As a girl, she remembered not being able to resolve her conflicting emotions: pride at her father’s attentiveness, admiration for her mother’s elegant charm, and jealousy like a large hat, casting its shadow over everything. Back then she had dreamed, she now realised, of playing the same game. Of being the consenting victim to a husband’s playfulness. She hadn’t done badly, in the end. Franck could still surprise her, sometimes.

Knowing how to surprise your partner, Clotilde thought, was the number-one key to a lasting relationship. Even though Franck had done it less discreetly than Papa, with less theatre, less imagination, supplying no explanation for his hurried departure, and holding the Benoa bag clumsily behind his back.

Don’t be too picky – the second key to a lasting relationship.

Franck pushed the glasses of grenadine aside and set the bag down on the table.

‘For you, my darling.’

His darling, the one to whom Franck presented the bag, was Valou.

‘I’m sure it will look gorgeous on you, my lovely girl.’

Total eclipse. A storm could have fallen on the citadel, a tsunami could have carried away all the yachts moored in the harbour, a gust of wind could have ripped away all the parasols and flags …

The bastard! The total and utter bastard!

Clotilde was still raging in silence when Valou came back from the toilet, the charcoal dress hastily slipped over her swimming costume. It was sexy, figure-hugging, perfect.

‘Thank you, Papa. I love you.’

Valou kissed her Papa with conviction. Clotilde took the blow. They should have had two children, an only child was a nonsense, a trap for any couple. Yes, two kids, one each.

Having your own daughter steal away your man was rock bottom.

What a shitty life! She felt murderous.

Valou had got up and was standing by the parapet, holding her camera, the teeming Bay of Calvi behind her. A selfie to make her friends envious! A present from my darling little Papa.

It was surreal. What a shitty life shitty life shitty life.

And that fool Franck still smiling as he gazed at their daughter, putting his hand under the table as if stealthily giving his balls a good scratch.

And then, who took out another Benoa bag!

‘For you too, my darling.’

The bastard. The adorable bastard!

Of course Franck wasn’t a match for her own father, back then, that trick with the camera, but his double bluff was still pretty good.

Clotilde felt heart-broken. Why did she have to be so vulnerable?

Don’t be picky.

Make yourself voluptuous, moist, sensual.

Kiss your man without restraint.

Don’t be picky …