‘Crunches,’ he said.

‘Why’s your laptop switched on?’

‘Just because. Some work I had to do.’

‘What work do you need to do in the middle of the night?’ she asked and stepped closer to the sofa where the laptop lay, bending to see the screen.

Gunnar rolled over, reaching out to shut it.

‘What was that for?’ Íris said and he could hear the tone in her voice that he knew so well. This was the sharp, tense tone that preceded the storm. ‘What are you hiding?’ she asked.

‘It’s confidential,’ he said. ‘It’s work stuff.’

‘Liar,’ she hissed.

‘Not at all,’ he said calmly. ‘I work for the Cabinet Office. So I’m not at liberty to let anyone see my emails.’

‘You’re a fucking chauffeur!’ she snapped. Gunnar imagined that the tourists who had rented the flat next door would be awake 91by now. ‘What can a fucking chauffeur be doing that’s so secret? Well?’

‘It’s confidential,’ he said in the same calm voice, feeling the need to correct her growing inside him. He wanted to tell her that he was also a bodyguard, that he oversaw the minister’s security, and that he was working directly with the commissioner of police. But she knew all that; she was simply trying to provoke a response. But a response was what she wasn’t going to get.

‘If you’re messaging someone else then I’m going to go fucking crazy,’ she yelled, storming into the bedroom and throwing things around.

He wanted to call after her that she was already crazy, but instead said, ‘I’m not messaging anyone else. I’m telling the truth.’

It was indeed the truth, but now that her anger had been triggered, there was nothing he could do. And he had no inclination to try to do anything. He took up his position on the floor to go back to his abdominal exercises, but hadn’t even begun when he heard the front door slam shut behind her. Now the tourists next door would definitely be awake.

He filled his lungs and pumped out his breaths. Tearing each muscle made it stronger, so he had to push them beyond their limits if he wanted to increase his strength. He was close to two hundred repetitions, and the sweat was cascading down his forehead and into his eyes when he heard the whoosh from his computer that told him he had a message.

Breathless, he got to his feet and shook the mouse to wake the computer; as expected, he saw a reply from [email protected].

He opened it and saw immediately that his courteous approach had not had a positive effect. If anything, the wording told him that his efforts had rather served to infuriate this lunatic still further.

You can request all you like, you idiot. You don’t tell me what to do. I’ll bite her fucking tits off if I feel like it, and fuck her posh arsehole after I’ve beaten her head to a pulp. Go to hell and take the fucking whore with you. 92