‘And you could eat with us, Max,’ Glain said with an open armed gesture that perhaps said more than she’d intended about her own wishful thinking. ‘We can be a ménage!’

‘But are you sure I know how to use a fish knife?’ Max quizzed, with a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

When I first met Tudor he’d been on a fairly tough fitness regime for about a year. He was still big. When he took off his clothes you could see that he was still fat and that his skin was loose, even saggy, from where the five stones had been lost. He was older… quite a bit older really, but it didn’t seem to matter. After we’d been together a couple of years he was down to thirteen stone and still working out. It was about that time that I became quite insecure for a while… once he’d got himself into such good shape and was looking like a film star. No fitness regime was going to sort out my face: no amount of kisses would make it better and we couldn’t afford cosmetic surgery.

‘It’s quite a sight, don’t you think?’ Max volunteered as the boat turned towards the shore. ‘The people who recommended I come here said that the ferry was the best way to approach Cannero for the first time.’

‘It’s beautiful… and that must be the Villa Cannero,’ Glain said, pointing at the yellow and white palace to the right of the jetty, its balconies heavy with pink geraniums, its lawned terraces stepped down to the water’s edge.

‘I think I’m going to be pleased that we paid for a balcony and a lake view,’ Cai said, remembering the argument he’d had with Glain over all the supplements; the single room surcharge alone was outrageous.

It took a long time for me to understand that Tudor loved me… perhaps because I don’t know, even to this day, if I loved him. He said – once, when he was pissed off with me because I kept doubting him – that the chip on my shoulder was more repellent than the scar on my face… but that the chip, at least, was something I could work on.