Then something occurred to her. Taking out her phone, she tapped Karolina Kristova – thanks, Nikki, for the spelling – into Google. After a moment she added: porn star. At least she could prepare herself by checking out the competition. If what Nikki was saying were true, this KK bitch sounded like a raddled old slapper.

But when the images opened, Sam’s heart plummeted. There, staring sultrily out of the screen at her, were picture upon picture of one of the sexiest-looking women she had ever seen. Fully clothed, topless, naked – it didn’t matter. That mischievous, mocking face. That body. That body? Oh, God, she was everything Sam wished she could be – all lithe, sinuous curves and feline grace, with perfect little boobs. Sam instinctively crossed her arms in front of her own ample chest, feeling like a freak of nature again for the first time since she’d met Mark.

Unwelcome tears came into her eyes, and she pushed them away angrily with the edges of her fingers, trying not to bugger up her mascara. No, she’d wait and see what he had to say for himself. She finished her mug of tea, then walked out of the cafe into the beautiful sunny evening.

Mark was waiting in the restaurant on the first floor of Divine Comedy, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot standing proud on the bare wooden table in front of him. The restaurant was modishly rustic and minimalist, a stark contrast to the insanely over-the-top bar downstairs. After spending a good twelve hours fucking Karolina on the Linda Lovelace boat (during which they had ordered in three times for more coke), he had felt so guilty that he’d checked into a small hotel on his own, until he had felt ready to face Sam again.

He had been so sexually enraptured by Karolina that, had he not caught her, red-handed, trying to pinch all the cards out of his wallet, those twelve hours could have stretched much longer. Now, though, he felt an enormous rush of love for his sweet Sam, and wanted to show her how much he cared. He also had the ineffable rush of having got away with it.

As Sam entered the restaurant, looking absolutely gorgeous, all legs, tits and long red hair, Mark rose to his feet, smiling. Until he realized that Sam wasn’t smiling.

‘Hello, beautiful,’ he said nervously. ‘Everything OK?’

‘I don’t know, Mark. Is it?’ He’d never heard her sound so cold. And then she did something that made him go cold. She held her phone up to his eyes, and – oh, fuck, bollocks and cunt – there was a naked picture of Karolina on it.

‘Just tell me you didn’t do it.’ She looked at him steadily, her enormous dark brown eyes gleaming with intelligence.

‘I …’ He faltered, and realized, at that moment, that the game was up.

Sam’s eyes darkened and hardened. Mark was never to know that it was to stop her crying, the only thing she could do to hang on to her last remaining shred of pride.