And then they were lost, kissing and fucking and kissing and fucking, as though nothing else in the universe meant anything at all. It was just the two of them, together, in their lovely little Paris hotel room, overcome with love and desire, taking and giving pleasure in equal measure.

The release, when it came, was simultaneous and explosive.

Once he had recovered his composure, Andy leant over to kiss her again.

‘Je t’aime, ma Belle. Forever.’

The following morning, hungover but happy, they breakfasted on chocolate crêpes with chantilly, strong coffee and citron pressés, sitting outside a café in the sun. Considering that dinner the previous night, at the fabulous restaurant the hotel had recommended, had consisted of foie gras on toasted brioche, rare fillet steak in a brandy cream sauce, and a hazelnut praline pudding (all washed down with a couple of bottles of excellent Burgundy), this was definitely erring on the greedy side.

In a vain attempt to work off some of what they’d eaten, they decided to walk to the Musée d’Orsay, where they marvelled at the Degas, Monets and Renoirs. One of the Bateaux Mouches dropped them back at the Île de la Cité, where they did at last venture into Notre Dame.

‘OK, I think that’s enough culture for one day,’ said Andy, once they’d done the full tour of the grand Gothic cathedral. ‘Wonderful though it’s all been, how about heading back to the hotel for a quickie?’

‘You’re insatiable.’ Bella grinned.

Afterwards, satiated and sweaty in damp, crumpled sheets, they just gazed at each other, smiling.

‘You were right,’ said Andy. ‘This has been a fabulous weekend. It was lovely to get away and spend some proper time with each other again.’

‘Mmmm,’ Bella agreed happily.

‘But we should probably check our phones now, don’t you think? There could have been a major terrorist attack on London, for all we know …’

‘Yes, you’re right.’ Bella had enjoyed being cut off from the constant stream of information that bombarded them on an hourly basis, but she did think she should check her messages, at least. What if something had happened to one of her loved ones?

As she switched her phone on, she saw she had six missed calls, all of them from Poppy.

‘Poppy’s been trying to get hold of me,’ she said. ‘Probably just wants to tell me about the awards in LA, but I’d better call her back.’

Poppy picked up on the first ring.

‘Hey, Pops! How were the awards?’

‘I won Best TV Newcomer. Oh, Belles, it’s all just awful …’ And Poppy burst into tears.

Bella sat up straight. ‘What are you on about? You won? That’s great! What’s awful? Tell me, lovey …’

So Poppy told her.

And as she listened, Bella started to feel very ashamed of herself: ashamed for being so resentful of Poppy’s success that she hadn’t been able to be sympathetic to her very real problems with Damian; ashamed of her own self-pity about Andy’s job, when she was the luckiest woman in the world to have him; ashamed that jealousy and small-mindedness had been eating away at her for absolutely no valid reason whatsoever.