A favourite saying of her uncle’s came back to her, No use pretending to be what you’re not, my girl. You may fool everyone else, but you won’t fool yourself. Yes, she thought, but I can’t remain a simple country girl now, not married to a man like Ben Saunders. I’ll have to do some adapting if we’re to have a good life together.

And so will he!

As she was walking back towards the restaurant, all her good resolutions to appear more sophisticated vanished, for when she looked across the lobby, Nick was also missing from the table and Ben was sitting holding Cynthia’s hand. A raging fury filled Megan and she stopped dead. How dared he hold hands with another woman after all he had said about loyalty? She sucked in a couple of painful breaths, then swung round and strode back across the foyer.

She would not confront him now. She didn’t intend to make a public spectacle of herself! But she wasn’t going to rejoin them. No way!

Once in their suite she phoned the reception desk. ‘Could you please give a message to my husband? Ben Saunders. He’s sitting at a corner table in the foyer bar with a blond woman. Tell him I’ve retired to our suite with a sudden migraine. Thank you.’

She slammed down the phone and threw off the expensive new dress, kicking it into a corner, heedless of whether it got damaged. ‘I can always shop for more, after all!’ she snarled at it.

She went for a shower, but although the warmth of the water was soothing on her body, it didn’t ease her anger. She scrubbed away the tears fiercely, but more kept falling.

When she came out of the bathroom, Ben was sitting in an armchair, arms folded, looking just as furious as she felt.

She didn’t wait for him to speak. ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon!’

‘Nick isn’t allowed any late nights.’

‘You could have stayed on with your dear friend Cynthia!’

He jerked to his feet. ‘I didn’t want to stay with her. But I did expect you to have more manners than just to vanish without so much as a word of apology.’

‘You shouldn’t sit there holding some other woman’s hand, then! I didn’t like to interrupt your cosy little tête-à-tête.’

‘She was holding my hand, actually.’

‘Well, you weren’t exactly pulling yours away!’ Megan sat down at the dressing table and began to brush her hair, sending it crackling into a halo around her face.

The brush was removed from her hand and she was pulled to her feet. She didn’t resist, but she did not attempt to soften the furious expression on her face, either.

‘Do I detect some jealousy there, Mrs Saunders?’

She looked at the hand holding her wrist. ‘Do you mind?’