‘You don’t get to speak to me like that! I’m his –!’ Emil stopped himself, Bell’s words of what he was and what he wasn’t still hanging in the air. He stared at her with a frustration that was beginning to feel palpable. ‘You’re not his mother.’

‘No, I’m not. But I’m the next best thing, and I’m her representative here. Every decision you make has to be in his best interests, and if it’s not, then it’s not happening. I’m not here as decoration! There’s a point to me being here – where he goes, I go. And if you try to sneak off without me again, or ask him to keep secrets, I’ll take him straight back to his mother.’ She heard the courage waver in her own voice – she knew she didn’t have the right to make that call and worsen things for Hanna.

He picked up on her hesitation. He had an instinct for weakness, it seemed. ‘You want me to take it to the courts? That wouldn’t be in Hanna’s best interests.’

The threat was cold, like a trickle of ice down her spine and she knew he must make a formidable enemy. Hot, angry tears pressed at her throat as they squared off against one another, but she refused to look away. She would not be bullied by this man. His wealth, power and contacts couldn’t affect her. Unlike Hanna, she didn’t need anything from him. Bell drew herself up to her full, unimpressive height. ‘I only care about Linus’s best interests, and if you were any father at all, so would you—’

A sudden sound made them both start, a rumbling roll of thunder that made the antique white tureens on a demi-lune table begin to vibrate.

‘What’s that?’ she whispered.

‘Oh great,’ Emil said, turning away, his hands on his hips as the roar grew. He looked back at her, then past her. ‘Did she even bother to call this time?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Måns, who Bell now saw was standing in the doorway.

‘Did who call? What’s going on?’ Bell said, almost having to shout. For that was no thunder, she realized now.

Emil didn’t bother to reply. He just walked over to the long, tall windows and stood staring into the garden. The tops of the trees were being flattened by the considerable downdraft of a large blue helicopter, petals scattering across the lawn, the gardener who had met them down by the jetty yesterday standing with one foot resting on a spade, all the thunder now on his face as his months of hard work were undone in mere moments.

They all watched as the helicopter hovered slowly downwards, landing in a clear spot of lawn, free of trees and beds.

‘Who is that?’ she asked Måns, stepping towards him.

‘That will be Mrs Stenbock,’ Måns said, just as the door slid back and the lithe, dark-haired woman she’d seen before jumped out, wearing white trousers and a coral linen knit camisole. She was promptly followed by two very tall, lanky teenagers in jeans and headphones. ‘. . . And Master Frederik and Miss Sophia.’