‘But if he has to sell the farm . . .’

‘Look,’ said Christine, leaning forward again – re-engaging with the client, offering her a lifeline – ‘if you want what’s rightfully yours, he’s going to have to sell up. There’s no way around it. But think of it this way. The farm doesn’t belong to the children yet. He’s threatening to put it in trust – very clever. Just what I would advise him to do myself. It’s a tax efficient way of guaranteeing the children’s inheritance, while allowing him to manage everything. And he’ll make you, as the co-owner, a joint trustee. In other words, he’s tied you up in a lot of complicated legal red tape in the hope that you’ll back down. Once something is in trust, it’s very hard to take it out of trust. And if it’s in trust, it can’t be sold. And if it can’t be sold, he can’t give you the money you’re asking for.’

‘Exactly. So what can I do?’

‘Call his bluff. Refuse to co-operate, and force him to sell. The children don’t own the farm yet – you do. They’ll get what’s coming to them when the time is right, when you and your husband pass on. I presume that you intend to leave everything to them in your will, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do, but . . .’

‘So in what sense are you disinheriting them? They’re still getting the same amount in the end, just from different sources.’

‘But the farm . . . They’ll lose the farm.’

‘They can buy another.’

‘It’s everything we worked for . . . Everything we dreamed of . . .’

Christine took off her glasses, tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘Do you want to divorce your husband, or don’t you? It’s time to make a choice.’

‘Yes, of course I do, after what he did to me . . .’

‘Then it’s very simple,’ said Christine, closing the file. ‘We hold out for what we want. He sells the farm, and gives you one and a half million pounds.’

‘It seems like I’m punishing him.’

Christine said nothing, but never took her eyes off her client.

‘All right then.’ Mrs Giles sighed. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘I’ve never been in any doubt,’ said Christine, putting on her jacket. ‘See you in court tomorrow.’

Chapter 3

And here she was again, beside the pool at Le Mûrier, no closer to being la seconda signora Rivelli than before. True, there were worse things in life than reclining on a chaise longue, a drink in one hand, a bonkbuster in the other, a fabulous view across the bay ahead and the agreeable soreness of a post-prandial fuck between her legs – but this was not the plan. Victoria had thought, when Massimo announced that he was taking her first to Milan, then to the friends’ place in Sardinia, that this marked the beginning of a new era in their relationship, that she was being ‘tried out’ as wife material, allowed to appear at formal and business functions, and if she acquitted herself well, proposed to in Porto Cervo. Then there would be the tiresome but fabulous business of the divorce to get through, during which she could express pity and concern for the ousted wife, and a discreet but lavish marriage under blue Italian skies . . .