‘Sure.’ He tried to sound cool, but she could hear the gruffness in his voice. Let this be a night to remember, she thought, as she crossed the floor to where the plump little brunette chicken was waiting, ripe for the plucking. When he’s back in London, meeting with the lawyers, sorting out the dreary business of his divorce, let him think about the joy that I can bring him.

‘Darling,’ she said, touching her lightly on one tanned shoulder, ‘you look very lovely in that dress.’

‘Thank you . . .’ An American accent, breathy, excited.

‘I bet you’d look even lovelier out of it.’

‘Oh . . .’

‘My friend over there’ – she nodded towards Rivelli, who raised a glass of champagne – ‘would love you to join us for a drink in our hotel room.’

They left the party almost immediately, and took the car back to Rivelli’s suite at the Carlyle.

Victoria’s room remained unoccupied.

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

‘So there’s absolutely no hope of a negotiated settlement?’

‘None. I have made a generous offer, which she refuses.’ Rivelli shrugged his shoulders, held his palms upward. ‘I did not want a fight, but I suppose that is now inevitable.’

‘And why,’ said Christine, ‘do you think Mrs Rivelli is holding out for so much more money than you are offering?’

‘Revenge.’

‘Ah, that, of course. But does she believe herself entitled to such a sum?’

She had asked these questions many times, of many men desperate to conceal the real nature of their assets from discarded wives. Nothing must be hidden; no nasty surprises in court. They would deny it once, twice, even three times before admitting that, perhaps, there was a little something salted away in the Caribbean . . .

‘Oh, as for that,’ laughed Rivelli, ‘Janet always believed that I am worth more than I really am. She is very good at spending the money and not so good at counting it. She is not what you would call . . . What is the English word?’

‘Thrifty?’

‘Sriffi,’ essayed Rivelli. ‘No, she is not sriffi. She likes to believe that Rivelli is a bottomless well of money.’

‘And is he?’

‘Alas, no. I am afraid that I very much have a bottom.’

Denial Number One.

‘And the offer you have made to your wife is, you would say, a fair settlement?’

‘Very fair,’ said Rivelli. ‘She gets the house, there is money in trust for my son, and she has an annual allowance of two hundred thousand for as long as she remains unmarried. That is generous, no?’

‘I would consider it generous, Mr Rivelli, but we must ask ourselves why your wife does not.’

‘Because she wants to punish me, of course. She wants to ruin me.’

‘But the sum she is asking for . . .’ Christine ran her finger down a column of figures. ‘Ten million pounds. That seems like an awful lot. What would lead her to believe that you could afford that?’

‘I can’t.’

Denial Number Two.