‘A massive blowout this weekend is exactly what I need,’ she murmured under her breath, as Tove walked over to the pool bar. She flicked through the magazine, stopping at the social diary spread, her gaze snagging for some reason on a picture of a royal couple in tiaras and sashes. They were in full white tie regalia in some red and gilded room, and beside them was another couple, minus the crowns. It was another few moments before she realized the erect, sharp-gazed woman staring back through the lens was Nina. We’re having dinner in Copenhagen tonight, she’d said. She just hadn’t mentioned it was with the King and Queen of Denmark.

She remembered Nina’s audacious entrance, turning up unexpectedly, her helicopter just appearing suddenly in the sky. Emil had seemed bemused, if somewhat resigned, to his sister’s forthright attitude and entitled manner – so different from his own. She certainly never would have guessed, from his scruffy appearance in the marina, that he was the scion of an industrialist dynasty, or that he might be the kind of man to consort with kings. Or that he might seduce his own wife.

‘Drink up,’ Tove said, returning with a tray loaded with drinks. ‘Double the doubles.’

‘Great.’ She was going to get drunk. So very, very drunk . . .

‘And tell me – how’s Hanna?’ Tove asked. ‘How are things with our Mogerts’ very chic, oh-so modern family?’

‘Ummm . . .’ Bell hesitated. ‘Well, it’s all rather old-school, since you ask.’ Her voice sounded thick.

‘Old-school?’ Tove was intrigued, peering over her cat’s-eye sunglasses at her. ‘What does that mean?’

Bell swallowed, forcing herself to say the words. ‘Hanna’s having an affair. With her husband.’

Tove’s jaw dropped open completely. ‘The slut!’

‘Sshhhh!’ Bell hushed her furiously, glancing around at their neighbours as heads turned at the commotion. ‘Keep it down! There are kids about.’

‘Sorry,’ Tove squeaked, not sorry at all. Her body was suddenly tense with excitement. ‘But what the actual fuck?’ she stage-whispered. ‘What about Max?’

Bell sighed. ‘Quite.’

‘Are you sure? I mean, how do you know?’

Bell swallowed, feeling the enormity of it all hit her again. ‘Because I saw them in bed together last night.’

Tove’s face crumpled. ‘Oh my God, poor Max!’

Poor Max. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘Does he –?’

‘No.’ Bell shook her head. ‘I don’t think anyone does.’

‘Except you.’

‘Yeah, except me.’

Tove frowned. ‘And how come you saw them in bed together?’

Bell swallowed, tipping her head back on the headrest, not wanting to go back there. ‘Oh, long story,’ she said as dismissively as she could. Her voice was strangled, tears were threatening.

‘You weren’t hiding in his closet, were you?’ Tove asked devilishly. ‘Because let’s be honest, I would – the guy is hot.’

‘Nothing so exciting, I’m afraid,’ Bell said quickly, cutting her off before she could start to extol Emil Von Greyer’s physical virtues. ‘He was concussed, and –’ In spite of herself, she felt the tears begin to slide out of the corners of her eyes, and she thanked God for the gigantic Chanels she had picked up years back in duty free. ‘Hanna and I had to check on him throughout the night, and that’s when I found them together.’ The words ran into each other like children on a slide.