‘I’m not listening to any arguments,’ he went on. ‘You can use my bathroom; you’ll be quite private. But when you come out, you’re going to tell me what the bloody hell you’re talking about.’

Thea made a rapid plan. She would appear to comply, go upstairs, run the bath and, when he was out of the way, she’d tiptoe back downstairs and out, and run away. His behaviour was monstrous, almost as monstrous as his betrayal had been. She was damned if she’d explain anything to him, and get his calm and logical answer in reply.

Thea’s plan didn’t allow for Ben actually running the bath for her, giving her a towel and a robe, and ordering her to get out of her clothes. Not that it was quite an order, more a suggestion it was hard not to comply with. ‘If you give me your wet things I’ll put them in the tumble-dryer.’

Thea bit her lip. ‘Oh, all right.’ She snatched the thick towelling robe. She might as well avail herself of the facilities, but she really didn’t want a confrontation. She was too tired and angry to guarantee she wouldn’t get emotional. Tears would just add to the many humiliations she had suffered recently.

The bath, she decided, was the nearest thing to heaven you could experience this side of the Pearly Gates. Forget sex, or chocolate – hot, deep water when one is really chilled has to be the best. She sank down so only her head was above it, abandoning her plans for a quick dip and escape. After all, she might as well stay in the bath until her clothes were dry.

Once the heat had penetrated every chilly cell and pore, she washed her hair, using Ben’s herbal shampoo, which smelt expensive and slightly medicinal. She sat up a bit and examined Ben’s bathroom – knowing he’d betrayed her even more badly than Conrad had didn’t affect her curiosity.

It was a very male bathroom, black and white tiled floor, shiny white suite, white tongue-and-groove panelling and a small mirror. It was also extremely tidy. No rogue bottles of shampoo, conditioner or body wash littered the edges of the bath. No hair-filled Ladyshaves, cracked soap or crumbling bath bombs either.

Mentally she doubled the size of the looking-glass, placed a large, spectacular shell in front of it and added some real sponges or large beach pebbles, something to provide a little cheer without making it feminine. Some big, square bottles would be nice, too.