The memory of last night simply wouldn’t leave him, despite the ludicrous beauty of the women gyrating around him. That kiss. Those kisses. That back. The balmy air. For the first time in his life he had actually felt a connection with somebody, rather than just the thrill of the chase, which was starting to get a little dull. For most of his life, the sexual encounters he’d had had been a reflection of his own gorgeousness, affirmation that he was what all women wanted.

But last night had been different. He had actually cared about Natalia.

All the crew were having the time of their lives in the club, which, if you were into Eurotrash clubbing, was pretty unbeatable. The opulently kitsch decor hadn’t been changed since the seventies, the women were beyond beautiful, and thousands of euros were changing hands with every round of drinks bought. Everybody was now dancing with hands in the air to an early nineties house anthem, several well-oiled girls clambering onto tables to draw attention to their lithe young bodies.

Ben could bear it no longer, so he kissed the nearest supermodel on the cheek, telling her he had to go for a pee. As he walked outside he felt enormous relief that he was free again. Everybody seemed to want a piece of him, now he was on the verge of proper fame. He lit a fag and started to walk back in the direction of the port, still thinking about Natalia; her back, her legs, the way her soft lips felt as she kissed him back with such unexpected passion.

He walked towards Sénéquier, remembering the events of the previous night all too vividly. The waiters were closing up now, stacking tables and chairs, all looking forward to a well-deserved night’s sleep. But Ben could do with one more drink. Just the one, a strong one, to ease himself into oblivion. He walked inside to the bar, and saw … Oh, God, he would recognize that back anywhere, and it was convulsed with sobs, her lovely slender shoulders heaving as she blew her nose into a paper napkin.

‘Natalia? Oh, my darling, oh, Jesus, what’s wrong, sweetheart, tell me, please.’

Natalia didn’t respond, just sank gratefully into his strong arms as he kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair.

Ben sat down in the chair next to her.

‘OK, you probably think I’m a complete bastard. And you’re right, I have no excuses for my behaviour last year. But last night was magical and I can’t bear to see you like this. Would you like a drink? Ricard?’ His beautiful face was disconcertingly close, one arm around her shoulder.

Natalia laughed through her tears.

‘You remembered.’

‘I will never forget anything about last night.’

Ben hailed a waiter and asked for two Ricards.

‘Sorry,’ he said to the garçon. ‘I know you want to go home. But I think this lady needs a bit of liquid comfort.’

‘Oui oui, bien sûr.’