘Actually, I might take Dora away from all this, if she'll come,' he said.

Dora sat up straighter. 'What have you got to offer me that's better than half a cow?'

‘And a wine lake,' put in Miranda.

‘I want to show you my etchings,' said Tom. 'Or rather my gaff.'

‘What's a gaff?' asked Dora.

Tom gave her a pitying look over his tumbler of Pimm's. 'It's a slang word for home,' he said.

‘Oh!' She flapped at him crossly. 'I knew that. I thought a gaff was some sort of boat or something.'